Compromises, bribes and a 400-year-old finger: The messy reality of getting my teenager to love Italy

One sparkling summer evening last year, I met up in Florence, Italy, with an Italian friend I hadn’t seen in years.

After strolling through Piazza della Repubblica, Chiara and I lingered over novels at a bookstore and then had a long dinner at a lively restaurant near the central market. It was a thrill to catch up with a friend in the enchanting Tuscan city where we’d first met.

My 13-year-old son, however, was with me, and after we said goodbye to my friend, he cut short my reverie. “That was three hours of hearing you talk, talk, talk Italian!” Leo yelled. He was tired, bored and angry.

It was the same tone he’d used at the Uffizi, a world-class museum crammed full of Renaissance art. My husband and I had avoided taking him there before he was old enough to appreciate it, or so we thought. Our visit wound up being a mad dash past Botticelli paintings as Leo aimed to leave as swiftly as possible. On the way out, I craned my neck at all the art I wasn’t seeing.

What’s more, when he’d learned that we were going to some cities from previous visits, he moaned, “What? Again? We’ve already been to Rome and Florence!” Ah, to be a jaded 13-year-old who’s not always aware of his privilege.

What did impress him in Italy? Pokémon cards, a pricey Ferrari shirt and a touristy museum of illusions. He also enjoyed playing the card game Uno No Mercy, which we could have done at home. Oh, and the expensive café on the roof of the Uffizi? Yeah, that was good, too.

It was Leo’s third trip to Italy and one of nearly 10 international trips already under his belt. We were visiting a country where I’d experienced a pivotal semester abroad, which led to a stint as an expat after studying Italian in college.

None of that mattered. Either he was hot or bored or needed to use the bathroom. Or I’d overscheduled our day — something I loathe doing stateside.

Traveling with children overseas is often challenging. My fierce attachment to Italy made it even harder. Why didn’t he love everything about the place that changed his mother’s life?

But since I’m on a mission to convince Leo to fall for Italy, I’ve learned — mostly the hard way — to compromise. And despite some disagreements, my efforts have started to pay off. In fact, he makes the trips special — a thoroughly American boy who nonetheless shares a first name with Leonardo da Vinci and dreams of owning a Ferrari one day.

Here’s what I’ve learned while traveling to Italy with my son.

The afternoon we landed in Rome during our first family trip to Italy in 2018, I found myself renting a somewhat rickety quadricycle in the famed Villa Borghese park north of the city center, even though I was exhausted.

Leo, who was five at the time, had spent our 10-hour flight squirming while draped across my lap. The heat that July day was stifling, and even though the park was near our hotel, it was hard to enjoy it because every minute there felt like standing by an open oven.

The Villa Borghese is full of ancient marble statues, which Leo largely ignored. Already a keen admirer of Italian cars, he was much more interested in how fast we could round corners in the park while in the quadricycle, even if it meant nearly tipping over. He cackled with joy while steering this four-seat open-air vehicle that Italians call a rickshaw. The Roman Forum — and my nap — would have to wait, as would the excellent art museum that’s inside the park.

The compromises continued during a return visit to Rome in 2022, when I found myself ransacking the city for Pokémon cards after an evening of al fresco dining started to wear on the patience of my fidgeting 10-year-old. One moment I was out with friends, the next dashing over to a bookshop. Italian novels are my passion, and I’d visited Mondadori, one of Italy’s largest booksellers, many times. But until that trip, I didn’t realize they stocked Pokémon cards.

If I sound accommodating, while standing in line I fumed to myself, “This wasn’t what I wanted to show Leo in Italy.”

When we finally went to the Roman Forum, I certainly hadn’t planned to cut short the visit because Leo needed to go to the bathroom and preferred to return to our lodgings. I managed to prolong our visit long enough to stick my head inside of the Temple of Venus but quickly had to throw in the towel. It was hot, he was tired and nothing could salvage the outing.

But the scene was quite different at the museum in Florence that houses Galileo’s finger. The Italian astronomer died in 1642 so the finger is exactly as decrepit as you’d imagine, even through the museum’s protective glass case. But Leo, then aged 10, loved it. He was thrilled to learn admirers had severed the persecuted scientist’s middle finger when his remains were moved in the 1700s.

If the finger felt like a gimmick, so did the overpriced drinks — in every city and at every stop. But that kept him entertained, as did his gaming console, which came in handy last year in Rome, when my husband and I slipped out to Piazza del Popolo for a glass of wine. I had qualms about leaving my son alone in an apartment in a foreign country — but Leo didn’t.

