“Fai una passeggiata, Lisa?” my Nonna would ask, in her floral house dress and slides, lunch and coffee cups cleared.
The early afternoons were the perfect time to take a “passeggiata” in my Italian family’s hometown, just as shops were reopening after the locals had finished lunch behind closed green shutters (bowls of pasta al pesto, the Ligurian speciality, TV on (practically white noise in Italian homes).
On those first trips visiting my birth family, I’d take every opportunity to explore the small seafront town, tucked away on the Ligurian coast between the more famous Cinque Terre and French border.
In midsummer, I was seeing at its high season best, in all its fully saturated glory—from the neon pool inflatables displayed outside every tourist gift shop, to the terracotta and lemon coloured walls, freshly painted or sun-washed and peeling.
Holidaymakers flip-flopped around the narrow cobbled streets, beach bags slung over red shoulders, stopping for a gelato or bracing blast of granita at one of the multitude of restaurants on the popular, palm-lined promenade.
The bars around the piazza came alive with the clatter of espresso cups and animated conversations.
My papa was a fan of the aperitivo, which Italians maintain helpfully “opens the stomach” in preparation for food, and the post-meal digestif.
Much like the aperitivo, to “fare una passeggiata” is a ritual that opens the eyes and the heart to your surroundings. It’s an opportunity to pass the time of day and make the kind of connections that we’re finding, increasingly, are fundamental to our mental and physical wellbeing.
But for us, the walks that we took together had a special significance.
After twenty-something years believing, if never quite accepting, that my father would never see me again, let alone dare to dream of ever showing me the town where our story began, he wanted me to take it all in.
It’s why he transformed into Tour Guide Angelo at every opportunity, complete with animated narration, tickling off all the tourist spots—prehistoric caves, famous in all of Liguria!—along with those lesser known but loved by locals, like the bar in a medieval hillside village with a night time view overlooking the sparkling bay as magical as any.
Stopping off at what seemed like every beach that dotted the local coastline for drinks or gelato, papa wanted me to know every curve of the glittering coastline.
He longed to fill me up with “l'aria”. For it to flood into my lungs and around my body.
More than that, he wanted the town to know us, to know me.
Every chance he go to introduce me to friends, acquaintances, the local pharmacist, or checkout clerk, he grabbed it, with both, deeply tanned and hard-working hands.
“This is my daughter,” he would say, proudly, eyes glinting. One hand on hip, always (my son does exactly the same, miraculously).
This daughter of his, returning.
Other things from this week
Speaking of all things Italian, my English sister, who lives in the Italian Lakes, told me that it’s commonplace for Italians to take ice cream the local gelataria, rather than a bottle of wine, to dinner with friends. How great is that?
I think I could get used to the idea.
Also! Just today, I came across a new foodie Substack, Anne Byrn: Between the Layers, with a very promising, temptingly low maintenance-looking how-to for home-made, no-churn gelato!
Some other things …
Very much in the “fare una passeggiata” spirit, my friend, the writer Charity Singleton-Craig, has set a Love Your Place 0-60 summer challenge over at her Substack, The Wonder Report.
It’s dedicated to getting out and finding joy, right where we live.
Also, following on from last week’s celebrations here in the UK for the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee, this party for those living on the streets, held by St Patrick’s church in Soho, caught my eye on Instagram.
Thinking of things to lift your spirits, if you’re a musicals fan, one of our highlights from last Saturday’s Party at the Palace was the set by Lin Manuel Miranda and the cast of Hamilton, Andrew Lloyd-Webber and other stars of the West End.
I may have blubbed (a lot).
It’s almost the weekend again, how did that happen?
Jen, your descriptions are so rich I can envision myself there, and what a precious memory of your dad showing you off 💕