Takeaways from My Throwback Trip to Italy

To be honest, I expected our trip to Italy to be similar to others (Hawaii, Canada, Alaska, etc.) in that I would go, it would be enjoyable, I would make some memories and, in the end, I’d call it good and then go on with life. But it was oh so much, much more than that! When our 16-day trek came to an end, I’d developed some definite takeaways.

I Never Realized I Didn’t Know I Had Been Missing Something So Much

Have you ever done something you haven’t done for a long, long time, but once you do it, you then realize how much you missed it? That’s happened several times over my life. For example, I rode a unicycle as a kid and into college but then it went into storage when we had kids. But when they got older, I bought a new unicycle and two of my kids learned to ride it, which rekindled my desire.

There’s also hockey. I’d played a lot of street hockey when I was a kid in Canada and then some inline hockey in my twenties. Just a couple of weeks before my 40^th birthday, I took up men’s rec league ice hockey, which kicked off a great eight-year run. It was so great to play again. Hockey is unlike any other sport.

Softball was similar. I started playing men’s city league when I was 14 and continued into my college years. Like the unicycle and playing hockey, softball went on the back burner because of work and family responsibilities. However, 20 years ago, a friend recruited me and I’ve been playing ever since, even into my 60s.

And then there’s Italy. This was not just an activity like the aforementioned. It was an 18-month chunk of my life. I was called as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to serve in the boot and Sicily in 1982-83. Over that time, I learned a lot about God and Jesus Christ, Their church, a different culture, its people, its food and made many friends. And along the way, I learned a lot about myself. A lot!

Returning to Italy, I simply was not prepared for the strong feelings that would resonate within me. Being there stirred a ton of emotions – anticipation, nostalgia, excitement, happiness, joy and many memories. It just felt so right to return to a country that had changed in some ways but remained the same in so many others. I reveled to be there. What I didn’t realize is that Italy was still a part of me and I will always be a part of it.

Love for the Italian People

Simply put, Italians have a love of life. They live their day-to-day lives with enthusiasm, vigor and passion. You see it in how they speak, how they treat others, how they prepare and eat meals, and even in the crazy way they drive. They are all in! On this trip, I met so many genuine people who were interested in us and treated us like friends, if not family. I admire them for that and will try to adopt some of those character traits. The bottom line is I love the Italian people!  

Love of the Language

I was never an class-A linguist as a missionary. I mean, I could speak it. I could understand it. And there certainly is something special about learning to speak the language of another country while being there. I admit that I did not prepare nearly as well as I should’ve for this trip. I did listen to Italian in the weeks leading up to it but I could’ve done much more.

But what happened in Italy, to be honest, was amazing. I was shocked at the transition that took place. At the beginning, I would hear a word or phrase, try to translate that into English in my brain so I could understand, and then I’d struggle to conjure up the appropriate Italian words and/or vocabulary to formulate a coherent response. I felt, and probably sounded, like a third grader. Yet as time passed, something unexpected happened. My brain would hear a word or phrase and then automatically understand what was being said. And just that quickly, practically automatically, I responded. I mean I actually became mostly fluent again. It was so cool. No, it was more than that. It was joyful and fulfilling! And to communicate with this Italian people that I love in their language on their home turf, especially when they continually expressed surprise and admiration again and again at such an ability for a couple of Americans, was a blessing. I’m sure that Ron would agree, especially since he prepared much more diligently and spoke and understood a heck of a lot better than I did.      

Love for the Food

Now this, I knew was coming! I grew up very much a meat and potatoes, casserole, bread and milk kind of kid. While planning this trip, I had in my mind the many Italian foods I wanted to eat and set out on a quest to check each box, which I did. And the flavors? Well, Italian food just can’t be beat. Perhaps it’s the freshness or the spices or the cheeses. All I know is each bite was a treat. Though difficult to differentiate and quantify, below are a list of my “bests” of the trip.*

(*I'm totally open to debate and am easily persuadable.)

