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Being an advocate of Slow Food (of which pizza can be a part even if it takes seconds to actually bake), I am now taken with the concept of a Slow Cities. In Portovenere, I read about how the town was adopting the strictures of Citta Slow (officially Citta Lente, but in everyday parlance the term has been Anglicized). It struck me as a great way to salvage what is integral to the meaning of Italy — balance, preservation, artisanal values, the rhythms of a life lived fully on a daily basis. It is a way of saying “Basta!” to speed for the sake of speed, an American affliction that I too often share.

Any chance of making Portland a Citta Slow?

Well, first we have to have something to slow down for…besides good restaurants and cafes. European mayors have lately been very creative in finding ways to bring people into the piazzas and have them linger. For example, the city of Cremona sponsors crafts markets, concerts, and other diversions every Thursday of the summer. In Verona, the churches and villas are sites for free jazz, classical and rock concerts. In Mantova and other cities, summer solstice celebrations involve dinners on historic bridges and fireworks. These activities create new attachments between citizens and their cities and deepen the sense that they live someplace special.

Imagine a coffee hour or microbrewery tables on the Steel Bridge, while fireworks are set off from a boat on the Willamette. We can do it too.

It was good to see our favorite pizza place outside of Verona was still thriving, seeing so many establishments have turned over. In fact, the pizza was so good we went two days in a row. I’d have gladly returned a few more times.

Great ingredients and technique make for a perfect specimen! A 700 degree oven in which the pie goes for merely seconds, super savory olive oil and tomatoes, the singular taste of native made mozzarella…some things you just have to travel to experience.

It had been two years since I’d visited Italy, and that was for a short spell. This summer, the three of us returned after four years for a longish (3 weeks) stay. As always, I’m on the lookout for how things have changed and what has endured.

Cheap intra-Europe travel, a relative novelty, means that Europeans are traveling their continent more than ever. Flights for as little as $70 round trip are available from, say, London to Florence. There were certainly more Europeans than Americans or Chinese by far. It used to be that besides Italian you’d hear mostly German, some French and British English and lots of American English in the tourist towns, but now you hear Polish, Russian, Romanian, Spanish everywhere.

By “everywhere” I mean that the swarms have explored every part of Italy. It is a beautiful place, with art and landscape worth savoring in almost every small town, so Italy Minore is no longer off the beaten path.

But many of these tourists travel simply for a change of scene and care little for the Piero della Francescas and Pontormos, and really just want to eat, drink and be merry without spending a lot of money. Italian businesses have begun catering to these crowds, with a not so pleasant result at times.

Italy has really learned how to merchandise and market itself as a brand — the good life, beautiful people, food and wine, art. The advantage of that is that now you can actually have longer access to more museums and historic buildings, and the lavatories are better.

It is not only possible, but downright probable, to find really bad food in the tourist towns of which there are more and more. It used to be that restaurants actually cared deeply about what they served. Now, if you don’t know where to go and are not willing to pay, you will be really disappointed, or not note any difference from eating a bad Italian restaurants at home. I can now get better pizza in Portland than in a lot of places we visited.

The markets are now the domain of Chinese vendors, selling very cheap “Made in China” clothing, imitations of name brands and bric a brac.

Italy is multiracial! France got there 30 years sooner, but now Italy has its share of Italians of African and Chinese origin. The Church is actively seeking adoptive parents for African orphans and is getting lots of takers, a situation that Italians of previous generations might not have embraced. Today some of the best African musicians live in Paris; tomorrow in Milan?

The dollar’s crash is terrible news for travel to Euro land. Japan is cheaper. Hard to imagine being able to budget for a return any time soon.

And yet…you still gasp on a daily basis at the driving habits of Italians; when you go to your favorite pizza place or regional trattoria you still marvel at how they turn out such fabulous dishes; you still slow down at midday to recharge for an evening of outdoor eating and clinking of glasses; and the landscape still summons up the inner artist.

So, we ended a luscious three week vacation in Italy with a flight home through London’s Heathrow. It was everything I had dreaded about the experience, and more. As one Brit was heard to say, “Ah, Heathrow. Just as I’ve always remembered it. An obscene place to be.”

Poor London, besieged by terrorists on a chronic basis. Its citizens’ famous ability to cope and weather through is admirable and to be emulated. They deal with the constant alerts stoically. So I feel churlish complaining about a small thing like the ordeal of having to travel through its airport. But what goes on at Heathrow is a bit of future shock, I think. So how we experience it is worth considering.

The day prior to our departure, the terminal had been evacuated due to a bomb scare. People in saris, hajib, jeans and African damask were squatting to eat or wrapped in airplane blankets dozing on the yoga mats that had been distributed to those left stranded. Two days’ worth of international travellers mobbed all the check-in counters, filling every available space inside and outside the terminal, to wait for their flights to be called. When their flight was finally called, human traffic jams slowed movement through the terminal to a crawl. The proverbial babble of tongues added to the sense of confusion. At times, one caught the odor of those who had been unable to wash. Some people were crying, desperate to get home. But most had a look of weathered resignation. Perhaps many had been through this enough times before to have built up some tolerance.

I thought about the P.D. James book and movie “Children of Men.” And for one frightening moment, I imagined the chaos of a refugee camp.

But I did not hear any voices raised, or see any scuffling for the front of line. The British Airways personnel, who on a daily basis must wonder if their jobs have a future in this environment, never behaved as if conditions were anything other than normal. Our flight left a mere one hour late. If only our roads were examples of such civility.

Nevertheless, this scenario may be the new normal for travel. If so, there may be less of it.

Folks, it’s vacation time. Finally. Time to cash in that euro bank account (sagely set up back in 2000 when the dollar was king) and return to the ancestral homeland. I am also doing the unthinkable and vowing to stay unconnected during the trip. How’s that for trying to go back in time? Honestly, being unconnected is the new luxury and I’m going to indulge.

First stop, a short stay in Pisa and Lucca. Then on to Bocca di Magro in Liguria (see marina photo) for visit with friends. Back to Lucca for visits to the Garfagnana, after which we spend a few days in Cremona of the photo above (I have a sentimental attachment to the Emilia-Romagna province, not to mention to its food and wine), before visiting friends in Mantova and Verona, some of whom will join us on a hiking expedition to San Candido
in the Dolomites. All in all, six provinces, some old favorites, and some new discoveries.

Will it be hard to return? What do you think?