The morning of our cooking class, we approached the silver-haired concierge I had developed a slight crush on.  Our ride was late. “Prego,” he said. Not a question or a welcome, but more of an announcement.  I thought he didn’t like us because I had openly stared at him upon our arrival.   Daniel thought it was because we were American.  Either way that morning he took our travel voucher and called after our ride, in fast, terse Italian.  I liked the sound of our last name in its native tongue and wondered if it would fly at home off my American lips.

With found time, we sat in the lobby and ordered a coffee, surprised when it came out as espresso in demitasses with a plate of sugar cookies.  This is “caffe” in Italy.  They call our coffee Americano.  Simona stood before us and introduced herself as our guide.  She led us out front to her Volkswagen subcompact.   It was just us.

“It’ll be about an hour, so get comfortable,” she said as Daniel folded himself into the front seat.  I silently wondered if I would look back on this moment with regret.  In general, it’s probably not terrific operational security to get into the car of a stranger in a foreign country.  While I was thinking this, Daniel was making small talk. He learned Simona is a temporarily out-of-work film producer who is moonlighting as a cooking instructor.  She’s friends with the chef, Fabio. When Daniel mentioned coffee, she said, “I do not like Italian coffee—it’s too strong.  I prefer Starbucks.”  She’s part of a Facebook group trying to bring the chain to Rome.

Simona wound us out of downtown and into the countryside.  We made our way to Mazzano Romano, a medieval village.  When I stepped out of the car, I spun around in slow motion.  We were about 1,000 feet up in the lush green hills, overlooking a forest and river.  I got out my camera and struggled with what to shoot.  It was all beautiful.  We bought fresh zucchini, cherry tomatoes, eggplant, and a potato from the vegetable stand in town, where we tasted enormous green peas from the pod.  We walked through winding cobblestone alleys to Il Drago, the at-once elegant and rustic home where we would be cooking.

The kitchen had a stone countertop and sink and actual tree trunks exposed and supporting the ceiling. Simona decided “anyone can make chicken or veal.  Let’s make pasta.”  We made pici from water and flour, ravioli from egg and flour, and gnocchi from a baked potato and flour. And now, how to cook like an Italian.  Not every Italian, just this one we had the pleasure of meeting. Click for more photos and to read tips Simona taught us.

Something about returning from a trip so far removed from real life is disorienting.  I know we were there; I know it was gorgeous and surreal and the best trip I've had.  I have the pictures to prove it.  But, now that we're back, it often feels like I never left.

I have so much-- stories, photos, travel tips-- to share. Fortunately, I predicted that I would forget the details upon my return, so right now, it's all scribbled in a series of travel journals. For now, I'll share a few of my favorite photos. We took an obscene amount-- 1,000 or so-- so many that we had to buy a ridiculously overpriced 8GB memory card in Rome. File that one away, you'll see it again under Must Have Items to Pack for a trip to Rome so You Don't Waste Your Time and Money. Or something like that. The photos in this first gallery are in no particular order, some from Florence, a couple from Castellina in Chianti, and some from Rome. More of everything to come. Enjoy!

Nine nights of dinners are in my fridge and freezer for sleepovers with Nonna, a duffel bag stuffed to the brim with kids' clothing and diapers is ready to go for phase 2, sleepovers with Pop Pop and Mia, and two large and probably overweight suitcases are on my floor for us.  I am not supposed to be blogging.

"Forty-five minutes, AIS (@ss-in-seat)," Daniel just barked.  This morning we had a not-that-urgent visit to urgent care and countless other issues derail us.  Last night I lost my new passport (it's since been found), and Mirabella just bit herself in an attempt to get a Princess Band Aid.  And Osama bin Laden's death is making everyone freak out about international travel. Leaving the country is not so simple.

But we are doing it!  We are leaving tonight for Rome, and from there will travel to Florence.  I can't wait to share photos, but mostly, I can't wait to go exploring with my best friend.  I am nervous to leave the little girls, but Mirabella's random temper tantrum is, at the moment, easing the transition.  I'll be back next week, with stories and souvenirs.