We met our garden guide, a woman in blue plaid and a broad straw hat, beneath the evergreen oak in the front square of the villa. For decades, this same tree stood as a witness to the buzz of life in the Origo family home, to the passage of seasons, to the march of time across the Tuscan countryside. Now, it witnessed us, a group of writers gathered from all across America, scribbling notes, snapping photos, nudging each other with elbows and raised eyebrows.
Pea stone gravel crunched beneath our feet as I stepped closer to hear our guide speak. Her accent, an amalgamation of tones from years lived abroad in South America, England, and Italy, lilted like a string of notes. Sybilla, her name a song in itself, gathered us together and walked us from beneath the oak into the curated gardens of La Foce.
She paused for a moment after her initial welcome, and then spoke a phrase I immediately typed into my notes. She said we must “emancipate from tradition by traveling abroad.” She was there to facilitate our emancipation by way of rose petal and lemon tree, ancient ilex and russian sage. The crunch of gravel subsided to the pat of feet on stone and the hush of grass as we followed her towards freedom.
Travel has been one of my great loves since I was a child. I know it’s a privilege to be born with a heart for wanderlust, and to then have the opportunity to chase that wanderlust across deserts and forests and rolling hills. I don’t take a moment of it for granted. However, even after seven years of living abroad in Europe, I still feel the old hum of wanderlust under my skin, the magnetic pull to explore more.
In practice, I traveled very little as a child. But, I’ve indulged in armchair travel since I was a girl, tan legs splayed out in the summer sun, holding a book on the back porch. Stories helped me make meaning of a life I could never know except through the eyes of someone else. The spine of a good book is the most accessible form of travel I’ve found so far. I still visit distant lands through the veil of storytelling.
This summer I’ve had the opportunity to travel to Europe in person with my own pen at the ready. Sometimes life surprises me with airplane tickets rather than a library card, and I gather photographs and stories of my own to share.
Would you like to come along with me? I’ll be your eyes and ears, your sing-song guide on this tour of emancipation.
For the next few weeks, I’ll be here with a short collection of stories I’ve gathered for a series called Making Meaning: Stories for the Armchair Traveler. I’d love to share a bit of what I’ve experienced with you, all of the wonder and wander of travel with none of the hassle or expense. This series isn’t meant to create a sense of envy or stir up a fear of missing out, instead it’s meant to encourage your soul to grow deep through meaning-making experiences.
I hope you’ll settle into your favorite armchair and join me.
Read along:
Part One: Becoming
Before you catch up on the posts, perhaps you’d like to start here with my Top Tips for Wandering with Purpose While Still Coming Home for Dinner.
[…] first evening at Villa La Foce, we toured the gardens of Iris and Antonio Origo’s estate with our guide Sybilla. Part manicured hedges, part lush blooms, the garden was both contained […]