Family Trip to Italy: Rome (Days 1-2)

Last Christmas, Joe and I gave everyone one gift: a wooden chest (one for Nicholas & Lauren, one for Jonathan & Caroline, and one for Timothy). Here was what was inside: details for a family trip to Italy! Along with a detailed itinerary of our trip, we also included imitation airplane tickets and train tickets (purchased from Etsy to represent the real tickets), hotel/lodging information, a list of booked excursions, and vouchers for a special activity (for Timothy, a chance to drive a Ferrari; for the couples, a gondola ride).

A Novajosky Family Trip to Italy! It was happening!

And six months later, it did.

Following is a recap of our trip (posted over several days) organized into four parts: Rome, Florence, Verona, Venezia.

Day 1: Arrival Rome (Friday, May 15)

It never fails, but whenever I land in Italy the tears come. So many emotions! After all the planning and excitement and packing … it all coalesces to wheels on the ground. And with this comes the reality that I have arrived, this time with my entire family (as opposed to a girls’ group). Here. We. Are.

In Rome.

So yes, there were tears.

But not for long because … Security! Passport Control! Baggage Claim! By now, most of Europe has switched to the biometric Entry/Exit System (EES) for non-EU travelers. Despite hearing tales about long lines, we sailed through with no problem. Once you are in the system, it makes security very streamlined; in fact, when we departed from Venice two weeks later, security involved a quick facial scan and fingerprint analysis. That’s it. Very easy.

We exited the airport, stood in line for a taxi (two for our crew), and 30 minutes later we checked into our hotel. Well … sort of. The rooms were not quite ready, so we stored our luggage and went in search of a restaurant because someone (Timothy) was starving.

We found a restaurant (i Vascellari) and enjoyed our first meal in Rome! Most of us ordered pasta because—hello!—we were in Itay!

After lunch our rooms were ready, so we officially checked in to Hotel Santa Francesca Romana (a former convent). This was our second time staying in this hotel because … location, location, location! We were in the heart of Trastevere—turn left out of the hotel, walk along the Tiber River, and you arrive in the Vatican area; turn right at the end of the street and you arrive at the Colosseum.

After a little nap during a thunderstorm, we freshened up and headed out to dinner. We explored the charming Trastevere neighborhood streets until we found a pizzeria in a quiet alleyway. Our first pizza at Ristorante La Canonica! Molto delizioso!

A litte later … our first gelato at Fior di Luna! Which, it turns out, was one of MANY. Go figure 😉

Then it was time for bed because we were TIRED!

Tomorrow: ancient Rome.

Buona notte!

Day 2: Ancient Rome (Saturday, May 16)

This morning I woke up to the smell of baking bread wafting through our open bedroom window. Is there not a more heavenly smell?

There is not, and it made me hungry.

We convened in the breakfast room and fueled up for the day. Breakfast for me was a cappuccino and an apricot cornetto. I also had some mortadella and fruit just so I could say I had some protein. And fruit. But my main focus was the cappuccino and cornetto.

Today was all about ancient Rome, so after our hearty breakfast we headed to the Colosseum.

Along the way, we stopped at the portico of Santa Maria in Cosmedin so we could channel our inner Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck from Roman Holiday and take a photo in front of la Bocca della Verita’ (Mouth of Truth). Truthfully (see what I did there?), I don’t think any of my guys have seen the movie, so I am not sure they appreciated the reference.

Then we walked, climbed a hill, turned a corner, and there it was …

The Colosseum.

It doesn’t matter how many times you have seen it, that first glimpse of the Colosseum is always, always breathtaking. We took a lot of photos.

We then turned our attention to the Roman Forum. Originally, we had thought of strolling through the forum, but it was very crowded so we just looked at it from above. We were all okay with that decision.

Afterwards Lauren, who actually studied abroad in Rome, led us to the Curia of Pompey which is where Julius Caesar was assassinated on the Ides of March (March 15) in 44 BC. I am not sure what was more appealing: the historical significance of Julius Caesar’s murder, or the fact that there was a cat sanctuary situated at the archeological site. Either way, we saw both.

By then we were hungry, so we headed to Piazza Navona. Because we were going on a walking food tour that evening, we decided on a lighter lunch. Panini for all! On focaccia bread. With Mortadella. So, so good. We ate our panini while walking around Piazza Navona.

