Columbus discovered America. But, I ask you, doesn’t every American feel they have ”discovered” Italy from the moment they first wash up on her sunny shores? Of course, I’m being egocentric when I single out Americans. And, of course, I mean to include all us foreigner invaders from the Goths and Vandals right on down to whatever Ryan Air discount flight just landed this morning in Pisa. Italy seems to whisper its siren song in everyone’s ear. For me, it seemed like a personal revelation. The skies parted, the message was written there clear as a bell: Look at the art, taste that food, listen to the people talk, I have found the Promised Land. I think, like everyone, I assumed I was the only one shrewd enough to fully appreciate Italy for what it is really worth. But, if you look around at the crowds trying to get in the Uffizi or book a room in Venice during Carnevale you realize, it is a secret we share with a whole lot of other wide eyed tourists.
Yes, I know. I may be preaching to the choir here.
I read somewhere a scientific explanation for part of Italy’s eternal charm and magnetism. The light really IS different in Italy. Thing DO look different there. It turns out we are wearing a natural version of rose colored glasses when we are in Itly. The working hypothesis of the book, as I recall, was that the Mediterranean is a relatively dead sea. Sorry if that seems harsh and un-romantic, but look at the ocean at a beach in Maine, for example. It is black and forbidding looking. That is because the Atlantic is chock full of seafood, seaweed, fish and marine life. The Med is comparatively empty. But, an incredibly pretty shade of blue. The whole empty basin is a giant solar reflector, picking up and reflecting the color of the sky. And the lovely Italian peninsula is stuck like a long, skinny pier, out in the middle of that pond. So, the light over Italy is refracted from the water on all sides of it in an actual, unique sort of way. And that affects what we see and how we see it and maybe it even reflects somewhat on the famously sunny Italian personality.
A couple weeks ago, I saw a note in the Boston Globe about dream travel destinations. A question had been posed, and it was: Where in the world would you go, if money were no object at all? According to the survey, done by an affiliate of Expedia, Italy would be in the All Time Top Three Ultimate Destinations. Hawaii and Australia were right in there, too.
But consider this evidence as well: There are two new long-awaited books coming out right now. One is by Jonathan Harr. You may remember that 10 years ago he wrote his first big, successful book ”Civil Action”. Since then, he has published nothing at all but was evidently searching around for a new subject and came up with his real life mystery/adventure ”The Lost Painting”. It is the story of a famous Caravaggio that had been misplaced for a couple centuries.
The other author, John Berendt, was also a first time author when he published his wildly successful ”Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil” (272 weeks on the New York Times Hardcover Bestseller List!) a decade or so ago. Loved his casual, bemused, fly on the wall, observational style. His new book, like Harr’s is also somewhat of a real life mystery. It is called ”The City of Falling Angels” and it goes behind the scenes of the famously, devastating fire at the Fenice Opera House in Venice.
I’m not really ready to do book reviews of either of them, as they just came out. But the subjects attract me and I’ll probably get both of them this weekend. The point is, that both Jon and John were first time, out of the box literary stars. And what was the first thing they did when they could? Well, sure. They did the first thing any right thinking person would do: they took off for Italy and used writing the next great novel as an excuse to hang around for a few years ”doing research”.
Can you blame them?
NY, NY— Let’s see, how can we contort being in the Big Apple for the Country Music Awards into something Italian? Could be tricky. No. Wait. I think I see an opening. OK . . . how about this: we stayed at the Michelangelo Hotel and saw works by the real Michelangelo at a gallery? 
As you enter Zak’s domain in the fourth floor Salander library, the first thing you come to is a Cellini sketch. And a signed letter from old Benvenuto, himself. In the totally, non-public reference library! I guess I can, make this about Italy. Yes. Yes, I can. 
