Sei Settimane

Settling-in at the six-week mark

A giant pot of water roiled on the stovetop.

This simple act occurs, what, every other minute in Italy? Yet, in my house it kicked-off a celebration. We hadn’t cooked pasta in a kitchen of our own since moving out mid-June. We knew back in May that it would take time to settle into our appartamento vuoto (completely empty apartment) and design a whole new life from scratch – everything and the kitchen sink – but still, two and a half months is a long time to improvise.

The fornellino (mini stove) that served us since Day 2 is now on Marketplace for €20,00. Our awesome tuttofare (handyman, literally “everything do”) tightened the last screws of our IKEA installation and by that evening my wife’s vodka sauce made its Verona debut on fresh gnocchi. Proper pots and pans arrived the next day. We’d been operating with dollar-store buys and a giant pot we found on the street and gave a good scrubbing.

That little camp stove rendered trout beurre blanc and a feast of tiny clams, but it could not sear a flank steak or boil pasta. Instead, I cooked bigoli¹ in a shallow pan. It’s a technique I learned from an Italian, whereby the pasta soaks up that gluten-dense water, adding richness. Extra mouthfeel is great and all, but our longing wasn’t simply for appliances. We missed that communal hub of our nest, the choreography of family meals when there’s a place to prep, chop, and vibe together. Now, finalmente, the heart of our home has been successfully transplanted from Virginia to Verona.

I love that moment of strategically placing shelf pins into empty holes on a cabinet. Tall shelves for the colander and salad bowl. Squat ones for jars of artichokes, cans of tomatoes, and tinned fish. Having just decommissioned one house, thoughtfully stocking another is a blessing. But with caveats. Honeymoon phase of Verona doesn’t wipe away the taste of over-consumption, a lingering bitterness from excessive accumulation and waste. Until further notice, every tote bag returning home heavier than when it left is subject to scrutiny and search by the Enough Police.

And for good reason. The last time I had a kitchen is also the last time I had a paycheck and watched balances move in both directions. Lately, it’s a one-way street. I was one click from applying for a part-time barista job on Indeed.it this week. I may still do it for pocket money as soon as I finish translating my CV into Italian.

Let’s get y’all caught up.

Sure, there was Ferragosto (a national mid-summer break), but the main reason for this longer stretch of silence is the sheer volume of particular steps required to officially set-up shop in Verona before Julian starts school on September 10: registry with the Comune, Italian ID cards, a tax code for my wife. First thing one morning, the buzzer rang and Amy Lee peeked out the window. “The police are at our door.” Here came a motorcycle officer of the Vigili Urbani, local law enforcement, in his dark blue uniform with handsome white belt and holster to confirm our residency.

Another reason for the pause, to be honest, is that I short-circuited for a few days.

At some point, I’m washing dishing in Italy! flipped to I’m washing dishes in the bathroom sink! Late-night intrusive thoughts swept in like street noise. I miss the scent of my children. What have I done? My mood soured until I did what I know works. Get into nature and breathe. I meditated, jumped on my bike, and by the third or fourth ride I felt like myself again. The continuing work of landing didn’t stop, but my energetic reserves and enthusiasm returned. With my Sagittarius battery recharged, I navigated bureaucracy for my wife’s Permesso Soggiorno², peaked into the housewares and hardware stores for kitchen tongs and clothespins, bought due cappuccini, un baccello di vaniglia (single vanilla bean), and a head of lattuga foglia di quercia rossa (red oak-leaf lettuce). You can actually do all of that on the same block just across Ponte Nuovo bridge in the hip Veronetta neighborhood.

ettogrammo: lo sfuso alimentare in Veronetta – farm goods sold in bulk without packaging.

Anyone coming in February for Winter Olympics³ should bookmark that block. Speaking of… I’ll be launching a Treasures of Verona list soon. Stay-tuned if you want the goods on where to go in Verona for everything from gelato and parco di gioco (playgrounds) to great bottles of Garganega under €4.

We’ve made our first excursions. Sacile⁴ is a delight for an easy getaway. With Ferragosto in full swing, smaller towns were shutdown to tourists, but that made for quiet adventures on lazy bike rides into the nearby mountains. (I say “lazy” but one of the climbs reached an absurd 29% grade.) We got Amy Lee an adorable red Zanchi city bike with cushy white seat, basket, and bell. Julian sized-up into a 24-inch mountain bike. A surprise turn into the village of Polcenigo ended up the highlight of our jaunt. The jaw-dropping emerald grotto of Sorgente del Gorgazzo⁵ is a sacred natural spring with numbingly cold crystal clear waters of a color that mortal words cannot name. I learned (before plunging straight in, thankfully) that it’s the deepest cave in Italy and a place for reflection, not swimming. In certain light, as on this occasion, you can spot the statue of Christ placed by the Comune some nine meters (29 feet) down into the chimney of the cave.

