Mama Mia!

Italy trip report 🇮🇹❤️

My throat ached as I watched my eighty-two year mother board her flight from Rome to Chicago. Her black pants matched her black trench coat which was accented with a silk scarf and an orange purse. Though she looked like a sophisticated traveller, it cracked me up that she also carried a one-euro “I Love Roma” tote bag filled with the souvenirs that did not fit in her suitcase.

It wasn’t until she walked out of sight that my tears fell. I was sad our trip was over. When I planned it, I knew it would be amazing. How could it not? Visiting three Italian cities, Venice, Florence and Rome over nine days was a dream. I was curious how it would go traveling with my husband Matt, 16 year-old daughter, Sadie and 82 year-old mom. Our time together exceeded my highest expectations.

We planned the trip over a year ago when Sadie was studying AP European History. My husband loves art and history and my mom is an expert on the subject. Since my son is at college, we had room for one more and extended the invitation to my mother. Her acceptance was immediate and wholehearted.

I planned the trip with pleasure. Some people love HBO and Netflix, I love Trip Advisor and Airbnb. I researched each city and read reviews on the must-see attractions. I chose accommodations based on location and charm. For this trip, I rented three-bedroom apartments so all of us had our own space. I aced it. Each apartment was amazing.

That said, I am leaving Europe with a twinge of guilt. I learned from Elizabeth, our local guide in Venice, about the impact that Airbnb is having on their local economy. There’s a mass exodus of locals as investors buy up the real estate for use as nightly rentals. Venetians can not afford to live on the island. As a result, the traditional local food and fish markets have shrunk and may close. No one cooks when they are on vacation and the locals live off-island now. Hotels reservations are down and rooms are left empty which affects employment. “What is Venice with out the Venetians?” Elizabeth asked us. “Disneyland?”

I like hotels but I really do prefer renting an apartment with a kitchen, separate bedrooms and bathrooms. I’m like a teenage girl who knows it’s time to get off TiK-Tok. I am addicted to Airbnb. But I hate to think about contributing to the demise of any local economy.

My mom loved staying in the apartments. Every time we walked in for the first time, she would ooh and ahh. “How did you find this one Sara?” Never having used Airbnb, she was impressed. Matt chimed in validating my talent for finding good spots.

After securing accommodations, I drafted the itinerary. I didn’t pack our days. I limited our main events to one a day, occasionally two. Before we left the US, I bought all the tickets. There were few choices left to be made on the road.

My mom has been to Italy many times over the decades. In 1963, she lived in Rome as a junior in college. Throughout the years, she’s been to Venice and Florence several times. However, as our guest of honor, she was happy to go along and was very flexible. Each day had rhythm. We’d began with coffee and end with gelato. In addition to touring the city each day, I left space to rest, wonder and wander. We all had patience for each other and there truly was harmony amongst us.

Matt, Sadie and I flew over to Europe a few days before my mom. We planned to go to Milan first and then take the train to Venice. One of my favorite mindfulness principles is “make plans but remain flexible.” That adage came to mind when we missed our connection from Heathrow to Milan because of our delayed flight from Salt Lake City.

To save a little money and ease, we rerouted to Venice. We spent over five hours waiting for our flight in Heathrow. To cheer ourselves up, Matt and I decided to rent an Alfa Romeo when we arrived in Venice. We also booked a hotel near the airport. After two long two days, we landed in Venice at 9pm. We were delighted to find a nearby restaurant that was not only open but packed with locals. I nearly cried when my pizza was served. It was impossibly delicious. Filled with relief, I relaxed into the reality. We were in Italy!

Driving out of the airport, I was surprised we were in the countryside. Our hotel was surrounded by fields. Rather than heading straight into Venice’s City Center, we drove an hour to a nearby city called Padua. Seventy-eight statues lined the main square, Prato della Valle. The city, a designated UNESCO World Heritage site, was filled with cathedrals, art museums, universities, boutiques and cafes. I marveled how the day before, I’d never even heard of it.