SHOW ME SOME STARS
Ok, Hint One. Hey, the bulk of us are not immigrating when we go abroad. It is just a trip for heaven’s sake. Are we going to places totally without stores? Well, I hope not. But, you would never know it from the freezer-sized pieces of luggage I see so many people checking in. I hope my daughters are both reading this. The stuff they will bring for a weekend should come by truck or cargo ship containers. But anyway, I’ll just say it: I hate waiting for bags to come off the carousel after a long trip. Only thing worse? When they don’t come off the carousel and you have to go describe your precious cargo and hope it really does eventually arrive and they really do bring it to you, before your vacation is over. But the waiting is wearisome. And your mind is racing as you are pacing. How long will the taxi lines be? Will all of these people be cueing up ahead of me? Will my ride wait for me? Will the last bus come and go while I am cooling my heels here? Customs. Look at the line growing over there. 
So. I take one small, but light and efficient, wheeled suitcase. End of story. One. After a lot of false starts and inopportune choices, mine now happens to be this vaguely purple one from L.L. Bean. We ARE from Maine, afterall. Yes, this is not an ad. Think they probably have plenty of business as it is. But this is a nice bag. We have actually got plenty of dumb bags at Beans, as well. This just doesn’t happen to be one. This one works. Light, simple, efficient. Typical, wheeled bag big enough, or actually, small enough to qualify as carry on. 
FLIGHT JACKET? GO AHEAD: PICK A POCKET, ANY POCKET.
PANICALE, UMBRIA— Today’s fun was hanging with a group of Australians in the piazza. Saw Emma and Luca going by after church let out and finally got to meet ”la contessa” Luca’s cool, Mamma from Sarzanna. Our table is positively full of Sunday morning Prosecco drinkers, . . . and . . . here comes reinforcements! Oops. One hits the ground. Aldo? Dropping a glass? Later, instead of letting him clear off the tables we decided to be really helpful and brought our glasses in with us and Wiley tumbles one. Here comes the broom again. Aldo laughs and sweeps us all toward the door — Everyone go home to lunch! Please. Which we all, obediently, do.
Early evening, the weather still grand, we took a lap around town, took a couple sunset photos of the town. Happens every time. We walk, we get thirsty. We end up at Aldo’s where he pours us some drinks as we lean on the polished metal bar. Fresh squeezed combo of orange and grapefruit juice only, I promise! Finally, the crowd has died down and it is just us. And Aldo is in his cups. In quiet moments he is washing up a lifetime of Sunday coffee cups, when one jumps straight up out of his hands and does a suicide swan dive onto the hard, cruel floor below. Not again. What can we say? It has been a funny, full moon kind of day. Well, funny unless you happen to be one of Aldo’s coffee cups or Prosecco glasses, of course. And I guess you would have to say, it been a smashing day for them, too.
Does every American, with kids, know these books? Well, we did. But the Italians didn’t. Not even the one sitting beside me who actually had a real live Calabrian Strega Nonna in her family. But she was soon trading emails and business cards with Wiley and making plans for meeting the next week to film an interview and have yet more Witchy Woman fun. And fun we were having. And then the food starting coming. And coming. The most excellent wine, which we’d already been liberally sampling was Vino Rosso Doc CORNIOLO Duca della Corgna ”Cantina del Trasimeno” Castiglione del Lago. Super slick wine. But look at this souffle’! with pomegranite in it. And chunks of parmigiano with balsamic vinegar on them for side garnish. I said I had never had a souffle’ in Italy and our new best friends said they had not either! Oh, Waiter! This bottle seems to have gone empty. 
By this time, Folco Orselli the blues singer is at the ivories or guitar, accompanied only by a trumpet player. Cameraman with a huge news camera is filming him right from the start. And we are all stunned how good he is. Think Tom Waite, Bruce Springsteen, Paulo Conte, Zucchero Fornace all rolled into one. What an artist. Raspy voice but young and playful. He seems to be checking out the young witch, peering around the trumpet player to give her a smile after every song. Flapping the cowl collar of her black sweater she said It is getting a bit warm in here, isn’t it?