An Italian geographer said this of the spring in 1877:

Prendete il colore dello smeraldo,
quello delle turchesi, quelli dei berilli,
gettateli in un bagno di lapislazzoli,
in modo che tutto si fonda
e ad un tempo conservi l’originalità sua propria
ed avrete quella porzione di cielo liquido
che si chiama il Gorgazzo.

Take the color of the emerald,
that of turquoises, that of the beryls,
throw them in a bath of lapis lazuli,
so that everything merges
and at the same time retains its own originality
and you will have that portion of liquid sky
which is called the Gorgazzo.

– Giovanni Marinelli

My dream for an Italian bicycle predates arrival here and even my citizenship. Cycling pals left me swooning with tales of old country workmanship, design, and story. After years of daydreams, I didn’t know the brand or color I’d end up with, but I knew the experience that I wanted: make a bond, not a purchase. We booked an agriturismo in Sacile around me collecting new wheels at X-Zone Bike, an off-roaders’ mecca in Tavagnacco just north of Udine in the foothills of the Friulian Alps. From there, they outfitted me on a Colnago G4-X Gravel Bike in Ice Blue. I’ve named her Marina after my great-grandmother and the color.

Here’s where that Will Guidara Unreasonable Hospitality mentality shows up yet again in Italia. After taking up hours with the proprietor, Andrea, and staff who didn’t mind one bit of my exuberance in slow, broken Italian, it came time to settle up. Days of domestic spending put my bank on notice and they flagged this transaction with a fraud alert. Once, twice, a third time on a second machine flashed “declined.” It left me embarrassed and stressing the minutes remaining to bike this baby seven kilometers back to the train station. Andrea came around the counter and put a hand on my shoulder. “Tranquillo,” he said, wrote down his bank info and told me to transfer the funds later. Then, he slipped my bike into his car and dropped me to the station just in time.

Favorite Italian yoga pose: strollasana

Kindnesses like this abound. Days later, the neighborhood bike shop tightened a bolt that required a special wrench and then waved me off when I tried to pay. “Domani, domani,” he said. (Tomorrow, tomorrow.) Later in the week, during a trail run along the Adige, I dipped into the river but didn’t re-zipper my backpack afterward. The house keys fell out and I didn't notice until way down the trail when I stopped to pick wild blackberries. My fitness watch tracked just how fast I booked it back to the river’s edge where a dad and young son waved at frantic me. “Le chiavi perse?” Si! They’d found my lost keys and pointed to them hanging on a nearby post.

None of these moments should be shocking, but the ubiquity of Good Samaritan’ing just reinforces the easy vibes here. On the way back to Verona from that Sacile excursion, Jules found someone’s phone. Inside the case were family photos and a five-Euro note. Instead of turning it into Trenitalia Lost & Found and hoping for the best, we held onto it. The next morning, a dad called from Venezia about his daughter’s lost device. Hours later, we handed it off with pix and cash intact and it felt like a win for humanity.

Sorgente del Gorgazzo… look for Cristo down deep on the right.

Life isn’t burrata and ripe heirlooms all the time for anyone, but I’m going to focus on more beautiful happenings of these past weeks.

Veronese poet Dottoressa Barbara Anna Gaiardoni stumbled upon L’Avventura and pinged me. The next day, we rendezvoused under the statue of Dante, in Piazza dei Signori, which I can see from my balcony. For ninety minutes, we conversed on poetry, art, education, community, and wine. By the end, she shared a book of local children’s resources for Julian and two homespun ‘zines of her specialty, haiku. We embraced as new friends. She spoke almost no English and I returned home with my shirt soaked through from the mental exertion of keeping up.

Then, two more new friends. Looking for a coffee table on Marketplace, we found a rad design by local artisans, Tavolino a forma di musicassetta. A small table in the form of a classic cassette tape! What we didn’t know was that they’re made to order like a fine risotto. The production time afforded us an opportunity to banter and build rapport. A darling couple arrived to deliver the . Silvia introduced Marco as her fidanzato and I exclaimed “Congratulazioni!” thinking they’re engaged. Their puzzled faces told me I’d missed the mark. They explained that fidanzato means someone with whom you’re living, but not necessarily marrying. Then they chuckled, made eyes, and said, “Forse un giorno.” (Maybe one day.)

