To go is to come back and coming back means that we’ve gone. It’s simply a matter of relativity. Our latest comings and goings involved Italy—a land we’ve ventured to before, but never as far south.

            Once out of the crushing crowds of Florence, I found Tuscany to be quite similar to what is depicted in films and pictures. Beautiful evergreen landscapes of grapevines, olive trees, and vegetable gardens. Kent and I enjoyed long walks through the countryside, passing through vineyards and olive groves. This aspect was very peaceful.

           However, driving a rental car in this foreign place was not serene at all. The Italians have an entirely different approach to the roadway than I have. Sorry, but quick acceleration, hard braking, honking, and swerving around other parked or moving cars are not my idea of fun. It was stressful to say the least.

            Unlike here in our country, there were not the throngs of unhomed people occupying public spaces. I’m thinking that they must do a much better job of taking care of them than we do. And the terrible trash and litter issues that we have here were not visible anywhere we were. Recycling bins were commonplace in all the villages. They also have a well developed mass transit system which we would be wise to emulate. Just the facts.

            Visiting other cultures can help give us a larger, more inclusive perspective which often promotes a more open mind. For instance, their method of labeling streets (or no signage at all) was foreign to us. Go figure. It forced us to concentrate more on where we were. While the simple act of everyone saying, “Bonjourno” or Ciao” whenever we passed others, lead to genuine friendliness with strangers.

            Later, we stayed at an agriturismo, a working farm that puts you up—kind of like a hostel, but with private rooms. We were there for a week and hiked daily, traipsing the rugged cliff-edged trails along the Amalfi Coast. Miles and miles and hours and hours. And yes, we definitely had tired legs by the end of each long day. The scenery was absolutely fantastic: garden terraces; thousand-foot drops to the sea; herds of goats being shepherded along steep mountain trails while announcing their whereabouts with tinkling bells hung around their necks; donkeys hauling heavy loads of sand, rock, and wood as the only available transport along the rugged paths… Here, dwellings still have to be built slowly by hand, utilizing only this ancient mode of portage. No roads or big trucks. So much for building a house within a scheduled timeframe. Quality takes time.

            There is a saying: Americans think one hundred years is a long time, but Europeans think one hundred miles is a long way.

            On that cliff-sided terrain the people who live there make use of every square inch of space to grow their produce. The rich volcanic soil overlying the limestone has been fertile for centuries. And even in the more metropolitan areas they have far less wasted spaces than we do. Smaller roads, far less paved parking places, and tiny cars and delivery trucks allow for more economical use of space.   

            One time, while Kent and I were walking ahead of the group, I pointed out a conglomeration of buildings nestled above the glittering bay below.

            “These villages sure blend in nicely, don’t they?”

            He agreed.

            They don’t stand out like gleaming eyesores that seem to propagate and take over our American landscapes. They’ve been built to last, with natural materials that both meld into the environment as well as survive throughout the centuries. We were awestruck again and again with the prominence of beauty and simple utilitarianism, alive and flourishing in this age-old culture. Why couldn’t we try to emulate at least some of these concepts so as not to lose so much artistry simply for the sake of speedy profits or convenience?

          If nothing else, this kind of adventure into less familiar territory has helped me to see how insignificant we really are. No one way is the only right way. Forcing myself out of my comfort zone, at least once in a while, can offer far-reaching benefits. Expanded appreciation and understanding is often a natural byproduct of such experiences. Try it! You may or may not like it, but it helps us grow in ways we might never have expected.

Chi Varnado has published six books including fiction, nonfiction and children’s books. They are available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com or www.dancecentrepresents.com.