Tag: father

Puglia, Our Last Italian Vacation, to the Country’s Beautiful Heel

After twice postponing a one-week visit to Puglia, all the way down the boot on Italy’s Adriatic coast, we finally managed to get ourselves organized for a visit, as our probable last longer trip within the country and doubling as a baby moon!

Puglia is one of the regions of Italy that we only heard about after arriving. Somehow in the second tier of regions behind Tuscany, Sicily, Sardegna, but as gorgeous and welcoming as any. And maybe slightly more budget friendly.

Since we’ve been sketching out a tentative itinerary for almost two years, we had a pretty good plan of attack to try to maximize our week and get a taste of different parts of the region.

Deciding against the four hour train or five hour drive to Bari, we hopped on a Ryanair flight from Rome and landed on a gloomy Saturday some 45 minutes later.

Rather than staying in Bari or even nearby Monopoli, we decided on an Apulian agriturismo near Ostuni. The countryside location, not far from many of the little towns we hoped to visit, was a perfect launching point for the trip.

Unfortunately the rainy weather continued pretty much throughout our full two day stay. Although this dampened Dalia’s and my mood somewhat, Aleksander was completely undeterred. He played in the wet playground, chased cats and sang with the chickens every moment he could!

Otherwise, since our days couldn’t be spent sunning by the pool, we visited the nearby towns, starting with Ostuni.

As ever, even in the rain, maybe even moreso in the rain, historic Italian towns always shine, inspire and enchant. Ostuni was no different. The slick hilly cobblestones kept things interesting both in the stroller and out and we were immediately satisfied with our decision to stay nearby.

The following day was gloomy but slightly less rainy and so we decided to head to the coast and visit Monopoli, one of the bigger cities in Puglia. It happened to be Mother’s Day and we reflected on the fact that our next similar trip would probably be as a quartet. A lot to consider, take in and reflect on as the afternoon Sunday sun peaked out in the historic harbour.

Being unable to find an available lunch spot in Monopoli, (Italians love to reserve – especially on holidays), we decided to take our chances with a late lunch visit to Martina Franka, on the way back to our agriturismo. We scarfed down not the best lunch in Italy, followed by not the worst gelato and headed for the gates as the heavy clouds loomed once again.

We spent a quiet evening before braving the morning showers for our next stop near Nardo. We arrived at our next agriturismo in the rain and were immediately charmed by the outdoor furniture of Casina Solatia and Aleksander was thrilled to find new cats to chase around.

Our stay at Casina Solatia not only prompted one of my first poems in a while but really provided almost a cinematic backdrop for an intimate few family days. It was more than once, watching Aleksander play piano or run through tall grass in dimming sunlight, that I felt like we were in a Terrence Malick movie. And Simona the host, a costume designer and fairly recent transplant from Milan, really made the place feel like one big open home. Maybe another couple overcast days weren’t the worst turn of events.

Our first free evening, we decided to visit nearby Gallipoli for a windy evening by the sea, visiting the old town castle and having dinner overlooking the water.

Our second day staying near Nardo finally brought some hopeful weather. It wasn’t quite yet beach friendly but with a partially sunny forecast, we made our way to Lecce, the biggest city in the southern part of Puglia.

Lecce was quite bustling and busy with European tourists. We kicked balls through the alleyways and Aleksander made some Canadian friends over lunch and we started to look forward to what the rest of the week might bring.

On our way down the coast the following morning, we passed by a stretch of beach known as the Maldives of Salento. And even though the beaches weren’t quite prepared for summer crowds, we were thrilled to have some sunny clear skies and Aleksander finally got to dig into the coastal sands.

Heading to the southwestern-most point of Italy’s heel, we lunched and lounged a bit more in the small charming town of Santa Maria de Leuca. The seafood fry, white wine and gelato all passed the test in this scenic stop. Also home to maybe the world’s most picturesque natural seaside pool.

As we turned up the coast for a few days near Otranto, our trip finally started to look like what we had hoped it would. The late May weather started to look characteristically as it should in Italy at this time of year. We gratefully pulled into our final stop at the Cuti Mari guesthouse and were not disappointed.

We drove to Otranto about fifteen minutes away to pick up an evening pizza and walk around the boardwalk.

We took our chances the next day and found the nearest (open) stabilimento and even though less than ten of the hundreds of sun loungers were occupied, we were happy to spend a relaxing day by the sea.