Once they parked the table in its new spot, I invited them to stay for an aperitivo. Our first guests! What joy as I peeled price stickers from new stemware and poured the wine. Sipping Soave and noshing taralli on the balcony with our fresh tavolino in the living room felt like sparking the pilot light for entertaining in our new home.

The clouds, the crowds, the gothic splendor! My favorite view continues to be the one right outside our living room window.

Around the block, there’s a men’s shop. I peeked in with a pair of linen pants that need mending and the striking young clerk told me that the tailor was on holiday. I used my best verbs to explain that I’d come to Verona with a number of suits precisely so that I wouldn’t end up blowing rent money on bespoke threads that I covet but definitely do not need. He laughed and invited me to their upcoming autumn fête when they’ll debut the fall line with wine and snacks. This is why I need that barista gig.

With summer heat still afire here, we’ve revisited that wading pool regularly. Amy Lee and Jules were on their own and met a couple road-tripping from his family in the Alps to her family in Croatia. Sebastiaan and Mirta, along with two dogs that they wore like toddlers. Instant pals, we ended up sharing dinner and midnight rooftop cocktails overlooking the Arena and a waxing gibbous moon. There’s an osteria directly beneath us and a trattoria close enough across the way that you can read their menu from our bedroom window. At Il Vicoletto Trattoria, we ordered our first piatti tipici (typical dishes) and discovered several Veronese specialties⁶: Tartare di Scottona al Coltello, Gnocchi Fritti e Prosciutto Crudo di Soave, Baccalà Mantecato e Polenta. For entrees, Amy Lee reveled in the best Carbonara she’s ever had, Jules dove into his new favorite – Bigoli di Pasta Fresca all’Anatra – and I fell into bliss over Gnocchi di Patate con Pastissada de Caval.

That 29% grade is worth the climb. Only 1 more mile to the emerald grotto!

And thus it goes here.

It’s a city where people look up and walk slowly. I’ve never seen so much handholding. Biking home in the rain, I saw a young couple kissing. She held a bouquet of flowers. Along the river, I saw a man on horseback gallop through fields where the corn had just been harvested. In another denuded cornfield, a man carried an armful of ears he’d gleaned after the machines passed. I’ve eaten wine grapes off the vine and barely-bruised green apples from the ground.

Is it Verona or is it the Verona Effect, the newness of this place dazzling my neurons like fuochi d’artificiali (fireworks)? Some of both, of course, but it’s working. From the simple… walking into the supermarket for three AAA batteries and walking out with two A+ bottles under €10. To the sublime… a perfume of fallen figs splayed like sunbathing nudes on hot cobblestones. The sweet waft of petrol from Vespas chugging up to Valpolicella. That copse of Cyprus trees on a hilltop stacked with beckoning agriturismi. At this very moment, not a hundred meters out my window, a soprano is belting out arias from the Italian opera canon. Haters will say it’s not the light of reality, but the prism of tourism.

I guess it comes down to this. Are you washing dishes in the bathroom sink or are you washing them in Italy?

44 days in Italia.

Want to see more? I’ll be posting videos to paid subscribers this coming week. I hope you’ll join the adventure!

1. Important local pasta shape like a super thick spaghetti. It’s extruded through a bronze die that leaves a rough surface to hold Veronese horse ragù perfettamente.👌

2. Jules and I are Italian citizens and only have to register for residency, but Amy Lee needs special permission to stay beyond her Visa. It’s an appropriately complicated process and we’re right on track for her to get the full green light come November.

3. 2026 Olympic Winter Games: February 6-22, Milano Cortina. Closing Ceremony at L’Arena, the Roman amphitheater, in Verona. https://milanocortina2026.olympics.com/en

4. Northeast of Verona. Under two hours by train. https://www.visitsacile.it

5. https://explorerfvg.com/luoghi/en/laghi/sorgente-del-gorgazzo/

6. Tartare di Scottona al Coltello: meat from a young female cow that’s never given birth is finely cut by hand, not ground, and served raw. Gnocchi Fritti e Prosciutto Crudo di Soave: the Veronese version of a Virginia Ham Biscuit – fried large gnocchi act as the potato roll, which you then fill with local prosciutto. Baccalà Mantecato e Polenta: creamy emulsion of stockfish (an unsalted dried cod) and oil served on a crunchy toasted polenta crostini. Carbonara: creamy Roman pasta dish with crispy guanciale/pancetta, Pecorino romano, eggs, and black pepper. Bigoli di Pasta Fresca all’Anatra: Fresh bigoli with duck ragù. Gnocchi di Patate con Pastissada de Caval: Potato gnocchi with a richly spiced ragù of horse meat slow-cooked in red wine.