Unpacking Italy & Sicily - Part Two
The people on the bus.
Hello friends,
Let’s start with the people. Why? Because they were the heart of this journey—woven into every vista, every vineyard, every scoop of gelato.
The 40 of us, from across continents and convictions, didn’t just travel Italy—we became a temporary family. Some were loud, some quiet. Some fast friends. Some not. But all of them: unforgettable.
We carried more than passports and suitcases. We brought accents, assumptions, ailments, quirks—and the full, beautiful complexity of being human.
As in most families, there were moments of tension, sure. Politics occasionally spilled into dinner conversations, and at times, cultural misunderstandings left a sting. I saw how hard it can be to feel overlooked—or misjudged. But more often than not, there was laughter, generosity, and surprising connection. We helped each other up (literally and figuratively), waited patiently for others, shared medicines to aid our ailments, and soon began to cheer on, and look out for, one another like a team.
There were so many unique individuals I won’t soon forget. I haven’t included everyone—only the ones who stay with me today as I reflect on the trip.
I’ll start with the real family characters in this story—my daughter Stefanie and me. We had dreamed about this trip for five years. The first attempt was cancelled when COVID hit. We laughed together, shared stories, endured a few tensions, and returned with full hearts to have shared this experience together.
And the others…
The Filipino doctors—kind and observant—confided in me that they often felt unseen by others on the tour. They suspected the color of their skin played a role—a sobering reminder that inclusion isn’t just about being present, but about being truly seen.
Their story opened the door for me to share my own moment of discomfort: when an American traveling with his family—a group of ten in total—mocked us Canadians and casually joked about Canada becoming the 51st state. I’m about the least political person you’ll meet, but we Canadians are a bit sensitive to that topic. I wished that day I’d had a ball cap that read, “We aren’t for sale.”
We stood a little taller after that—and, as so often happens in families, added a bit of distance. Oddly enough, that distance began to narrow as the trip went on.
The Canadian women in matching maple leaf sweaters—who taught me how layered identity can be, even when you share a flag.
And then there was Sheryl, a soft-spoken, kind woman who took a terrifying fall and ended up in an ambulance, followed by two visits to Italian hospitals to rule out a concussion. We watched as the bruises deepened each day—her forehead blackened, her eyes ringed in violet. And still, she showed up with the fiercest resilience for every outing, every meal, lending others painkillers or creams, offering laughter through her grit, all while her patient and kind husband Frank stood by her side.
Cindy & Pat, the Boston best friends, braving health scares and steep cobblestones with joy and appreciation, never missing a beat (or a store to find souvenirs). With all their challenges, they were already planning another trip. Now that is determination and exemplifies the strength of the human spirit in spite of adversity.
We can’t forget Liz and Sarah, a mother-daughter pair from Texas. Liz, a retired teacher and avid reader, quoted books while dining together. Her mother, soft-spoken and kind, in her 80’s won my heart quickly—and became my unofficial partner when we tired and needed a rest.
There was Margaret, an actress from LA, soon to be 70, who brought a touch of glamour and quiet strength to the group. I admired her courage and independence—traveling solo with grace and curiosity. A sweet soul, whose voice still echoes in my mind.
Just west of the Rocky Mountains from where I live are Deb and Marco, whose easygoing warmth felt like home. We bonded over shared geography and gentle temperaments, quickly becoming laundry partners, dinner companions, and tour buddies. I’ll never forget what a gentleman Marco was—always offering to carry my backpack when he saw me struggling."
There was Deb. She and her husband Tom, brought their own flavor of exuberance. Their thick Boston accents were charming, Deb’s energy infectious—and, one night, at a Tuscan farm dinner Deb was playing matchmaker making sure a young Italian waitress would have their son’s contact information in hopes they would marry.
The Australian foursome added spice and laughter. One of the men confided in me that he was truly a homebody—was there more for his wife than the itinerary—but I swear he had the best time ever.
Bev and Gary, a retired couple from near my hometown—he a farmer, she a nurse—brought both depth and dedication. They shared stories of their time on the Liberation Tour and even rented a car in Sicily to visit a relative’s war grave—a moving detour. Bev also became our unofficial wellness guide, always ready with remedies for everything from motion sickness to travel constipation.
There were others, like the couple from the U.S. who’ve been everywhere and yet lit up when speaking of their trip along the west coast of Canada.
Maurizio, our gifted Italian bus driver, navigated mountain hairpins with poetic grace. We were in awe (more about that as I continue to share my adventures). Ever charming and steady, his sweater always neatly draped over his shoulders, he’d hold out his hand to help us off the bus like it was the most natural thing in the world.
At the center of it all: Antonio, our fearless Tour Director. Passionate, impeccably organized, and full of charm. He was steeped in Italian history, and taught us not just about monuments but about manners—how to cross streets, how to move respectfully through villages, how to honor the pace of those around us. He helped those who struggled, carried bags, offered quiet words, and somehow made each of us feel individually seen, even while managing the chaos of forty. Antonio didn’t just guide us through Italy—he held space for the emotional terrain of travel, too
And so, we came for Italy—but we left with each other.
In the end, it wasn’t just the ruins or the risotto, the cathedrals or the coastlines that lingered. It was the shared glances over glasses of wine, the inside jokes on bus rides, the unexpected kindness from near-strangers. We came with our stories and left with new ones. And though we scattered back across the globe, I carry each of them with me—like postcards written on the heart, sealed in gelato and goodbyes.
Tomorrow, we start our journey in Palermo, Sicily, making pizza and gelato — recipes included.
Have you ever traveled with strangers who ended up feeling like family?
What did that experience teach you about connection?
The Kitchen Table gathering returns Friday, June 20. Stay tuned for details.
Wow! Your writing is absolutely amazing; it makes me feel like I know them personally. It's truly fascinating how we can connect with strangers and how those connections can positively influence our lives. I genuinely enjoy reading your work so much!
I have been drifting back in time through your writing. My bus trip with people from highschool through Italy had several of the same dynamics though people who were not friends at the start were still not friends when we returned but that's highschool for you.