I’m in Italy right now, and I’m sorry to admit that to all of you Italy lovers. If you love Italy, you love it with all of your heart.

Ten years ago, I would say that Rome was my favorite city, but not anymore. It’s gone–the romantic, ethereal Rome we once all knew and loved. Now it’s a place solely to generate tourist dollars. You even have to pay to throw money in the famous Trevi Fountain. The crowds are so thick it’s literally like navigating through a swarm of mosquitos in the jungles of Guatemala. They say northern Italy is much the same. “It’s gone global,” one taxi driver said.

But go a little south to Sorrento and the Amalfi Coast and you say, “Ahhh. Here we go. The old Italy.” The whole peninsula is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. That means nothing new can be built. There are no McDonalds or Wendy’s. No Targets or Walmarts. It’s just one Italian guy happily yelling down the street to another, little meat markets and beautiful hilly towns. And yes, there are tourists, but it all feels a little more manageable.

The cost of living here is 2/3 less than the United States and the average salary is $24,500 a year. So your buying power at that average is more than $75,000 a year. Food is still cheap here. Clothes, cars, and all of life’s necessities are pre-Covid, pre-globalization prices in the United States. If you moved here and worked remotely at $30,000 a year, your buying power would be $90,000 a year.

Ready to call a realtor?

Honestly, I can see myself here. You might have gathered I am tired of the trappings of money and wealth generation in first world countries.

See RUSSELL, Page D5

Russell

From Page D1

Right about now I want to shake olives from the trees in October, grow basil in the garden, have long dinners with neighbors. The Italians in this area are so generous of spirit, so deeply caring, so authentic, you feel wrapped in a cocoon of well-being.

The staff where we are staying have adopted us. They hug us in the morning. They try to speak English to express their gratitude and happiness to see us. They don’t have to say a word. It’s in their eyes and in the expressions on their faces.

Yesterday morning one of the women who prepares breakfast saw me walk in looking tired. She grabbed both of my hands, looked directly into my face and said softly, “Mama mia… you need cappuccino.” Five minutes later she returned carrying one like it was medicine from a village healer. Last night another worker insisted we all take home extra pastries “for happiness tomorrow.” Imagine that in America. We would probably hand someone a survey link and ask them to rate their customer experience from one to five stars. Here, people still operate from instinct instead of corporate scripts. They notice things. They fuss over you. They feed you before you know you are hungry. Nobody is rushing you out the door because another reservation is waiting.

And maybe that’s what we’ve really lost back home–not beauty, not comfort, not convenience, but humanity. Somewhere along the line, efficiency replaced connection. We order from apps, eat in our cars, text instead of knock on doors. We are productive, optimized, scheduled and exhausted. Here, life still pauses long enough for people to look directly at one another.

Dinner lasts three hours. Grandmothers lean from balconies. Laundry blows in the wind over narrow streets that have existed longer than our country. Nobody seems terribly impressed with money. They are impressed if you sit down, stay awhile, eat another piece of cake.

And suddenly you realize perhaps the good life was never the bigger kitchen, the luxury SUV, the endless striving. Perhaps it was this all along: ripe tomatoes, church bells in the distance, someone pouring you wine without measuring it, and a town that still remembers how to be human.