Finally energized by the summertime vibes, we even braved the unheated pool at the hotel and had some family laughs and good times.

Being so pleased with the grounds, facilities and staff at Cuti Mari, we extended our stay by one night, opening up an extra day in the area. So we headed up the coast a bit and spent a proper early season beach day in an early season beach town – Torre del Orso.

Even though the restaurants, bars and hotels were still dusting the cobwebs off before the summer hordes arrive, we found the town a perfect little size and pace for our flow. And to boot, the street art had no business being so interesting in such a random and faraway place.

We longingly said goodbye to Cuti Mari, petted all the cats one last time and Aleksander even got a hat and t-shirt from the owner. We hope to return as soon and often as possible.

Our circuit of Puglia was almost at an end. We returned back up the coast towards Bari and stayed in a non-descript highway hotel on our last night to make sure we could easily make our morning flight.

Never ones to let an opportunity pass, we squeezed in a short afternoon visit to postcard perfect Polignano a Mare. Dalia absolutely fell in love with this place while I found the instagram friendly crowds somewhat overwhelming.

The hilight again was Aleksander making a local friend and kicking a ball for close to an hour. Our child is definitely in the right country for a soccer obsession.

Before leaving Puglia, I really wanted to take Dalia to the Basilica of St. Nicholas in Bari. Partially because it made such an impression on me during my last visit, partially because it’s become a global pilgrimage site for Ukrainians since the invasion of their country and partially because I’m fond of the name Nicholas for our next child.

It was a great place to leave our prayers of thanks for yet another incredible trip within Italy; for our growing family; and for two wonderful years living in Rome.

Puglia can finally and joyfully be crossed off the Italian bucket list!

Italian Labour Day Weekend in Sperlonga

Even though we had almost laughably bad luck after buying a car in Italy and then having it die 10 days later on our first weekend drive out of town, we’ve made the most of Italy’s underrated train system and visited pretty much everything within an hour or so of Rome, over the last two years.

With our final Italian beach season approaching, we set our sights on nearby Sperlonga, one of the few major beach towns that we hadn’t yet visited. Sperlonga features on many lists of Italy’s best summer destinations and as the May Day holiday created a three day weekend, we ventured off for a two night visit with a work pal, his wife and their daughter, almost exactly Aleksander’s age.

The train to Sperlonga is an easy hour away from Rome and we hopped into a taxi from the train station to get to our early season hotel.

The hotel was clean, comfortable, had seaside views and a swimming pool, mostly reserved for foreigners (including Canadians) at this pre-summer heatwave juncture. We enjoyed a seafood lunch at the hotel restaurant before taking the 40 minute or so walk up to the scenic Sperlonga town itself.

The views were typically fabulous, if overcast. The town’s piazzas, patios and alleyways were buzzing with European tourists and lounging locals alike. Aleksander, of course, was entranced with some kids kicking a soccer ball against the wall as we watched for the better part of half an hour. Eventually, Tom and family joined us for an apertivo as the kids chased bubbles spiritedly.

We scored some pizza al taglio as the evening closed in and were glad to share the experience with some adult and toddler friends, our first joint family weekend since arriving in Italy.

The next day, we hoped for a few hours of clear skies in order to enjoy some of Sperlonga’s famous sandy beaches. The stabilimemti were all within an easy ten minute walk and Aleksander frolicked in the sand for a good few hours. The sun peered out from behind the clouds and it looked like the gloomy weather forecast might be proven wrong altogether. Alas, after sitting down for lunch, the clouds and winds darkened and picked up and we had to call it a day on our first beach attempt of the year.

We returned to the hotel, the kids watched some tv as the adults indulged in some vino and convo. We discussed the amazingness of Italy, how every little town seemed worth a visit and how lucky our kids were to get such memorable experiences on the regular.

The next day was even rainier than the others and it felt fully acceptable to return to the beauty of Rome after the long weekend escape.

Again, the Springtime weather is proving to be a bit more unstable than in our previous years but we’re not letting that slow down our exploration. Next stop, our final weeklong Italian trip, to the southern heel of the boot, in Puglia and Salento.

Thank you Sperlonga for a great soft launch of our final Italian beach season!

