I have walked into the piazza of many villages in Italy. Sometimes by accident, sometimes on the way to somewhere else. Too often, I did not know what to do with myself. I would arrive without intention, glance around, and feel the clock ticking.
I remember stopping with my oldest son, Lorenzo, in Vada at a gelateria called Firenze. It was hot. We sat under the pergola in the square with cones in hand. The moment was sweet, but it also felt rushed. Maybe it was because we were traveling, or maybe because I wanted to show him a good time that he would remember. Instead of relaxing, I was pushing the experience forward.
That memory stays with me. And it makes me think about the next time I step into a square that holds more meaning for me, Vallelunga Pratameno, the Sicilian village my family once called home. I have not been yet, but I know I will. And when I do, I want to experience it differently.
The Art of Doing Less
What I have learned is that you do not “do” a piazza. You let it do something to you. The trick is not in seeking activity. It is in slowing down enough to notice.
Here is how I imagine approaching Vallelunga’s square, or any village piazza, in a way that might leave a mark:
- Drop the itinerary. Do not look for things to check off. Choose a café chair, sit, and decide not to move.
- Anchor with a ritual. Order a coffee or a granita. Before tasting it, take a breath. Look around first.
- Engage your senses. Notice details: the sound of bells, the smell of bread from a forno, the texture of cool marble under your arm.
- Make a connection. Say “Buongiorno” to someone. Jot a single line in a notebook. Dedicate the moment silently to someone you love.
- Stay longer than comfort. Resist the urge to leave when you think you have had enough. It is in those extra twenty minutes that the life of the village reveals itself.
Why It Matters
We are trained to rush, especially when traveling with family and wanting to make every minute count. But in Sicily, the memory is not in what you do. It is in how you stay.
When I finally arrive in Vallelunga, I do not want to repeat the mistake of Vada, rushing through a square without giving it time to breathe. I want to sit in the quiet, to watch the kids kicking a ball, to notice the old man nursing an espresso. To let the scene unfold until it feels like part of me.
Bringing It Home
The next time I walk into a piazza, whether in Sicily or anywhere, I will not ask, “What do I do here?” Instead, I will sit, sip slowly, and wait. I will let the square unfold on its own terms.
Calm, memory, and connection do not come from chasing. They come from staying still long enough for the place to speak back.
And I know, when I finally make it to Vallelunga, the piazza will be waiting with an answer.