Best breakfast treat - cream-filled pastry in Siracusa

Best pasta (part I) - paccheri with crispy bacon, cherry tomatoes & pecorino cheese - Catania 

Best pasta (part II) - cacio e pepe - Roma

Best pizza - five cheese (mozzarella, Vastedda del Belice, gongonzola, parigiano Reggiano
& Ragusano) - Agrigento

Best side dish - bruschetta & pickled zucchini - Peschici

Best on-the-go treat (part I) - arancino in Catania

Best on-the-go treat (part II) - fresh-squeezed orange juice - Catania

Best drink - aranciata - available everywhere

Best gelato - pineapple & cannolo in a brioche - Monreale (although the milk chocolate-peanut butter combo & the many, many lemon gelati I pounded down are right there too)

Gelato photo placed here just to make you drool

Best granita - lemon granita from La Vera Liome Granita - Agrigento

Best sandwich - flatbread with mozzarella and prosciutto - Rome

Best on-the-go meal - Panzarotti, arancini & aranciata - Bari (because I ate it a million times as a missionary and I still love it)

Sharing Italy with Lori

It can be life-shaping to experience something yourself, but it’s better when you can share it with others. That, in essence, is why I wanted to be a missionary – so I could share what I believed with others. Sharing this trip and all Italy has to offer with Lori was just so fun and fulfilling. The funny, and perhaps most ironic thing, is we talked about Italy during our first-ever extended conversation before we even began dating. We were students at Brigham Young University and shared a sociology course together. While walking home from class one day, I mentioned that I served a mission in Italy and wouldn’t mind going back some day. “Maybe we could go there on our honeymoon there,” she joked.

Well, I loved showing her where I lived in Italy, the sites I saw, the type of people I interacted with and yes, the heavenly and succulent foods we ate. She also enjoyed being with the Italians on the streets, in businesses and worshipping with them on Sundays.

I love how she embraced it. Among other things, she created and checked each box in a personal Italian bucket list by sticking (at least) a toe in the three bodies of water that surround southern Italy – the Adriatic, Tyrrhenian and Ionian Seas. Shoot, given past studies in Spanish, she even picked up a bit of the Italian language while we were there.

Lori, the Warrior

The only downer, and it was a big one, was the Vespa incident on Lipari that left Lori with an injured left foot and on crutches. What we didn’t find out until after we got home was it resulted in two fractures in her left foot, plus two months on crutches. Still, during our trip, she soldiered on, made her way up and down Italy’s streets and didn’t let take away from where we went, what we saw, what we did or what we ate. And she did all this with a smile on her face. She was and is the perfect example of toughness, endurance, kindness and fun.

Sundays are the Best Days

I enjoyed each and every day we spent in Italy but I especially cherished Sundays. Of course, that’s really no surprise since I’m religious and I served as a missionary there. However, to gather with members of our church was exceedingly special. These good Italian folks live and practice what they believe, day-in and day-out, and do so despite living in a country dominated by another religion. Some of them were ostracized for doing so, yet they carry on faithfully, diligently and full of joy. Being able to sit with them, worship with them, sing hymns with them and feel their heartfelt testimonies was both moving and inspiring. I would love to visit all the congregations across the Puglia and Sicily!

Ron & April Smith = the Perfect Travel Companions

Like I stated earlier, It’s great to experience something yourself, but it’s better when you can share it with others. Sharing this trip with Ron and April Smith made it just so much more meaningful and memorable. And they fully welcomed us even though we kind of crashed their plans.

Of course, Ron and I go way back. In April of 1983, I had been in Italy about nine months when I became a senior companion and was transferred from Siracusa to Catania where Ron arrived as a wide-eyed “greenie” fresh from the United States. He probably didn’t know how much I needed him at that time. I needed a good example and a good fellow missionary to work with. Over my first nine months, I had a difficult missionary companion and some challenging circumstances that made transitioning from the U.S. to Italy, including trying to learn a new language, that much more difficult. Ron and I hit it off almost immediately. Those three or four months together with him were the best of my mission. We worked hard, laughed much and became good friends. We were (and are) a lot alike in a lot of ways.