We read that St Anthony was buried in Padua in 1231. We visited his tomb and some relics – his tongue and jaw – at the Basilica of St Anthony. I silently thanked him for helping me find my lost things. When I really can’t find something, I do pray: “St Anthony St Anthony, Please come around. My ‘whatever’ has been lost and they must be found.” It works!

After lunch, we drove back to the the airport, returned the car and boarded a vaporetto to Venice Central. I’d never been to the “The Floating City” and thought that it might be smelly, dirty or cheesy. None of that was true for me. I was immediately enchanted.

Venice is made up of 118 islands and 438 bridges. At every corner we turned, I wanted to take a photo. We arrived two days before the end of Carnivale. Thousands of people masked and costumed were wandering around town. Venice is the original Carnivale. I didn’t see any beads or breasts in the celebration- just a lot of colorful confetti.

We ate our first night in Venice at a local restaurant Rosa Rossa. Matt, Sadie and I knew we were in for a treat when the server dropped warm bread and homemade wasabi chive butter. I ordered broiled sea bream, which arrived whole with the head still on. Our server deboned it with expert skill and ease. “Venetians care about where every ingredient of our food comes from,” our tour guide Elizabeth told us the next day with pride. She encouraged us to wait until Rome to have pizza and instead eat local anchovies, fish and tiramisu. And, no cannolis! (They are from Sicily.) Admittedly, we took her advice with a grain of salt.

The next day lunched at a tiny Italian cafe across the Grand canal. While we were squeezed into a window table eating pesto gnocchi and minestrone soup, my mom landed in Venice. Prior to leaving, I had set up “Find my Friends” on her phone so we could track her. I gave her very detailed instructions with visual aids showing how to navigate the airport transfer to the vaporetto. I was confident she’d make it without problem, but if she got lost, it’d be tricky! We all felt relief when FMF confirmed that she was on the boat to San Marcos.

An hour later, Matt and I walked to the dock to meet her. “Mom, how was your trip?” I asked. She laughed. “Easy!” Traveling is in her blood and she’s good at it

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We led her down a few narrow cobblestone streets to the apartment. Passing each window, she pointed out something she liked. She took a dozen photos in the first five minutes. Shopping and photography are her twin passions and it was clear, we’d all need to wear our patient pants with her.

Sadie was happy to see her grandmother. We were together and our trip had now officially begun!

My mom’s first full day was Ash Wednesday. Together we walked to the Basilica di San Marco for an 8 a.m. Mass. My mom participated despite it being in Italian. The ashes were sprinkled on our heads rather than forehead. No longer a practicing Catholic, I still savored our experience in the grand church and enjoyed being close to my devoutly Catholic mother. Over the next week every church we visited, my mom dipped her finger in the Holy Water and made the sign of the cross, silently prayed and then explored the church looking at the various alters, chapels, ceilings. We probably visited 50 churches, which is only about 4 percent of the 1200 churches in Rome, Florence and Venice.

Walking with my mom forced us to all to slow down. While she is in good physical shape, the cobble stone streets required her full attention. Sadie, Matt and I each took turns linking elbows and walking with her. Only once did she fall. One morning in Florence she tripped on a curb and started to fall. Another elderly lady tried to catch her and fell with her. They were both quite startled and mutually apologetic. Neither had any injuries, but it was scary. The uneven surfaces and aging are a tough combination. I never minded walking with my mom. It gave us a chance to talk about what we were seeing: boutique displays, building architecture or a decorated doorway. Sometimes we said nothing at all.

After a couple enchanting days in Venice, we left for Florence, with a stop in Verona. Our journey started with an early morning canal boat ride from San Marco to the rail station. We bundled up and sat in the front of the boat watching the city wake up. Local students boarded and exited the boat. Locals traveled to work. We passed fishermen bringing in their morning catch. Boating is the only vehicular form of transportation around Venice. There is no riding bikes or catching a cab. You’re either walking or riding in a gondola or vaporetto. Forty-five minutes later, we boarded our train.