In the Piazza, I purchased a painting from an artist, and during the negotiation he said he would also include a free silhouette of Timothy, Nicholas, and Lauren. So, he pulled out a black square of paper and, one by one, cut out their silhouettes. When he was doing Timothy’s, he grinned and said in a low, dramatic voice, “Oh, oh! Spartacus!” We all had a good laugh.

Energized from both the panino AND a gelato from Gelateria Tre Fontane, we walked to the Spanish Steps. Nearby was a McDonald’s, so we decided to go inside because of its historical significance: it has been voted the most beautiful McDonald’s in the world AND it was the first McDonald’s to open in Italy (with the ensuing outrage launching the Slow Food Movement).

Truthfully, we went to McDonald’s for the bathrooms. Public restrooms in Italy require strategic planning. I could write an entire post on the public bathroom situation in Italy, but let us leave it there … in the bathrooms of the most beautiful McDonald’s in the world.

By late afternoon we were back at the hotel to rest and freshen up for our Walking Food Tour.

In planning our trip, I had booked several activities ahead of time and this walking food tour was one of them. Best. Decision. Ever. Organized by a company called Eating Europe, our Twilight Trastevere Food Tour involved six stops with food and an alcoholic beverage at each stop. As we walked from place to place, we learned some history of Trastevere and watched street entertainment.  We basically ate and drank for two and a half hours. It was one of the highlights of the trip.

At the end of the day, we were ready for bed. And because it was interesting to note, here were our stats for the day: we walked 32,393 steps (16.5 miles)!

 

Food Tour Menu and Stops

Carciofi alla giudia, a Jewish-style artichoke (twice fried but not greasy) and Prosecco at da Enzo

Two types of pasta—Amatriciana, Cacio e Pepe—with wine at Trattoria de Gli Amici

 

Suppli (classic Roman street food) w. beer at Checco Er Carettiere

(also called suppli’ al telefono because of the “telephone wire” effect when the melted mozzarella stretches when you take a bite)

Bruschetta w/ buffalo mozzarella accompanied by an Aperol spritz at Culto

Maritozzi, a soft brioche bun filled with cream. Comes from the word marito, or husband. According to Roman folklore, suitors used to hide engagement rings or small gifts inside the buns to propose to their future wives. 

Gelato at Fior di Luna

 

Speak to Me Sunday: The Damaged Cross

 This past Monday, late in the evening, we returned home from what was a fabulous family trip to Italy.

Tuesday morning, as I unpacked and placed all our souvenirs on the dining room table, my mother called with the news that on Sunday a dear and life-long family friend, Nicoletta, had passed away. I listened to my mother say the words, and my mind could not wrap around what I was hearing.

The suddenness of Nicoletta’s passing was shocking.

She was only four years older than me, the “big sister” to all of us at every Italian gathering.

And just like that, I went from profound joy to profound sadness. I closed the suitcases, ignored the souvenirs still wrapped in their pretty papers, and thought about our dear friend. My emotions were all over the place. Sad, but then a funny memory popped up and I was smiling. There were tears, but then laughter when my sister called to hear about our trip.

All day long, I waffled between emotions, which confused me. How could this be? How can a heart hold all these conflicting, diametrically opposed emotions? Happiness. Grief. Hope. Despair.

But then I was scrolling through the photos of our trip and came across one I took of Cimabue’s crucifix hanging in the Basilica of Santa Croce in Florence. In 1966, this crucifix (painted in 1275) was salvaged from the flood waters when the Arno River overflowed and flooded the city of Florence. The next morning a priest, entering the church in a rowboat, noticed flecks of paint floating on the water and realized they were from Cimabue’s crucifix. He gathered the floating specks, which were later used during the 10-year restoration process of the cross.

Today, the damage is still visible. There are watermarks and paint is missing. It is not perfect. And yet, despite the watermarks and missing paint, the cross is magnificent. 

So, back at home, re-living our travels and mourning the loss of a dear friend, I looked at this photo I took of Cimabue’s crucifix and was reminded that, yes, the heart can take it all. Christ’s outstretched arms, opened to sacrifice and love, remind us of this. It is not easy. It is not meant to be.