We stayed in contact and decided to become roommates in the fall of 1984 at BYU. We even took an Italian class together. We were only together for one semester before he left me for April and marriage, a valid excuse, but again we had a good time. 

After we got home and our friends asked about our trip to Italy, we’d say, “We had a great time with our friends.”

“Friends? What friends?”

When I said we made the trip back with one of my former missionary companions and his wife, people said that must’ve made it that much more special. Yep, sure did. And that’s even though since college, Lori and I had only seen Ron and April once, and that was about four to five years ago, and then it was only for a few hours.

As missionaries back in the day, I was the senior companion. However on this trip, I felt much like Ron’s junior companion. And I liked it. He had better grasp on the language and his days of being wide-eyed were long gone. I also learned a couple of things about him I didn’t know before. Somehow Glendale, Utah, a small dot on the map in the southern part of the state, came up in conversation.

“Glendale? My family helped homestead that town,” he said.

“Wait! What? Really? So did mine,” I responded.

How did this never come up before? Sure enough, the old Smith Hotel, founded in 1927, with its front entryway right on the doorstep of Highway 89, smack dab in the heart of Glendale, was founded by his ancestors. I, too, have family that lived in Glendale for generations, just down the road from the Smith Hotel and throughout town. In fact, I still have relatives there today.

Secondly, his grandparents are from Helena, Montana, which is about 90 minutes from my house. Man, you think you know someone and then you learn even more.

What I do know is Ron is somebody I’ve already looked up to. I did as a young missionary. I did during our throwback trip. And I do today. Thanks Ron!

April 1983

 April 2023

And then there’s April. I knew her before I ever met her. Okay, I didn’t really know her but I knew and respected Ron, and I saw how her letters to him during our missionary days uplifted him. It wasn’t even two years later that I was honored to attend their wedding and stand next to Ron at their wedding reception.

A couple other things about April. She is the czar of travel. When bad weather, earthquakes and/or public transportation strikes popped up and altered our travel plans, we didn’t miss a beat because of April. She pulled up her phone, offered alternatives, purchased new tickets and we were on our way again, without missing a beat.

Then, there’s her laughter. Ron told us how their kids get the biggest kick out of April when she gets on a roll. We experienced that during a torrential downpour in Vieste. There we stood, the four of us, huddled under a balcony, watching a small river of rain water cascade down old stone steps, over our toes and downhill to Old Vieste below us. April lost it. She couldn’t stop laughing. And we couldn’t either.

Lastly, and most importantly in my book, is April’s big heart. You can feel it as she talked about friends, kids, grandkids and others. I also saw it in her actions, especially after the Vespa incident. She looked after Lori as she did one of her own children. Thanks April!

I Never Realized I Didn’t Know I Had Been Missing Something So Much (Part II)

Since we’ve been back home, I’ve eaten some “Italian” food, swapped Italy-related texts with Ron, April and Lori, purchased some of the same Fanta aranciata we drank in Italy, sang some hymns in Italian at church while everyone else sang in English, and I even listened to 90 straight minutes of Italian pop music the other day. Unlike other trips in my past to Hawaii, Canada, Alaska or wherever else, this one remains on my mind. Why? Because I am a part of Italy and Italy is a part of me.

Lori tells our friends, “Mark would go back to Italy in a heartbeat.” Yes, she knows me all too well. You better believe I would. ANDIAMO! (Let’s go!)  

Day 16: Arrivederci Italia

According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, "sad" is an adjective meaning affected with or expressive of grief or unhappiness. Yep, it was a sad day. Day 16. Our final day in Italy. Lori and I had a 12:40 p.m. flight out of Rome while Ron and April would follow suit later that night. But at least it started off in a good note. Out the door I went to a bakery where I purchased six goodies for breakfast.  