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I also had qualms about what felt like millions of euros spent on tickets, half-eaten meals and a pair of sneakers that we hastily bought at the outlets near Florence because Leo had only packed Crocs. So I was eager for a cheap but meaningful outing, and I arranged a lunch with another Florentine friend.

Cristiano has a one-liner for every occasion; during a previous trip back to Italy, he’d told me not to worry that I was losing my Italian skills by returning to live in America since I wasn’t making any new mistakes — just the same ones as before. Ba-dum-bum! He often likes to joke that his English isn’t very good because he had a bad teacher (me).

When he asked if Leo knew Italian during our 2022 trip, I admitted only a little.

“Leave it to me,” he said.

At lunch in a piazza not far from the city’s Arno River, we ordered an antipasto and some primi before catching up. Then after asking for a piece of paper, Cristiano said, “How about that Italian lesson?”

I handed him my travel diary so he could write his “lesson” directly into the notebook. As the two of them began chatting, I took a photo and beamed at my husband. A native speaker — and a dear friend — was giving our son a personalized Italian lesson!

But I snapped to attention a moment later when I realized “cornuto” was the first word of the lesson. Strictly speaking, it isn’t a curse word — it simply means a cuckolded husband. Yet in a land where machismo still reigns, it’s considered a rather severe insult.

When I looked at my notebook later, I saw Cristiano had drawn the accompanying hand symbol for cuckold — the pinkie and forefinger sticking out over the folded middle fingers — a universal symbol for bad luck in Italy. I’ve marveled endlessly over Italian but nothing really beats learning — at age 13 — the word to describe a man with a philandering wife.

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Part of the challenge while traveling with children mirrors the general trickiness of parenting: what entertained a child when he was five may not work when he’s older.

During our first trip to Italy as a family, Leo gushed over every monument. Our photos — of Leo smiling at the Vatican and posing at scenic overlooks — attest to that. At age five, he was simply happy to be with his parents while experiencing new sensations.

But the boy we took to Italy the summer he turned 13 was no longer easily amused. The evening in Florence when we had dinner with my old friend, Chiara, I’d made sure some of the conversation was in English and there was food at the restaurant that he liked. But it didn’t matter. He’d learned that when I visit Italy, I’m totally seduced by Italian culture.

His outburst following the dinner touched on the central tension. In Italy, I want to linger at the counter of every café I visit, and eavesdrop on a barista bantering in Italian with customers. I’m lost in a reunion with a world first encountered during the golden period of my life when I was a 20-something expat — the years against which all others are judged.

Indeed, after three completed trips as a mom, I’ve now concluded the biggest compromise when I travel to Italy with Leo is accepting a holiday that’s much less about Italian cultural immersion, so that it’s one he can enjoy, too.

That means passing up moments that are far more magical to me than to Leo. Last year, as we crossed Piazza della Signoria in Florence one evening, there was an opera singer holding a concert in a loggia. Could we linger to hear her sing, I asked him? No. He was ready to call it a day, and the unearthly beauty of the aria in such a gorgeous setting was lost on him.

The next morning, I reminded myself that Leo is still a kid.

This was clear when we embarked on a hike with my close friend, Giovanni. During the long car ride to his house, Leo complained, and by the time I greeted Giovanni and his wife, Veronica, in Italian, he seemed somewhat sullen, tuning us out.

I began to worry; would this be one more frustrating afternoon?

But then it emerged that Giovanni was bringing a dog named Dante along with us. Leo reached for Dante’s leash immediately and took charge of walking him during our long hike in the mountains outside of the Tuscan city of Pistoia . As we hiked, I could hear Leo beckoning to the dog, “Here, Dante, here boy. Who’s a good boy?”

In the end, he was a 13-year-old American boy far from home — and his own dog — who needed a simple pleasure that had nothing to do with Renaissance art. He just wanted a dog to play with — and woof-woof was a language he understood.

The trips, of course, have offered far more than compromises. On our way to a rented house in Puglia, in Southern Italy, during our 2018 trip, we stopped for gas around lunchtime. The service station, which was in a small town on the Adriatic Coast, also housed a restaurant.

Good food is everywhere in Italy — even at highway rest stops — so after filling the gas tank, we sat down to eat at a table outside and I ordered spaghetti alle vongole — pasta with clams, an Italian seaside specialty. From our table, I could see the gas pumps, and also a selection of cheap beach toys for sale in the service station market. I’d never eaten at a gas station. But it didn’t take long before I declared it the best spaghetti dish I’ve ever had.

Leo laughed out loud. “You had good spaghetti at a gas station, Mommy. A gas station!”