But life is like Cimabue’s cross in which all the broken, imperfect pieces make up a truly magnificent whole.

Rest in peace, dear Nicoletta.

Sights Unseen, Voices Unspoken

This week I witnessed a miracle. After a backyard devastated by Hurricane Helene in 2024, after a fence reduced to matchsticks and fifteen trees downed by the wind, after bulldozers and bobcats reduced our yard to mud and bare ground, after crews with chainsaws and axes cut and dragged trees, bushes, and grass …

after all that …

this week our daffodils bloomed.

They bloomed next to a stump of a massive tree that was felled by the hurricane, under which stands the statue of St. Francis, the only thing left standing in our backyard after the hurricane passed through our area.

Daffodils. Planted by Joe’s mother almost twenty years ago and which have bloomed every year since.

Daffodils. A reminder that what we see is not always the whole story, for despite the wreckage that we could see, there was something else happening … there … just underground … waiting for the right moment to emerge.

The daffodils also reminded me of my sweet nephew, Peter, and his journey with autism. For the first 16 years of his life Peter was completely nonverbal, but two years ago his parents introduced him to Spelling to Communicate, a method which espouses presumed competence; that is, presuming that all nonverbals already have the ability to spell. Suddenly, after 16 years of silence, Peter’s voice was heard through spelling.

It has been a beautiful thing to witness, and this week Peter completed his first high school course (which included studying Shakespeare’s MacBeth).

Since then, Peter’s parents (my sister and brother-in-law) have tried to introduce this communication method to others. They have sponsored several events at their church in Columbia whereby they bring in a trained therapist to come and work with families. Just yesterday, a young man with autism communicated for the first time, proving that he had a voice … that he was IN THERE. And after 31 years of silence, his family heard his “voice” for the first time.

Like a daffodil emerging from the earth, the Peter we thought we knew was not the whole story. There was so much more.

And although sometimes the whole story is hidden, or buried, or misunderstood, with time, patience, and faith, that which is hidden, buried, or misunderstood can (and will!) bloom ...

with miracles to witness and voices that sing.

Speak to Me Sunday: Polishing Silver

 “The best way to polish silver is to use it.”

That was one of the first lessons I learned four years ago when I started working part-time at Angevine’s Fine Silver & Gifts, and as someone who was getting a crash course on silver and flatware patterns, I appreciated the simplicity of that lesson. It was something I could share while maneuvering through the antique silver world: when a customer would come in to buy silver polish but was complaining about having to polish their Christmas silver, I could now say, “Well, you know what they say. The best way to polish silver is to use it.”

Simple. Helpful. Useful. True. And that simple phrase is pregnant with a life lesson.

Picture it. A pair of candlesticks, stored in a cupboard, hidden away and slowly turning a brown that is not rust, but rather a thin black layer of silver sulfide. All the shininess is lost, all the sparkle that makes that item special is gone.

To be sure, the shininess still is there, but it is buried, and the more time passes the harder it becomes to return it to its former shiny state. It takes time to buff and polish and wash, and when the effort becomes too overwhelming, the candlesticks are returned to the cupboard for next time. Except next time gets postponed to another next time. And so it goes.

The best way to polish silver is to use it may be more elegant than saying use it or lose it, but the sentiment is the same.  

So here it is January, bringing with it resolutions and brand-new beginnings riding on the coat tails of all the sparkle and shine from the holidays, as well as a reminder of  the paradox that the only way to keep something in working form—so we can continue to use it!—is simply to use it.

This is nothing new, nothing we do not already know, but somehow it is easily pushed aside. 

Which brings me to my one-word resolution, something I do every year. Just one word (or phrase) to provide focus, clarity, and direction in the new year. In the past, I have chosen words such as spontaneity, embrace, or pronto (“now” or “I am ready”).

But this year … this year my word is argento. The Italian word for silver.

Argento. To remind me to use the silver.

Argento. To encourage me to exercise my body, nurture my mind, explore my talents, grow in faith.

Argento. To remind me to stay polished.  

Speak to Me Sunday: The Gift of Again

Today, we put away Christmas.

We packed away the ribbons and tags; we stored away packages, boxes, and bags.