Already packed and ready to go, we said goodbyes to Ron and April and awaited Francesco's arrival down on the street. Unfortunately, it wasn't him who pulled up. Instead, it was his sister-in-law, Grazia (Grace). Still, like Francesco, she was very friendly. We chatted it up on the drive to the airport. Among other things, we talked about music - both American, which we heard a lot of during our trip, and Italian. When I was a missionary, I bought a cassette of Italian pop tunes that I listened to on and off over the years from Sanremo, an annual music festival held up north in a city by the same name. So I asked her if she had ever heard one of the songs I remembered, Lasciatemi Cantare, as I sang the chorus: Lasciatemi cantare. Con la chitarra in mano. Lasciatemi cantare. Sono un italiano. Or in other words, "Let me sing. With the guitar in hand. Let me sing. I am an Italian."

Grazia immediately said, "That's a classic," and before we knew it, we were singing it together.

The final drive out of Rome

I asked Grazia about one of my favorite Italian bands, I Pooh, if they were still around. She said Stefano D'Orazio, one of its historic members, passed away from coronavirus in 2020. (As a sidenote, I have always loved their song Bunoa Fortuna.) The bottom line is it was a most unexpected and yet way, way fun drive. Once at the airport, I emptied my wallet of my remaining euros. I was a little shy so I threw in an American 10-dollar bill and said arrivederci to my new friend, Grazia. 

The airport was a bit of a mad house. I went to the front desk and asked if we could get a wheelchair and here came that personal quality Italian service again. Once Lori had a seat, the attendant motioned us to the front of the line bypassing scores of people, she made a call and we again got an escort away from everyone else. 

The only bummer was in checking our backpacks through security, I somehow lost my sweet Sicilia-Italia hat.😢 I grabbed a flatbread sandwich and my final Fanta aranciata to pass some time. Before we knew it, we were seated on the plane to begin our 19-hour back-in-time flight.

 

As we lifted off and I stared out the window, I had a lump in my throat. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to get Lori home as quick as we could so she could get her foot attended to, but as we ascended higher and higher I felt a distinct sadness. Here I was leaving this country and people (and food) that I loved so much. And I was leaving it 16 days after never really thinking I'd get to visit it again in the first place.

The rest of the flight was, well, like any other flight. We landed in Amsterdam to switch planes. Unlike Italy, we didn't get the same hands-on attention that Lori needed. The attendant had us off to the side but never gave us the go ahead to board. As regular folks were getting on, I just said "let's go" and off we went. We definitely knew we weren't in Italy anymore when an appreciated but predictably bland boxed dinner was served.  

We watched movies and tried to sleep but basically endured the rest of our flight. One thing I had confirmed, since we flew over it, is Greenland is anything but that.

And so it was over. Not even seven hours after landing in the wee hours in Montana, I was back at work in my office. Perhaps a good way for me to sum up my feelings is to cue up Arrivederci Roma, a golden oldie from Dean Martin. I'd just change the title to Arrivederci Italia!

Arrivederci, Roma
Goodbye, goodbye to Rome

City of a million moon lit faces

City of a million warm embraces

Where I found the one of all the faces

Far from home.

Arrivederci, Roma

It's time for us to part

Save the wedding bells for my returning

Keep my lover's arms outstretched and yearning

Please be sure the flame of love keeps burning

In her heart

Arrivederci, Roma

It's time for us to part

Save the wedding bells for my returning

Keep my lover's arms outstretched and yearning

Please be sure the flame of love keeps burning

In her heart

Day 15: One Final Fling in Roma

We took an early morning taxi to the Palermo airport for our one-hour flight to Rome. It was impressive. Wait, more like it was amazing to see the way Italian airlines take care of those with special needs. Once we got Lori hooked up with a wheelchair, the special care kicked in. They took us aside and then shuttled us to a different part of the airport. Lori had her own escort, that wasn't me, who pushed her across the tarmac to a personalized panel truck. Once loaded, we were driven right up next to the plane, placed on a lift and entered in our own door as everyone else got on board on the other side of the plane. And just like that, we were good to go.