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During a later trip, we rented an apartment in Rome that had a typical Italian elevator, where you could clearly observe the pulleys hoisting the cabin up and down. Located beside the central staircase, the elevator had double swinging doors and a metal grate, all of which had to be carefully closed if we wanted the elevator to move. Leo took charge of “operating” the elevator, eagerly pressing the button to call for it, and then closing the doors once we were aboard.

Children naturally unlock experiences, especially in Italy. Once in Florence, we stayed at a friend’s apartment that overlooks a private park belonging to the exclusive Four Seasons Hotel. My friend said we could enter the park, which is studded with period sculptures, just by visiting the café inside.

Yet since the hotel was quite swanky, I hesitated when Leo and I arrived at the entrance, giving no thought to his t-shirt, which was emblazoned with the city’s soccer club logo and the team’s signature purple color. But when I asked the doorman, the born-and-bred Florentine looked at Leo’s Fiorentina shirt, and exclaimed, “In that shirt, he can go wherever he wants!”

I suspect more compromises are ahead. But what about the payoff? Will he eventually become fluent in Italian? Will he live there as I did, an expat in thrall to the language of Dante (the poet, not the dog)? Only time will tell.

For now, he knows the Italian word for cuckold and has a taste for Ferrari merchandise. I can imagine him one day exchanging the quadricycle from the Villa Borghese for a fast Italian car — maybe one that he could use to drive us around our favorite country. None of us would be compromising.

去年一个阳光灿烂的夏日傍晚，我在意大利佛罗伦萨与一位多年未见的意大利朋友相聚。

在共和国广场漫步之后，我和基娅拉在一家书店里流连忘返，翻阅着各种小说，然后在中央市场附近一家热闹的餐厅享用了丰盛的晚餐。能在这个我们初次相遇的迷人托斯卡纳小城与老友重聚，真是令人兴奋不已。

然而，我13岁的儿子当时也在场。我们和朋友道别后，他打断了我的沉思。“整整三个小时，你一直在说意大利语！”利奥吼道。他又累又无聊，还很生气。

他当时的语气和在乌菲齐美术馆时一模一样，那可是世界一流的博物馆，里面收藏着大量文艺复兴时期的艺术品。我和丈夫一直没带他去，因为他年纪还小，还不懂欣赏，至少我们当时是这么认为的。结果，我们这次参观变成了一场狂奔，几乎没看到波提切利的画作，因为莱奥一心只想尽快离开。离开的时候，我伸长脖子，看着那些我没能看到的艺术品。

更甚者，当他得知我们要去一些之前去过的城市时，他抱怨道：“什么？又去？我们已经去过罗马和佛罗伦萨了！”唉，做一个见多识广的13岁孩子，却并不总是意识到自己拥有的特权。

意大利之行最让他印象深刻的是什么？宝可梦卡牌、一件价格不菲的法拉利T恤，还有一家游客云集的幻觉博物馆。他还很喜欢玩“UNO No Mercy”纸牌游戏，其实我们在家也能玩。哦，对了，乌菲齐美术馆顶楼那家昂贵的咖啡馆？嗯，那也很不错。

这是利奥第三次去意大利，也是他近十次国际旅行中的一次。我们去的这个国家，我曾在那里度过了一个意义非凡的海外学期，这段经历促使我在大学学习意大利语之后，又在那里生活了一段时间。

这些都不重要。他要么是热了，要么是无聊了，要么是想上厕所。或者是我把我们今天的行程安排得太满了——在美国我最讨厌的就是这种事。

带着孩子出国旅行往往充满挑战。我对意大利的强烈依恋让这一切变得更加艰难。为什么他不能爱上这个改变了他母亲一生的地方的一切呢？

但既然我的目标是让莱奥爱上意大利，我就学会了——虽然大多是付出了惨痛的代价——妥协。尽管我们之间也有些分歧，但我的努力开始见效了。事实上，他让每次旅行都变得格外特别——他是个地道的美国男孩，却和达芬奇同名，还梦想着有一天能拥有一辆法拉利。

以下是我和儿子去意大利旅行时学到的东西。

2018 年，我们一家第一次去意大利旅行，抵达罗马的那天下午，尽管我筋疲力尽，但我还是在市中心北部著名的博尔盖塞别墅公园租了一辆有点摇摇晃晃的四轮摩托车。

当时五岁的利奥在十个小时的飞行中一直蜷缩在我腿上，不停地扭动。七月的那天酷热难耐，虽然公园就在酒店附近，但却难以享受，因为在那里的每一分钟都像是站在一个敞开的烤箱旁。