European train travel is a pleasure. The ease and predictability that comes without having to pass through security is in contrast to flying. The four of us boarded our train to Verona. When we arrived, we checked our bags for a few hours and took a local bus to Plaza Bra, a beautiful city park. Our mission was to visit the House of Juliet and the Old Bell Tower which were only a few minutes walk from the park. The cobblestone pedestrian street was lined with high end stores like Tiffany’s and Gucci. There were plenty of local boutiques as well. It’s clearly a shopping town. After our tours and lunch, we returned to the park to relax and people watch. When it was time, we walked back to the station, picked up our luggage and boarded the train. An hour later, we were in Florence.

“I could live here with your dad” my mom told me walking across the Ponte Vecchio. ”He loves Florence.” This makes sense as he is a big fan of food, wine, and architecture. A couple of years ago, my parents rented an apartment in Paris for a month. Why not Florence next? We all like to dream.

Florence is the birthplace of the Renaissance. It’s museums are chock full of iconic art and the vibrant city just exudes culture. We spent our three days enjoying the the Accademia Gallery, Uffizzi, Duomo and the markets. We ate well and often. Our dinner conversation often was filled with my mom’s stories - many which were new to me. She took a boat from New York to England on her way to Rome for the year. Joan Baez was the entertainment for the two weeks and hung out with the Loyola students after the first class cabin folks went to bed. “Mom! What? You never told me about Joan Baez!” She laughed.

After Rome, she spent a month in Holland and Copenhagen. Two years later, she moved to Tokyo to teach English. She had insatiable appetite for international travel. On her way home from Japan, she bought an around-the-world ticket. Highlight stops were Istanbul and Egypt. She knew that being by herself was dangerous, but she was not afraid. Occasionally other people were nervous. In Egypt, the hotel manager hired bodyguards to follow her as he said it really was not safe to be a solo American woman traveling. She could have just “disappeared” and no one would know. Matt, Sadie and I were gripped listening to the stories. She is my travel inspiration!

After Florence, we trained it to Rome. Surprisingly, the ride was only an hour and a half. Matt said “if we lived in Florence, we could come to dinner in Rome!” Instead of taking a taxi from the station to our apartment, we bought 72-hour Metro passes. We excited the metro at Palazzo Barberini and pulled our carry-on suitcases over the cobbles. Our Airbnb hostess Erica marveled that we arrived by metro. “Everyone here,” she said, “takes taxis” Matt nudged me. He wished I was more like everyone else. One evening returning home from dinner on the bus, my mom said, “You like the public transportation because you like being with the people.” She is right.

Prior to arriving, I didn’t read much about Rome. Even though my mom brought a few books with photos and even a magnifying glass to study the Sistine Chapel ceiling, I resisted. I told my mom I don’t like watching trailers before a movie. She may have rolled her eyes, but kept quiet. As a result, Rome was a complete surprise.

After checking in to the apartment we headed out with our bus passes and a loose plan to visit a local neighborhood across the river. We only made it a few stops when we spotted the Victor Emmanuel II Monument. It was huge - maybe 150 feet tall. “What is this?” I asked my mom. I knew it wasn’t the Colosseum, Vatican, Pantheon or Trevi fountain. What else was there? I had no idea. We hopped off and explored the monument and the neighboring ruins, fountains and walked through the Jewish Ghetto.

The next two days, we spent six hours with Isabella, the sweetest, most knowledgeable guide, who came highly recommended by my sister. She showed us the Colosseum, Forum, Palatine Hill and the Vatican Museum. I learned so much about Ancient Rome from her. Isabella reminded us that the Romans were first to build an arch, which I knew, but didn’t realize it was their invention of concrete which made their structures so impressive. She told us that the Romans built over sixty thousand miles of roads and aqueducts throughout their empire.

Her talent is to bring context and meaning to the historical and impressive sights. It’s not easy to make Roman History and Renaissance palatable to both an eighty-two year-old and a sixteen year-old. Late in the day of our last tour, Isabella remarked how much she enjoyed my mom and called her “elegant.” Undoubtedly, Isabella made our days memorable.

Every corner, block, and neighborhood in Rome had either a church, fountain, obelisk (or all three). Our four days in the Eternal City only skimmed the surface. I want more time to explore. I have a new dream to return for a month - ideally May. I want to walk up the Spanish Steps along the roses and azaleas. I want to feel the sun shine when I walk in the Borghese Gardens. I want to linger at the fountains, bistros and boutiques. If I tire of the Italian cuisine, I will go to the daily market at Campo di Fiori, buy fresh vegetables and cook myself.