Once we arrived in Rome, the quality service continued. We watched as a funky and even better vehicle pulled up next to us on the tarmac. They rolled Lori off the plane and onto its elevated lift. A young girl named Sarah, who loved to speak English, took over as her personal escort. We dropped off our bags in a storage area for the day, Sarah wheeled us out front of the terminal where we met Ron and April, caught a taxi and back to Rome we went.

Once again, we found ourselves looking for a landing spot - one where we could eat - during Italy's mid-day shutdown. Luckily, we found a restaurant where we spent the next three hours sitting, eating, visiting and enjoying the laid-back Italian eating experience. They brought us some super thin "bread" as well as traditional Italian bread to start. They must have known we had a ton of time to kill because they were in no hurry to get our orders, which was absolutely fine. 

When the waiter did return, we ordered a grab-bag-of-an-appetizer of potato croquettes, fried rice balls with tomato sauce and cheese, fried mozzarella, stuffed olives, crab legs and zucchini flowers. 

Again, time passed but we didn't really care. We eventually did have the chance to request lunch. I ordered fettucine with porcini mushrooms. And yeah, it was tasty.

We ate, we talked, we ate, we laughed and enjoyed the afternoon. After spending the majority of our trip off the beaten path of Italy's most popular tourist locations, we knew we would be wading back into throngs of humanity for the rest of our last day in Rome. We caught a taxi that took us to the Colosseum. I had seen it, sort of, when I toured Europe after my mission in late 1983. But back then, it was late November, rainy, dark and cold for my first visit. 

What amazed me as we approached it was its sheer size. This thing was huge!

With a base of about six acres, the Colosseum was the largest ancient amphitheater ever built. It is 205 yards long, 170 yards wide with 80 ground-level entrances and its outer wall is 157 feet high. Funded in part by the plundering of the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem, construction began in 72 AD and concluded a mere eight years later. It could hold anywhere from 50,000 to 80,000 people and hosted a myriad of events including gladiator fights, animal hunts and even mock sea battles. Earthquakes and stone looters took their toll on the site over time but it stands and remains as one of the New Seven Wonders of the World.

A little gladiator in action just outside the Colosseum

The Colosseum grounds are about more than just the massive stadium. To the immediate west is Palatine Hill (see photo below) which was home to the rich and famous back in the day. Anybody who was anybody lived on Palatine Hill. But its place in history goes back much, much earlier. Ancient Roman mythology has it that a cave on Palatine Hill was the location where a she-wolf nurtured and raised Romulus and Remus, the twin brothers who eventually founded the city of Rome. Another popular ancient legend that happened on Palatine Hill was the slaying of Cacus, a fire-breathing giant who terrorized people living in the countryside, by the Roman hero Hercules. 

Between Palatine Hill and the Colosseum lies the Arch of Constantine. Built between 312 and 315, the Roman Senate commissioned the arch in honor of emperor Constantine after his victory over fellow emperor Maxentius. The arch went up in the location marked by the ancient route of Roman triumphs and was used as an example for the Arc de Triomphe in Paris and other similar structures around the world.

There had to be thousands of tourists around the Colosseum site but they were spread over a large area. That was going to change with our next stops. We tracked down a taxi and got into Francesco's car. As we made our way across town, we learned Francesco came from an ancestral line, so to speak, of transportation providers. His father was a taxi driver and his grandfather earned a living with a horse and carriage. We also quickly learned that Francesco was a kick in the pants who freely provided both tourist information and critique of his own town. 

I wasn't quick enough to get a photo of it but he pointed out the balcony where Benito Mussolini stood to declare Italy was joining forces with Germany in World War II. That was kind of ironic because this same day, April 25, was Italy's Liberation Day, a national holiday celebrating the day that an Italian resistance movement overthrew both Nazi Germany and the Italian Social Republic. 