Easter Weekend in the Amalfi

As we start to approach the twilight of our Italian days, we’ve become more active in getting some bucket list activities done. Even though we visited Ischia last Spring and the Amalfi on our honeymoon in 2017, it just didn’t feel right to leave Italy without having spent a few days on the fabled Amalfi coast this time around. So with Dalia’s sister arriving from Canada via Spain, we zipped down the coast from Rome for Easter weekend.

Although we honeymooned in Sorrento, our two night hotel stay was actually in the cliff-top outskirts of the city and we never managed to visit the town itself. This time we booked ourselves three nights in a comfortable loft apartment in adjacent Sant’Agnello – close enough for scenic walks but far enough to get a taste of the local area.

The Easter Weekend brought lots of crowds to Sorrento but also offered an insight into the deep persistence of religious life in Italy. The contrast of sunny coastline, full buzzing patios and the sombre Holy Friday procession was a sight to behold and we felt very lucky to experience both aspects.

Our Saturday plan to visit Capri was unfortunately rained out and replaced with a rather home-bound afternoon, full of good food, naps and time to reflect. We bought some lamb from the local butcher, stocked up at the village market and enjoyed our indoor day.

Thankfully the clouds cleared up on Easter Sunday and we got on a packed bus to Positano. I’ve always been a fan of off-season travel and Positano is a perfect place to visit before the summer crowds truly start to roar. The town was still busy for a gloomy April day but we made the most of our long walk down from the bus stop to the beach.

Positano is such a distilled jewel of the best of Italy. Amazing views, architecture, food and charm. Aleksander watched boys play soccer on the beach, climbed in and out of dormant fishing boats and even found a slide to frolic on for a while. The sun came out for an absolutely idyllic hour or so and we got to take some pregnancy shots featuring a massive Amalfi lemon.

We caught a ferry back to Sorrento after enjoying a fabulous beachside lunch in Positano and meandered around the rather bumping downtown alleyways of Sorrento before heading home. Although the weather didn’t quite cooperate as much as we had hoped, the long weekend was relaxing, inspiring and enjoyable nonetheless.

We left for Rome the next morning grateful, rejuvenated and with full hearts.

Work Life – Khartoum, Sudan

Sudan ended up being much more than just a work trip but that’s how it started. After a few short ventures to Greece, Albania and Amman, Khartoum was both the longest and most intense of my work trips from Rome. Add the extended family meet ups, the absolute difference in pretty much everything as compared to Italy, and a full schedule, and the two weeks made heavy emotional imprints.

First stop, Addis, for some coffee.

We stayed at Khartoum’s premier, safest and most radically overpriced hotel, the Al Salam. Daddy was not unpleased to be able to get to the gym 11 of 13 days and take occasional dunks in the pool to escape the mid-30 degree heat.

Work was work. Busy, challenging, fruitful.

The food did not suck at all and was a welcome change from Rome’s wonderful carbonara, pizza, pinsa, amatriciana and cacio pepe.

The main highlight, aside from meeting Dalia’s family, was a touristy day spent cruising on the Nile, atv’ing and of course, eating some more.

By the end of two weeks, I was more than ready to return home, squeeze the heck out of Aleksander, kiss my wife and get three scoops of gelato. It was a real blessing to be able to have this experience, see a place so different from where we’re living, meet family in such an unexpected location and be reminded of how lucky we are, to be here, to travel there.

Can’t stay forever!

From Khartoum With Love

In another of one of life’s unpredictably magical twists of fate, my employer sent me to Khartoum, Sudan, for two weeks. It’s the city where my wife was born, spent the first handful of years of her life and about which I’ve heard dozens of mythical stories since we first met almost a decade ago. Not exactly knowing what to expect, I excitedly took the flight from Rome, via Addis, and proceeded to fill in my parts of my life that I didn’t even know previously existed.

After a few days settling into the city, hunting desperately for shade and launching into work, I was able to arrange a lunch date with two of Dalia’s aunts, a couple cousins and another mysterious relative to act as an informal interpreter.

I ran to the lobby of the hotel, still tucking in my hurriedly ironed shirt, to meet my extended family via marriage, at 11am on the first day of the weekend. Fifteen, thirty, forty-five, sixty minutes scurried by. I closed my eyes while holding my chin on my hands. Messages were sent to Rome, to Toronto, back to the family in Khartoum: Peter is waiting in the lobby for an hour and a half!