If I was in Rome for a month, I’d spend more time at the museums. A weekly visit to the Vatican Museum would be a cornerstone of my week. I’d buy a ticket for 8:00 a.m., spend the day studying the contents of just a handful of the 1,400 rooms at the Museum. I’d deepen my appreciation for Bernini, Caravaggio and Raphael’s art and linger in the Map room. I can imagine ending each visit at the Sistine Chapel gazing up at Michelangelo ceiling before heading to St Peter’s Basilica. Oh, I hope I can make a month in Rome happen.

Everything I read about visiting Vatican stressed the importance of hiring a guide. Not only to highlight the “best of the best” at the museum, but also with a guide you can go through the door from Sistine Chapel straight to the St Peter’s Basilica, which might save an hour.

The rules changed a few days before our visit. Every twenty-five years, Rome celebrates the Jubilee. In 2025, thirty to thirty-five million Catholic pilgrims are expected to visit to the city. The go to renew their faith and commitment to the Church and seek forgiveness for their sins.

To manage the crowds, the Roman officials are changing the rules without notice. A few days prior, a new rule required reservations to walk from the Chapel to the Basilica, even with a guide. This is a long walk, as you have to exit the Vatican Museum and re-enter St. Peter’s Square to gain access to the Basilica from the front doors.

“Mama Mia!,” Isabella muttered, rolling her eyes.

What to do? After three hours with Isabella we said goodbye. The four of us refueled at a cafe and then walked the half mile to the Basilica. I wished I could’ve offered my mom a lift. We were all very tired. She did not seem to mind nor complain. We walked slowly towards the most important Catholic Church in the world.

By the time we arrived, there was no line to enter. I had seen a memorable review that scared me. “The line to get in was as impressive as the building itself.” I was relieved that we were in!

I audibly gasped when I entered. St Peter’s Cathedral is magnificent. The grandeur, and gold astonished me. The ceiling is 450 feet high and the enormous building is over 250,000 square feet. The Renaissance and Baroque architecture was the most lavish I’ve ever seen.

Sadie started shooting photos with her Canon digital camera. Matt read every plaque in sight. My mom alternated between photographs and prayers. I smiled when Sadie whispered to me, “I’m happy to be here without a guide.” We took our time in the Church. The longer I was there, the more emotional I felt.

I visited Pope John Paul’s tombstone and learned that he had been sainted. The statue of St. Peter is over his tomb. Isabella had prepared us, and had explained the symbolism of the keys that were sculpted in stone. I met up with my mom and we walked behind a group of pilgrims carrying a cross. We paused at Michelangelo's sculpture, Pietà. Since there was a copy of the statue in the museum, Isabella had shared the significance of the masterpiece. The statue depicts a young Virgin Mary holding her lifeless son, the body of Christ. Her palm is open. Isabella said it was as if she expected to her son to die. Her expression is of compassion and sorrow. Mary is just like me. We’re both mothers who love our sons.

When we were ready to go, I hooked my my mom’s arm into mine and walked down the Basilica steps. The sun had set and the moon was almost full above St. Peter’s Square. I reached for her hand and held it. I felt the Holiness of the moment. I knew being at Vatican with my very Catholic mother was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Under the moon I took a breath and committed to presence.

I savored the moment as I looked around. A mass was being televised on a big screen outside. People were praying. I felt very small and yet, I felt connected to something much larger. It was both heartbreaking and soul-filling, joyful and sorrowful. The both/and again and again.

I am in the Middle Place. I care for both my children and my parents. This trip our roles reversed. After years of my mom leading trips, this one was mine. I planned every detail. It was me who was in charge.

When I was young, I thought my mom would always take care of me. And this trip, I cared for her. I was not only her daughter, but more importantly, her safe-keeper. We laughed, I cried a few times. And we bonded. Italy was a place where we all could connect and be together in the magnificence of beauty. Our precious trip with Matt, Sadie and my mother was an immense privilege, and I am grateful for it.