I told Francesco that my grandfather, Thomas Vernon Holyoak (photo on left), landed in Italy with American Forces to assist with the liberation. He said, "Then we will celebrate our independence and your grandpa today." I always loved that I got to serve as a missionary in Palermo 40 years after Grandpa Vern served there and throughout Italy as a U.S. soldier. Grandpa was always a hero of mine.

As we continued our tour of Rome, Francesco drove us past another well-known but newer structure - the Victor Emmanuel II Monument - more popularly known as the Vittoriano (Victorian). It's a can't miss shrine that sits on Capitoline Hill in the symbolic center of ancient Rome. It was built between 1885 and 1935 in honor of the first king of a unified Italy. Ironically, Mussolini hosted many military parades there with the rise of Fascism, but after his overthrow, the monument was stripped of all its Fascist symbols. Today, it is home to the tomb of the unknown soldier. Francesco was blunt. "It's ugly," he said. "Today's kids love it but my grandmother hates it."

Our next "stop" was one of the best preserved buildings in all of ancient Rome - the Pantheon. We didn't actually stop and go in. There were so many people that they made up a moving mass. And Francesco drove about two miles an hour right through the middle of them. Built in about 125 AD, the Pantheon was originally a Roman temple but has served as a church the past 1,400 years. 

Lori's "hero," Francesco

That pretty much was a wrap for our tour-by-taxi. "Have you visited Trevi Fountain," Francesco asked.

"No," we said.

"WHAT?! You have to! No trip to Rome is complete without it," Francesco protested.

The meter was running on the taxi but we knew he was right. It's not like we could just come back in a week or so. Who cared what it cost. And so we continued on. Again, it was another slow motion drive but Francesco navigated it like a pro. As it came into view, I was urged to get out and take a couple of photos. 

Like so many others, I'd seen it on the big screen in several movies but in person it was just so dang big! At 80 feet in height and 160 feet wide, it's one of the largest and best known fountains in the world. Built in the 1700s, it's called Trevi because it sits at the intersection of tre viae (three streets). It's also the end of an revived aqueduct that served ancient Rome for more than 400 years.

When I got out, I asked Lori if she was going to come. No, she said she would stay behind in the taxi. Well, apparently Francesco would have none of that. He basically told her to get out and enjoy the experience. Lori later said she was so glad that she listened to him. According to legend, if you toss a coin into Trevi Foundation, that's means you will return again to Rome. (Note to Lori: Mark strongly believes in this legend!) So when I somehow saw Lori among the throngs, well, we had some coin tossing to do! And yes, she got a big kick out of it!

One estimate has it that visitors combine to throw 3,000 euro coins into Trevi Foundation every single day. Another estimate back in 2016 was that tourists tossed $1.4 million worth of euros into the waters over the course of the year. If you're curious, the money goes to help those in need.

It was such a fun afternoon, not just to see the sites of one of the world's most famous cities but to ride shotgun and talk Italian almost nonstop with Francesco. At one point, he turned and asked, "How is it that you speak Italian so well?" 

I told him that Ron and I were missionaries together back in 1983. 

"But that was 40 years ago," he said.

Again, I was both really surprised and yet so pleased how the language came back to me. I just didn't expect it but I sure did enjoy it. We had Francesco drops us off at our Airbnb, a modern apartment, for the evening, and made plans for him to pick us up the following morning for our trip to the airport. 

Lori needed an ice pack so we went out in search of a Farmacia but they were all closed because of the holiday. What we did find was a bag of frozen peas. We also found a gelateria. I texted Lori and we brought a gelato back for her. Of course, I ordered lemon, my final gelato of our trip. 

Walls of the old city on the left

Once back in the apartment, we spent our final evening with Ron and April playing cards and swapping memories. What an awesome, awesome trip! And to share it with them made it oh so much better!