I traveled in Italy with grandchildren. Here’s how it went

A vacation to Arezzo with the kid's kids

Nicola stared into the window of the café and pointed to the cookies on display and whimpered. His message was unmistakable. Our grandson, now all of two years old, yearned with all his being to eat that cookie.  Once again, for the umpteenth time that morning, our toddler insisted on getting some food in his mouth. His appetite took precedence over all life on earth as we know it.

We were strolling along the Corsa Italia, the main shopping stretch in Arezzo, a city about 48 miles southeast of Florence. Our family — all three generations of us –– my wife Elvira, daughter Caroline, seven-year-old granddaughter Lucia and, of course Nicola The Insatiable –– had gone to Arezzo for a seven-day vacation the week before Christmas.

It was my first time traveling anywhere to stay overnight since moving to Italy four years ago.  It was also my first experience hitting the road with our grandchildren. 

Now I was discovering what I had long suspected. Wherever we went, noon or midnight, our little guy was ready to chow down. So it goes traveling with youngsters in tow. Your time is never your own. That’s true when you’re home, too, but away it’s somehow even more so.

Our adventures in Arezzo spelled, in equal measure, promise but also peril. So maintaining safety was priority number-one. We three adults were ever on high alert in our outings around Arezzo, scanning the landscape for potential threats, vehicular and pedestrian alike. Visitors thronged the cobblestone streets as cyclists pedaled past and cars crept along barely two feet away. Possibly because I lived in New York City for 46 years, I suspected every passerby – even other grandparents – could be a potential kidnapper.

It’s no exaggeration to claim that going anywhere with kids for overnight stays is a job and a half. They’re separated from everything familiar. They sleep in different beds, go to different bathrooms, navigate a different terrain. All the basic throbbing needs that must be quickly met at home feel abruptly heightened.

One minute Nicola would plead with us to go back to the toy store we visited the day before, no doubt once again to roll miniature fire trucks along the floor. The next minute Lucia would spot a cute dress in a boutique and demand we drop in. Between tantrums peace occasionally broke out, but rarely lasted more than about 45 seconds. We adults were on tap 24/7 to juggle and balance these competing priorities, our mandate to gratify all parties concerned while somehow keeping our sanity intact.

That was essentially our job description, and it took some doing, let me tell you. The kids were more or less in charge, the equivalent of the inmates running the asylum. Our sojourn in Arezzo alternated between a sprint and a marathon.

We tried our utmost to take in the sights. Arezzo abounds with history spanning the Etruscan, Roman and medieval periods to the Renaissance itself. Here was the Basilica of San Francesco, with its “Legend of The True Cross” fresco, and there the Casa Vasari, home of and museum honoring Arezzo native Giorgio Vasari, artist, architect and author of the pioneering art history “The Lives Of The Artists.”

Ah, but many a sight went unseen. The kids so often interrupted our attempts to absorb the surrounding culture that even our interruptions wound up interrupted, every distraction yanking us away from the previous distraction.

But never you mind about all that. Our holiday break in Arezzo was well worth all the worry. Here’s why.

For starters, our grandchildren got to stay in the penthouse Michelangelo Suite in the Hotel Continentale. The room was decked out for Christmas, lavishly so, complete with a seven-foot-tall Christmas tree draped in dangling baubles and nutcrackers, the walls festooned with wreaths braided with blinking colored lights.

Lucia and Nicola also toured the Santa Claus Village in the Medici Fortress (Fortezza Medicea) on the San Donato hill. There, among teenagers costumed as elves, they met Santa himself (Babbo Natale). They admired giant figures of reindeer and polar bears, all ablaze in illumination, populating Il Prato Park.

They rode the carousel in the Piazza Grande, marveled at a Lego exhibit featuring a Guiness World Record Christmas village and a reproduction of the Titanic and the original World Trade Center, learned about the universe beyond our skies at a small-scale makeshift planetarium under a tent, and ambled among the wooden kiosk huts in the Tyrolean Christmas market, the largest in central Italy.

So what if we adults never really experienced Arezzo all that directly? So what if we never saw the locations where Arezzo native Roberto Benigni filmed his Academy-Award-winning film Life Is Beautiful? So what if we treated ourselves only to one meal in a restaurant, all lunches and dinners takeout deals eaten in our rooms for maximum convenience? So what if we had no more than five seconds at a stretch to behold the palazzos and museums and libraries, much less take in the panorama of Tuscan hills rolling into the distance like waves across the ocean?

Instead, we fed Nicola. We popped into this pasticceria for a biscotti and that trattoria for a cornetto. He snacked not only between meals but also between snacks. The kid could put it away – eggs, pizza, you name it. We had no choice but to fuel his turbo-charged metabolism at every turn. Our perfectly proportioned little guy scarfed almost every morsel placed in front of him –- if within reach, he would snatch from your plate, too – and stuffed his face until his cheeks bulged. We witnessed this singular spectacle with no small disbelief, but also with the deepest of satisfactions known to humanity, that of feeding a hungry child.

My advice? Well, I’m no expert. But research shows some best practices. Leave the parents in charge. Tag-team with your spouse, alternating responsibilities. Keep your itinerary light. Try to go at your own pace and take frequent breaks. Maintain patience and flexibility.

I know, I know: easier said than done. But take it from me: still doable.

All in all, if you do the math, I ultimately gained infinitely more than I missed traveling with our grandkids. I once again had a ringside seat watching my wife and daughter in action as mother and grandmother, each unstintingly devoted. Just as valuable, we adults saw it all as we imagined our kids saw it. They reawakened our sense of awe and wonder at the miracle of Christmas.

I left Arezzo asking myself the only question that really counted. Did the kids have fun? And because the answer was yes, so did I.

All photographs by Caroline Chirichella

Bob Brody, a consultant and essayist, and regular contributor to WONDERLUST, is author of the memoir Playing Catch with Strangers: A Family Guy (Reluctantly) Comes of Age.

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