I was eventually met by aunt Souna and her grand-niece Marleen. We greeted eachother warmly and took a picture together standing next to a plant. They helped me with two bags of vitamins and documents sent to me from Canada, four bags of gifts prepared by my wife and my fanny pack. We exchanged partially translated pleasantries on the way to my wife’s childhood Church, where by happenstance, exiting the gate as we entered, in a wheelchair, was the Coptic priest who baptized her. I was introduced to several other people by the family that I had just been introduced to, and we took pictures with all of them. I watched kids playing soccer in the courtyard, of a similar age to what my wife would have been the last time she was here, and lit a candle for the sheer unlikely awesomeness of what I was experiencing.

We continued in the broiling car to the cemetery where Dalia’s grandparents are buried. I was guided, with one false positive, to the grave of my son’s great grandmother. Auntie Souna broke down for a few seconds while I said hello, in my heart, to the mother of my wife’s father. She died at 93, about eight years ago, 40 or so years after her husband. Under one of the few shade-offering trees in the dusty lot, I brushed off the dried leaves from the tomb of Dalia’s older sister, who passed away in infancy. I took a picture, awkwardly but sincerely, to document the moment, both Friday afternoon ordinary and entirely overwhelming.

23 year old Marleen complained about the heat so we took our leave from the rows of uneven headstones, for the first and probably last time in my life. The final stop before lunch was to pass by Dalia’s childhood home. Souna tried to explain that the street-side facade was not the home, and maybe it was down a locked alleyway adjacent, and my father-in-law’s electronics repair shop, named after his oldest son, and where my wife used to fondly frolic amidst the wires, speakers and screens, was also, in a previous life, right there. I took a video to share with my in-laws back home and Souna took a video of me taking my video.

The 25 second clip sent the family WhatsApp group into a joyous frenzy. Memories, questions and anecdotes started to pour forth from Dalia’s siblings and mom. That wasn’t the front door (X), it used to be here (->). Once, Robert pushed Christina into a small rubbish fire out front vs. Robert saved Christina’s life from a blazing inferno on the front porch. Either way, she surely still has the scar on her foot. I watched the messages fly, relayed questions in real time, and smiled.

Souna stopped to pick up pita bread for lunch and we entered her home’s gate, passed the lush plant life and cages singing birds.

I then sat in the same spot, on a different chair, for the second 90 minute stint of the day. Food was being prepared; I wasn’t allowed to help and was politely asked if I needed to charge my phone. No one particularly asked what exactly I was doing there, which is good because I was mostly trying to figure out the answer to that question myself. We small talked, they talked amongst themselves, people stared at their screens, and we video-called Dalia and Lily, my mother-in-law, where I held the phone silently as they exuberantly recalled long ago threads of common memories and mostly just laughed.

Eventually, aunt Selwa, the family matriarch arrived and within 20 seconds, introduced herself to me, said she was the oldest of the siblings, and then made a frank comment to one of her nieces. I was struck by how much her face and mannerisms mirrored my father-in-law’s, how she projected such a casual gravitas, and how this was just a normal afternoon in in her life, sitting on her sister’s couch in Khartoum.

The lunch feast could have fed 15, even though I learned that only three of the six people present weren’t fasting. I did my best to try every last offering on the table and mostly chewed silently while the family, my family, bantered indecipherably in Sudanese Arabic. I felt completely welcome and also fully in the dark. I heard my father-in-law’s name every few minutes but didn’t want to interrupt the flow of the conversation, ask them to explain decades of nuance in their interactions, all while I slopped heaps of freshly mixed hummus onto delicious home-made falafels.

I ate to capacity. Then had a cream soda, and dessert, and tea, and a watermelon. And sat back down in my previous spot, 30% more deeply than before.

Dalia’s grandfather watching to make sure we all ate enough!

The evening started to creep in and I was cognizant that I would have to return to my hotel before too long. Having no sense of how much time was appropriate to wait after dinner before asking for a ride home, let alone what time even meant anymore on this sublime Sudanese afternoon, I fumbled my way through an indecisively Canadian request to go home.

Four people I hadn’t known five hours earlier packed into a well worn car to drive me through the bumpy, breezy back alleys of Khartoum. I got an invite to Selwa’s for tea in the next few days and then for eggs benedict on any other evening I was free during the week. How could I say no?

This was family after all.

Follow up tea spread with Selwa and cousin Walid