Waking up in Italy

Back in September, I took myself on a trip to San Remo, Italy. It was a most memorable solo-voyage, one I hadn't taken in what felt like a long time. I drove across the Italian border in my little manuel Citroën Saxo (a.k.a the little old car that could). I still remember the gorgeous view along the French Mediterranean coast as the soft sea breeze brushed against my cheeks and the late September sun warmed my skin. 

Today marks the 7th-year anniversary of my blog Garden Gallivanter. Seven years ago today I wrote my first post. No matter where I am year after year, I am always drawn to reflect on this day, to write to you. Luckily, (knock on wood) I've been able to write and have had access to internet to post every birthday year so far. Usually, I reflect on the year and on how I and this blog have grown. I hope to achieve the same thing, except, this year, to change things up a bit, I want to tell you about my trip to San Remo because it encompasses who I have evolved to be this year. Here is what I wrote from my hotel room:



September 18th, 2019
San Remo, Italy

I used to be scared to be wrong or to make a fool of myself, but now, being nearly 31 (OMG Really?!), I embrace my inner-fool. If we are afraid to be wrong or to make mistakes, we miss out on opportunities to learn and grow. I think it comes back to that concept of vulnerability. 

Brené Brown wrote in her book Daring Greatly,"Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, accountability, and authenticity. If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path."

Art along my stroll in the old city. 

This concept has been revolutionary in my life. I think part of it was forced upon me to be honest, forced in a good way, a little push perhaps is the better way to put it. Being an ex-pat, I’ve had to learn, and still learn, how to live in a foreign country. It’s not feeling as foreign anymore, but I still remember the days of google translating from French to English “I would like to send this letter to the United States, please.” Everyday tasks such as going to the post office was a little extra, extra scary, extra vulnerable.

Thankfully that learning curve has passed in France, but I continue to gain these little moments of “extra” just across the border in Italy. I am in San Remo, on the Italian Riviera, known as the Lingurian coast. It’s absolutely beautiful. I just drove across, past Monaco, past Menton, and somewhere after one of those toll booths I had crossed over to Italie.

My darling little hotel room. 

Gorgeous sea view from my hotel room. 

It’s been a few years since I’ve been in Italy. Living on the French/Italian border isn’t so bad. I feel like we are blessed with the best of both worlds. I decided to treat myself to a little work/play experience. I’ve been itching to travel, and this was plausible and I could do it independently. I wanted a new landscape to write and found just the perfect little hotel room to do just that. 

Just the view is inspiring enough and helps me get into character to finish our family memoir. It allows me to feel and sense the childhood home in Vietnam with ocean view as my Auntie Barbara tells me about and remembers so fondly. Jorris always reminds me that the Mediterranean is a sea and not an ocean, but it’s the same kind of atmosphere.

Coffee and computer in bed, sea view, a writer's kind of morning. 

It’s amazing how changing our physical space a little can create new space in our minds and spirit. It feels so good here, having time to myself, out of the daily routines and tasks. It’s so refreshing. I took myself out to dinner last night at the sweetest little tavern that was kind of in a shady area but so quaint with delicious homemade Italian foods and drinks. Did I think of Jorris, of course. I thought how much he would have loved everything. Nonetheless, it wasn’t a sad or longing kind of thinking of him. I had a wonderful evening out and could just people watch as I enjoyed every bite and sip of my meal in peace.

While strolling and shopping through the Mercato di San Remo, my senses were dazzled. The food portion of the market was gorgeous. Vibrant colors of red and yellow peppers, sun dried tomatoes, peperoncino and bruschetta spices, the colorful pastas, the fresh fish and octopus, and of course the huge rough and rustic blocks of Parmigiano Reggiano. I chose the one aged 36 mesi (months)! This one is the best, strong, rich. Just hearing a different language spoken and seeing different styles of clothing and people, just across the border, can be so enriching and recharging. I love being somewhere new and submerging myself in the unfamiliar.

Summer on a plate. Best sun-dried tomatoes I've ever tasted.

Goodies from the market, spices, pasta, polenta, Parmigianno.

To top it off I found some cute jewelry rom India and Nepal at this stand and also a cute little linen romper. The market also takes place outside with different vendors selling purses, dresses, jewelry and more. It’s a sunburst, bright yellow, so fun and spontaneous. I wore my new jumper and necklace out to dinner last night. But the most special outfit I put together was with my Grandma Ma's silk blouse. I had been waiting for the right occasion to wear the delicate and beautiful blouse. Wearing it in Italy seemed perfect. I felt like I brought Grandma with me on a night out in San Remo. 

