Week 10: Un Posto Nel Cuore (a place in the heart)

Lake Como & Lugano day-trip from Milan

Week 10 felt like something I had built up for a long time without fully realizing it. Italy had always existed in my mind as this ideal, somewhere between reality and imagination, a place so romanticized that I was almost nervous to finally see it. There is always that quiet risk when you put something on a pedestal for too long. You wonder if the real version will fall short of the one you have constructed.

It didn’t.

I started in Milan, which I had never really considered beyond its reputation for fashion and the Duomo di Milano. And yes, those spaces were exactly what you expect: crowded, impressive, and almost overwhelming in how intentionally grand they are. But what surprised me was everything outside of that. The in-between spaces. The streets that were not trying to prove anything.

Milan felt expansive in a quiet way. Less about spectacle, more about rhythm.

I spent a lot of time walking without a plan, which has become my favorite way to understand a place. At some point, I realized I had been holding on to a very specific image of Italy, one that left little room for a city like Milan to exist fully. But it does. It is layered. Modern and historic at the same time. Structured but still soft around the edges.

And the shopping lived up to everything I hoped it would be.

I had always wanted an Italian leather bag, not just as a purchase but as something symbolic, something tied to being there. Finding one felt oddly significant, like taking a small piece of the place with me. The process itself mattered just as much as the item. Walking into shops, feeling the textures, trying to decide, taking my time. It did not feel rushed. It felt intentional.

One night, I went to Navigli for dinner, and that might have been one of my favorite parts of the city. The canals, the light reflecting off the water, people lingering at tables longer than they need to. I had pasta, a spritz, and nowhere else to be. It was simple, but it felt like exactly what I had imagined Italy to be, not in a cinematic way, just in a lived-in one.

After two days in Milan, I took a guided trip north to Lake Como. We stopped in Bellagio first, which was undeniably beautiful and also exactly what you would expect. Narrow streets, views that do not look real, and more people than the space seems designed to hold. It was one of those places where you understand why it is famous, even as you feel slightly removed from it because of how many others are experiencing it at the same time.

And then we crossed into Switzerland, to Lugano.

That was the moment that stayed with me.

I did not expect it. I thought Lake Como would be the highlight, the thing everything else revolved around. But Lugano felt different. Quieter. Cleaner. Almost unreal in how calm it was. The lake there had this stillness to it, surrounded by mountains that felt close enough to touch. It was my first time in Switzerland, and I could immediately feel that it would not be my last. There was something about its balance that felt complete.

By the time we got back to Milan that night, I felt like I had already lived multiple versions of the trip.

The next day, everything shifted.

I left the structure of cities and hotels and went to Sardinia, where the week really changed.

For the first time since arriving in Europe, I did not have to plan anything. I stayed with Antonio, my mom's friend from college, and his wife Simona and that alone reshaped the entire experience. Up until this point, every trip had required constant decision-making. Where to go, what to do next, how to get there. But here, I just existed within someone else’s rhythm.

And that made everything feel deeper.

They welcomed me in a way that felt immediate and genuine. Not as a visitor, but as someone who was simply part of the space for a little while. There is a kind of ease that comes with that, a release from the subtle pressure of always being on when you are navigating somewhere new.

Sardinia itself felt unlike anywhere I had been before.

In Stintino, I hiked along the coast where the landscape reminded me of the Pacific Northwest, rugged cliffs, open space, but the water was completely different. Clear in a way that did not feel real, a pearlescent blue-green that shifted depending on the light. At one point, we stopped in front of a cliff covered in cascading purple flowers, spilling down toward the water. It looked constructed, like something designed rather than natural.

The weather felt like it had been arranged just for my arrival. Antonio and Simona kept mentioning how unusual it was, how it had been cold and gray before and would be again after I left. It made everything feel slightly borrowed, like I had stepped into a version of Sardinia at exactly the right moment.

We went to Castelsardo, which might be one of the most unique places I have ever seen. A city built into a hill, with a medieval castle at the top and streets too steep and narrow for cars. People live there fully, not as part of a preserved space but as part of something ongoing. Walking through it felt like moving through layers of time that had not been separated.

In Porto Torres, I saw Roman ruins that have existed longer than most countries. And near Sassari, we visited Elephant Rock, a massive stone formation shaped over time to resemble exactly what its name suggests. History in Sardinia does not sit behind glass. It exists out in the open, integrated into the landscape.

We also spent time in Alghero, a coastal city that felt both distinctly Italian and slightly different, influenced by its Catalan history. Every place carried its own identity, even within the same island.

But one of the most meaningful experiences of the entire trip was Easter.

I spent Easter Sunday at lunch with Simona’s family. It was long, loud, warm, and entirely in Italian. Most of the people did not speak English at the lunch, and my Italian is almost nonexistent, so everything relied on gestures, expressions, and tone. And somehow, it worked. I understood more than I should have. Not the words, but the meaning behind them.

It reminded me that connection does not always require language.

There was something deeply grounding about sitting at that table, being included in something so personal and so routine for them, while it was completely new for me. It was not a curated experience. It was just life, shared.

I also met my mom’s friend Danilo for dinner twice, and that felt unexpectedly significant. These were connections that existed long before me, parts of my mom’s life that I was only now intersecting with. It made everything feel more layered, more connected across time and place.

By the end of the week, I realized how different this trip had been from the others.

Milan showed me a version of Italy I had not fully considered. Lake Como and Lugano reminded me that expectations do not always align with what actually stays with you. But Sardinia was something else entirely.

It was not about seeing more.

It was about settling in.

For the first time, I was not moving through a place. I was existing within it. Letting other people guide the pace. Letting the experience unfold without trying to shape it.

And in doing that, I think I understood something new, not just about Italy, but about how I want to experience places going forward.

Not always faster. Not always more.

Just deeper.

And I know I will come back.

Not just to Italy in general, but specifically to Sardinia. To see Antonio and Simona again. To sit at a table with their family and understand just a little bit more than I did this time. To have dinner with Danilo again and continue a conversation that felt like it had only just started.

But also to see the rest of the country in a way I did not this time. People in Sardinia kept asking me, half curious and half amused, why I chose Milan over everywhere else. Why not Rome, or Venice, or Florence?

And the way they talked about those places, especially Rome, felt different. There was admiration there. Almost a reverence. Like those cities still carried a kind of weight, even for people living in a place as beautiful as Sardinia. It was not about comparison. It was just recognition.

At the time, I didn't have a clear answer.

Now I think I do.

I did not choose wrong. I just did not choose everything.

And that feels like the best reason to come back.

Antonio and I checking out some ruins near Alghero, Sardinia!