We basically undid everything we did a month and a half ago. All that fuss to prepare and just like that it is over. Next December we will repeat the process again.

As I watched all the vestiges of Christmas disappear, it dawned on me how much of life is comprised of repeated actions: decorate for Christmas, undecorate for Christmas; throw a load in the washer, and two days later another load goes in; rake the leaves, and do it again after a windy day; say “no” to a toddler, and repeat that one word for the next 18 years; go to church on Sunday, go to church EVERY Sunday. Then there are birthday celebrations, wellness checkups, New Year resolutions, good intentions, and yes, even mistakes. All done on repeat.

The pessimists of the world may see this as drudgery, that with the repetitions we are like Sisyphus in Greek mythology, doomed for all eternity to push a huge boulder to the top of the mountain only to have to repeat the process when it rolls back down again.

But by putting away Christmas, in repeating a process I will do again, I recognized it for what it was: the Gift of Again.

The life we live, in big ways and small, reflects and works in harmony with the seasons in nature, the cycles of the moon, the rising and setting of the sun, the liturgical seasons of the church, the passage of time. And between the bookends of birth and death, the Gift of Again allows us to see, breathe, taste, feel, and experience the same things, but in different ways.

What a precious gift to have the chance to relive and build upon. A moment to straddle yesterday and tomorrow and to merge the two for a more meaningful present.

So, I packed away the ribbons and tags, the packages, boxes, and bags. Again.

Hallelujah!

Thanks Giving, Giving Thanks

If you feed them, they will come.

While the statement makes me smile considering the happiness of my guys is in direct proportion to the contents of our pantry, a few years ago it became all the more meaningful as my husband and I prepared to host Thanksgiving for both sides of our family. It was a large gathering, which meant dining al fresco with long tables set with platters of food, a fire pit crackling nearby, an area designated for cornhole, and a backdrop of trees showcasing leaves of brilliant orange, red and yellow.

The day before Thanksgiving they began arriving from near and far, from Illinois, Virginia, Maryland, South Carolina, and Georgia. They came, our brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents, all representing a variety of professions: engineers, accountants, businessmen, a teacher, an information specialist, a personal trainer, a writer. Some were students in middle school, one was a high school senior, several were in college, and a few had recently graduated and had entered the work force. There was a beautiful boy with autism, a Papa who was 87 years old and who brought a homemade cherry pie, a Nonno who would soon get a brand-new knee, and a Nonna who brought her Italian heritage into this very American holiday by offering espresso with the pumpkin pie.

That was a lot of family, which meant a lot of chaos. While we are a cohesive group, we are still individuals with ideas, passions, and opinions; in other words, we do not agree on everything and, in fact, often have polar viewpoints on issues dealing with religion, politics, and world affairs. We are loud, opinionated, loving, and competitive, and not unlike families everywhere, it is not always perfect.

And yet, on that day it was, and fast forward a few years, it still is. Thanksgiving reminds us of this. In all the running around we do to live our lives, and despite all those things that make life messy and chaotic with work, politics, doctor’s appointments, sports practices, exams, and job interviews, it’s nice to have a day which the only thing that matters is sitting down and breaking bread together.

This year our gathering will be a little smaller, but again we are preparing hearth and home. We will pull out board games and wash guest towels and bake pies; we will keep fingers crossed for good weather and pray for sons driving home; and we will print out our family’s Thanksgiving prayer for everyone to read aloud. It is a special prayer, written by Lino Villacha, and my mother became pen pals with Lino through her best friend who was, for many years, a missionary in Brazil. Lino’s poem, Obrigado Senhor, is a prayer thanking God for his many blessings—and when you read his words in light of the fact that he suffered with leprosy and lived in poverty, it puts things in perspective.

In his poem, Lino thanks God for healthy limbs when so many are crippled; for a voice that sings when many are mute; for hands that work when so many have to beg; and for a home to return to when so many don’t know where they are going. And as we read the poem reminding us to celebrate what we have instead of focusing on what we do not, it is the last two lines which capture the essence of Thanksgiving: It is wonderful, Lord, to have so little to ask/And so much to be thankful for.

To which the only response for all of us holding hands around the table this Thanksgiving will be a heartfelt and very humble, Amen.