Artful dessert at Taverna al 29

Travelling has always kept me on my toes and that’s one thing about it that I have always loved and grow to love more and more. For example, I had made a mistake at the car garage parking and didn’t know that you had to pay before exiting, so at the exit, I kept putting in my credit card, which kept getting rejected. There were a few cars behind me, so I began getting nervous to make people wait. I pushed the intercom help button and in English said I need help and the voice yelled some nonsensical words back to me in Italian and hung up! So what do I do now I thought?

I stepped out of my car and asked the man behind me in half Italian/half French...my brain keeps going back between the two. It’s been many years since my study abroad days in Firenze where I knew basic Italian, but some words have come back.

“Scusa,”(Italian for excuse me) I said to the man, standing at this window.. “c’est marche pas” (French for it’s not working). Luckily, he was French and said, “Il faut payer avant en haute,” (you have to pay in advance up there). His wife was in the passenger seat and quite annoyed that my little saxo and ignorance was blocking their way out. She said in French something like you can back up in that space there and not block us; there are cars trying to get out. The old me would have felt sad or been offended, or upset, at her tone of voice. But I came from such a place of compassion and right away thought to myself she’s just probably hungry, tired of the market, or they have lunch reservations somewhere. I didn’t react to her comment. I didn’t take it personally, and while it was an awkward situation and I felt nervous for 2 cars waiting for me, I just backed up, found a new parking spot, and found the little machine to pay which was upstairs and then returned downstairs to my car and then I was able to exit.

Wearing Grandma Ma's blouse for a night out. 

Soft, silky and I felt all of her good energy.

Overall, Italians are welcoming and it’s been lovely, though I’ve been yelled at by passing vespas and other cars. I don’t know if it’s because I’m driving too slow or if I’m breaking some sort of traffic rule...or both. I did accidentally drive the wrong way in a parking lot and an oncoming car shook her index finger at me. But it’s all good and while it doesn’t feel good to be yelled at in a language you don’t understand, I’m forgiving and understanding to myself that I am new around this neighborhood and need to drive slowly and look for streets, etc. I am also learning to drive with European traffic signs...and a stick shift; so in the bigger picture, even though it may look like I’m “failing” on the roads here, I’m succeeding so much in life! Growing up I did not drive a manuel, but I’ve learned! And we don’t have roundabouts really in the states like here, so learning how to drive through those has been quite a feat for me.

“There is no innovation and creativity without failure. Period.”

                                                        - Brené Brown

I feel so liberated and grateful to be in this space of no fear. I’m not afraid to fail anymore. In fact, I embrace it wholeheartedly. This is huge for me because upon reflecting, as a kid I was terrified of being wrong or failing. I’m not really sure why because my parents were never hard on me or got mad at me for making mistakes. I suppose it was an inner fear. I was always afraid to be wrong in class and only raised my hand, (if that!) when I knew the answer was for sure right.

Favorite outfit with Grandma Ma's blouse. 

It feels wonderful to be shed of that skin of failure. I’m still scared of things of course! But, now I can laugh at my foolishness and relish in it even when cars drive past me and yell at me, or if my Italian is incomprehensible. Now I can just make reservations over the phone in Italian, without having it be perfect, and just trust that I still remember some Italian (with the help of google translate). If for nothing else, I do it because it challenges me; and it’s fun to speak Italian.

I used to be an all-or-nothing girl. The best and all of it or none of it. I’m much more flexible these days and just live by what feels good and right, with all the imperfections. Being a gardener and living in the countryside, I’ve grown to learn that even if a veggie or fruit looks imperfect (based on commercial standards), it is still a beautifully tasting veggie or fruit. In nature, rocks and trees, mountains, streams, are imperfectly perfect just the way they are. So, as an embodiment of Mother Earth, I too can be imperfectly perfect just the way I am. 

Dinner: Clam linguini pasta paired with a glass of white wine al fresco. 

I've grown to really enjoy time with myself. Strolling on the cobblestone streets of Liguria after a scrumptious clam pasta dinner with a nocciola gelato in hand could easily become a new tradition for me. I will cherish these memories and this me-trip for years to come. Knowing that Jorris is always there for me, but that I am always there for me too, has been revolutionary new-found knowledge. I feel like this new independence, self-knowing, prepares me for something great to come. The relationship we have with ourselves might be the most important before any other relationship in our lives. This year I've learned to nurture and listen to my inner-myself, to speak up for my soul. Cheers to Garden Gallivanter and another year of writing. Thank you for being here, for reading and sharing in my life. The honor is mine. 31, here I come! 

Old City, San Remo, Italy

*photos by me.