4 to 11 April

My prior two attempts at loving Rome failed. The first was during a too fast whirlwind tour as a student and my second was during a particularly unpleasant slushy cold week in December, both many years ago. I was hoping for a different, pleasanter experience this time. I was not disappointed.

I strolled and dallied during warm days and under mostly blue skies from one breathtaking sight to the next.

There was quite a bit of dodging hordes of tourists, but the extraordinary history, buildings, and artwork made any moments of discomfort well worth it.

Doing my best to remember the Italian I had once known, I found the locals welcoming and kind: My first attempt at using a city bus and not knowing the procedure, resulted in a woman insisting on giving me one of her tickets without charge. Another woman, while I was seeking a metro station, walked with me, blocks out of her way, to insure I found it.

No day was complete without gelato and the pizza, made in sheets, cut with a scissor and weighed, was equally divine.

While in Rome, it was impossible to not think of “Roman Holiday” and “La Dolce Vita”.
I’ve witnessed the impact and power of the Catholic church throughout the world, but the display of the Vatican’s wealth is extraordinary.

I hope to return to Rome and see again Bernini’s, Michelangelo’s, and countless other artists’ exquisite creations, walk again on ancient sites, enjoy additional culinary pleasures and have more delightful impromptu encounters.

18 March to 3 April

I returned to NYC, after nearly a year of travel. Although the impetus had been to seek advice for a foot issue, I welcomed the opportunity to see the people I hold dear. Spending time with them was joyful as were visits to best-loved places and taking my favorite strolls.

I sought a place to stay near Prospect Park and although pickings were slim I did, after some time, find an aparatment on Eastern Parkway, steps from the park, across from The Brooklyn Library and Museum. It was at most a fifteen minute walk from where I had last lived, in Park Slope.

Yet, my own memories did not nudge me as much as the thoughts of my parents. My mom, although born in Manhattan had grown up in Brooklyn and as a young adult lived with her siblings on Eastern Parkway, not far from where I was staying. And it was here that my father came to court her, having been born and living himself not far away in Brownsville.

Brooklyn was where both my parents lived for decades, where I was born and began my schooling. While we lived walking distance from Coney Island, I was being introduced to the many wonders that I continue to cherish today.

For now, where I live is where I sleep. But when people ask me where I am from, I always say New York, however Brooklyn wilI always mean home to me.

1 to 18 March

I had been attracted to the fascinating history of Malta and thought of it as a good stepping stone to Italy and beyond. My plans did not work out as expected, but I began appreciating Malta, particularly the Island of Gozo, more and more each day. The Maltese language, which I had assumed was an Italian dialect, is rather an Arabic/Italian meld with a smattering of French and other influences. But the second official language is English having been a British colony for 150 years. The small island nation means the sea is always near, and although ebbing, local commercial fishing remains. Long walks and appreciation for continued traditions made my time in Malta most memorable.