博尔盖塞别墅里满是古老的大理石雕像，但利奥却对此漠不关心。他本来就对意大利汽车情有独钟，如今却更热衷于驾驶四轮车在公园里过弯，哪怕差点翻车也在所不惜。他一边驾驶着这辆意大利人称之为“人力车”的四座敞篷车，一边咯咯地笑着。罗马广场——还有我的午睡——都得暂时搁置，就连公园里那座很棒的艺术博物馆也得等到以后再去。

2022年我再次造访罗马时，妥协仍在继续。那天晚上，我在户外用餐，10岁的孩子开始坐立不安，最终我决定在城里四处搜寻宝可梦卡牌。前一秒我还和朋友们在一起，下一秒就冲进了书店。意大利小说是我的挚爱，我曾多次光顾意大利最大的书店之一——蒙达多里书店。但直到那次旅行，我才知道他们竟然也卖宝可梦卡牌。

如果我的话听起来很随和，那是因为在排队的时候，我心里其实很生气：“这不是我想让莱昂纳多在意大利看到的景象。”

当我们终于到达罗马广场时，我当然没打算因为利奥想上厕所而提前结束参观，他更想回住处。我设法延长了参观时间，让他得以窥见维纳斯神庙，但很快就不得不放弃。天气炎热，他也累了，这次游览已经无可挽回。

但在佛罗伦萨博物馆里，伽利略手指的景象却截然不同。这位意大利天文学家于1642年去世，所以即使隔着博物馆的玻璃罩，他的手指也像人们想象的那样破败不堪。但当时10岁的利奥却非常喜欢它。他得知，在18世纪伽利略遗骸被迁葬时，他的仰慕者们砍掉了这位饱受迫害的科学家的中指，这让他兴奋不已。

如果说用手指敲门像个噱头，那么那些价格虚高的饮料也一样——每个城市，每个地方都是如此。但这让他不至于无聊，他的游戏机也一样。去年在罗马，这台游戏机就派上了用场，当时我和丈夫溜到人民广场喝了杯酒。我担心把儿子独自留在异国的公寓里——但莱奥却不担心。

“更美好的生活方式”：这对夫妇为何离开曼哈顿，搬到意大利一个小村庄

我也对感觉像是花了数百万欧元买的机票、吃了一半的饭菜，以及因为Leo只带了Crocs鞋，所以我们在佛罗伦萨附近的奥特莱斯匆匆买了一双运动鞋感到很懊恼。因此，我渴望一次既省钱又有意义的郊游，于是安排了一次和另一位佛罗伦萨朋友的午餐。

克里斯蒂亚诺总能妙语连珠，应对各种场合；上次回意大利的时候，他跟我说不用担心回到美国生活会退步，因为我犯的错跟以前一样，没什么新花样。哈哈！他经常开玩笑说自己英语不好是因为他以前有个糟糕的老师（就是我）。

当他问 Leo 在我们 2022 年的旅行中是否会说意大利语时，我只承认自己会一点点。

“交给我吧。”他说。

在离阿诺河不远的一个广场上吃午饭时，我们点了份开胃菜和一些主菜，然后开始叙旧。之后，克里斯蒂亚诺要了一张纸，问道：“要不要上意大利语课？”

我把我的旅行日记递给他，让他直接在笔记本上写下他的“课程”。当他们俩开始聊天时，我拍了张照片，然后得意地对丈夫笑了。一位母语人士——也是我的好朋友——正在给我们的儿子上一堂个性化的意大利语课！

但片刻之后，我立刻警觉起来，意识到“cornuto”是这节课的第一个词。严格来说，它并非脏话——它仅仅是指被戴绿帽的丈夫。然而，在一个大男子主义盛行的地方，它却被视为一种相当严重的侮辱。

后来我翻看笔记本时，发现克里斯蒂亚诺画了一个表示“戴绿帽”的手势——小指和食指伸出，中指弯曲——这在意大利是象征厄运的通用符号。我一直对意大利语着迷不已，但没有什么比13岁就学会用这个词来形容一个妻子不忠的男人更让我感到震撼的了。

斯坦利·图奇走遍意大利，探寻各地美食。

带着孩子旅行所面临的挑战之一，反映了为人父母的普遍难题：五岁时让孩子开心的事情，在他长大后可能就不管用了。

我们一家第一次去意大利旅行时，莱奥对每一座古迹都赞不绝口。我们拍的照片——莱奥在梵蒂冈前灿烂的笑容，以及在风景优美的观景点摆姿势拍照——就是最好的证明。五岁的他，能和父母一起体验新鲜事物，就已经感到无比幸福了。

但那个在我们带他去意大利的夏天，也就是他13岁生日那天，他已经不再那么容易被逗乐了。在佛罗伦萨的那个晚上，我们和我的老朋友基娅拉共进晚餐。我特意安排了一些英语对话，而且餐厅里也有他喜欢吃的菜。但这都没用。他已经知道，我每次去意大利，都会被意大利文化彻底征服。

晚宴后他的爆发触及了核心矛盾。在意大利，我总想在每家咖啡馆的吧台边久久停留，偷听咖啡师用意大利语和顾客闲聊。我仿佛回到了人生黄金时期——二十多岁旅居海外的那段岁月，我曾与那个世界有过一次短暂的重逢，而那段时光也成为了我衡量一切的标准。

事实上，作为母亲，在完成了三次意大利之旅后，我现在得出结论：带 Leo 去意大利旅行时最大的妥协是接受一个不太注重意大利文化沉浸的假期，这样他也能享受其中。

这意味着我错过了许多对我来说远比对莱奥更美好的时刻。去年的一个傍晚，我们穿过佛罗伦萨的领主广场时，一位歌剧演员正在凉廊里举办音乐会。我问他，我们能不能留下来听她唱歌？他拒绝了。他已经准备结束一天的行程了，在如此美妙的环境中，那段咏叹调的绝妙之美对他来说毫无意义。

第二天早上，我提醒自己，利奥毕竟还是个孩子。

这一点在我们和我的好友乔瓦尼一起徒步旅行时表现得尤为明显。在去他家的漫长车程中，利奥一直在抱怨，等我用意大利语向乔瓦尼和他的妻子维罗妮卡问好时，他似乎有些闷闷不乐，对我们充耳不闻。

我开始担心；这会不会又是一个令人沮丧的下午？

但后来我们发现，乔瓦尼带了一条名叫但丁的狗和我们一起去。莱奥立刻抓起但丁的牵引绳，负责牵着它，陪我们一起在托斯卡纳皮斯托亚城外的山上徒步旅行。徒步过程中，我听到莱奥朝狗招手：“来，但丁，来，小家伙。谁是乖狗狗？”

归根结底，他只是一个远离家乡——以及他自己的爱犬——的13岁美国男孩，他需要的是一种与文艺复兴艺术无关的简单快乐。他只是想要一只狗陪他玩耍——而汪汪声正是他能听懂的语言。

当然，这些旅行带给我们的远不止妥协。2018年，在我们前往意大利南部普利亚租住的房子途中，中午时分我们停下来加油。这家加油站位于亚得里亚海沿岸的一个小镇，里面还设有一家餐厅。

意大利美食遍地——就连高速公路休息站也不例外——所以加完油后，我们找了张露天桌子坐下吃饭。我点了一份蛤蜊意面，这是意大利海滨的特色菜。从我们的桌子望出去，可以看到加油泵，还能看到服务区小卖部里出售的各种廉价沙滩玩具。我以前从没在加油站吃过东西。但没过多久，我就宣布这是我吃过最好吃的意面。

利奥哈哈大笑。“妈妈，你在加油站吃到了好吃的意大利面。加油站啊！”

加油站食物“美味无比”，以及“劣质三明治”的可能性

后来的一次旅行中，我们在罗马租了一间公寓，公寓里有一部典型的意大利电梯，可以清楚地看到滑轮带动轿厢上下移动。电梯位于中央楼梯旁，有双扇旋转门和金属格栅，如果想让电梯运行，就必须小心地关好门。莱奥负责“操作”电梯，他总是兴致勃勃地按下按钮召唤电梯，然后在我们进入电梯后关上门。

孩子们天生就喜欢探索各种体验，尤其是在意大利。到了佛罗伦萨，我们住在朋友的公寓里，公寓俯瞰着四季酒店专属的私人公园。朋友说，只要去酒店里的咖啡馆，就能进入这座点缀着古雕塑的公园。

然而，由于酒店相当豪华，我和莱奥到达酒店门口时，我犹豫了一下，完全没注意到他那件印着佛罗伦萨足球俱乐部标志和球队标志性紫色的T恤。但当我问门童时，这位土生土长的佛罗伦萨人看了看莱奥的佛罗伦萨球​​衣，惊呼道：“穿着这件球衣，他想去哪儿都行！”

我怀疑未来还会有更多妥协。但回报又是什么呢？他最终能说一口流利的意大利语吗？他会像我一样，在那里生活，成为一个被但丁（诗人，不是狗）的语言所深深吸引的旅居者吗？时间会给出答案。

现在，他知道意大利语里“戴绿帽的男人”怎么说，而且对法拉利周边产品情有独钟。我能想象他有一天会用博尔盖塞别墅的四轮摩托车换一辆意大利跑车——也许还能开着它带我们游览我们最爱的祖国。我们谁都不会妥协。