I just want to acknowledge that I have carelessly lost count of my days in Italy. This might be forgivable given the huge number of events and sights and probably my age. If the last post talked about day 18, I was only in Italy for 21 days and I still had at least five days to recount. Hence the title of this post. Ridiculously I lost the thread of the days. Oh well.
July 2, 2026 We arrived in the mountains on Thursday afternoon, and after a lovely post-drive walk on a bucolic loop at the base of the most gorgeous hills, with my friends and their dog greeting everyone along the path by name, we retired to their condo where we had a lovely pasta dinner prepared by Alberto followed by gelato from the local gelateria – spectacular. Their patio overlooks a local church, framed by the Dolomites above – it has to be one of the more dramatic dinner vistas I’ve ever had in my life.
The air in the mountains is gorgeously fresh and pure and I savored it with enthusiasm. After 17,000 steps between our last day at the Biennale and our walks, I was happy to see the bed at around 9pm.
July 3, 2026
We woke up early and met Michel and Marina and their dog Leia, and headed off on a long drive up into the mountains for a hike. Michel and Alberto had reconnected years ago after being childhood friends in the mountains. Imagine reconnecting in your 50s with a friend from your teens. So wonderful! At any rate, we drove up to a beautiful spot where we then hiked up to an outcropping that overlooked a gorgeous valley. The dogs were literally having a field day, galumphing through the high grass and flowers. We passed an electrified pen filled with recently-sheared sheep and at the very top of the hill there was a carved totem. It was quite lovely. Afterwards, we came back down and had lunch at the hotel at the base of the walk. It was a wonderful day.
7/4/26 Happy Not-In-The-USA for 250
Lest you think I am not a patriotic person, I did plan this trip to coincide with Independence day not in the USA. I couldn’t face the prospect of seeing MAGA forward celebrations. After knowing that there was going to be the June 14th Cage fight on the front lawn of “The People’s House,” I was ready to slough off my Americanness for Saturday, July 4th. What better place to be than in the Dolomites, were we took a lovely walk along a river, after parking at a Veteran’s memorial for WWI vets of all nationalities, right near a group of young cows (Muccas) who were pressed up near the fence accepting pats on their noses, their bells ringing enthusiastically.
We started off on the trail with Michel & Marina, Caro and Alberto, and the two dogs, Leia and Toby. It was a lovely walk along the river path, sometimes with the cows, and other times, just dodging the cow patties and watching the dogs doing a lot of river bathing. There were lots of bikers and hikers along the trail. We passed a small former metal-working foundry by the river where we stopped to have a chocolate chip cookie each that Alberto had thoughtfully brought, along with some cut up peaches.
We continued on to the boardwalk on the path around Lago di Dobbiaco which has a lovely albergo we later drove past. One mishap on the way back when I stopped to relieve myself. It’s been a while folks – when was the last time you went in nature? I certainly hadn’t since my knee surgery has curtailed my squat, and I suddenly realized I was looking down and peeing on something that had flowers all over it. Yep, that would be my iphone case. Yuck. Life’s little tragedies. Sorry I should have had a warning before that overshare….
We had a very gentle walk on the way back, Toby and Leia tried to play with a marmalade-colored poodle; that didn’t end well, but Toby was unscathed, as was the poodle.
We stopped at the world Heritage site where you can see all the surrounding mountains from one place.
The three peaks is the most famous landmark of the Dolomites, a World Heritage Site since 2009. There are seven nature parks in South Tyrol which is where Moos, the town we visited is. We returned there for a yummy lunch – mozzarella (local), tomatoes, green beans, prosciutto, and a small mixed salad, followed by a nap, then shopping in town with Caroline. We visited a church and brought some prezzies to take home.
Again, an early bedtime.
7/5/26 We woke early, having slept very well. That morning we met Michel and Marina again, and drove to the nearby ski gondola, and took it up the hill. We walked to the top, again encountering cows along the way. This walk was a little tough for me I guess due to the altitude, but a well-timed snack of peaches along the way and some hydration got me to the top. I’m glad I made it because the view was well-worth the challenge. Marina and Leia were attacked by a marmalade colored donkey who first chased Leia and then came directly to Marina’s side, which made her very uncomfortable. Later on our hike up the road, large cows were blocking the road, and Alberto and Michel got them to move for us. We wound our way up through a ground hog pass where we saw a number of marmotte and their squeals were distinct and appealing. We stopped at the peak and sat for a while, the dogs continuing to play and we took some pictures.
One picture taken by Marina has become my favorite and lives on my laptop screen. Heidi on the mountainside.
Coming down the hill was a bit sketchy. Caroline didn’t like the stone scree nor was I a big fan. We learned how to use the cow trails through the adjacent grass which were frequently gentler. We got down about 20 minutes later than everyone else, where we took the gondola down to the bottom ad bade Michel, Marina and Leia farewell. Such great folks!
We returned to have pasta with ragu sauce for lunch and salad. That day I took a 2 hour nap. After watching some of the Wimbledon matches- interestingly enough, Moos local player Jannik Sinner won the whole thing though we didn’t know it at that time. Caro made a delicious stir fry for dinner – what a great cook she is and has been such a gracious host. The next morning, we planned to leave to return to Mirano at 7AM. Caro and I would return to Venice for a few more days of Biennale visiting.
7/6/26 We left Moos at 7AM to drive back to Mirano. Caro and Alberto have a lot of responsibility in managing three households. I marveled at the organization of their dishes – that they have the same beautiful glassware and plates in all three locations. It’s quite something to behold. (sorry if that’s too much of a share). One of the things I appreciate so much about going to Italy is how they value pure food – all the markets have the personnel to provide you with the vegetables in either paper bags – no plastic packaging. The cheese is amazing. We visited one cheese shop in Moos or neighboring Sexton, and the quality is so fresh. To see the cows in the field and then go home to eat fresh asiago or mozzarella for lunch is a treat and something I did not take for granted while there. We arrived back in Mirano by 9:30. Alberto went off to work and we had breakfast, cut up fruit and coffee before going shopping again in the open air market, where I bought a bag for carrying all my loot home. Caroline made a chicken salad with a rotisserie chicken, celery and cabbage we bought whiole out. She steamed some green beans. What an excellent lunch! Later that afternoon, their son Leonardo arrived home from work and his vacation. I overheard their happy greeting of each other downstairs. We took off around 4:00 to go to Mestre for a physio appointment and then back to Venice for two days. Still on my wish list – visiting the Guggenheim Museum in Venice where I had been a student docent in 1983 for six months, the Scuola San Rocco, the Rialto bridge, the Lido and whatever Biennale exhibits we could find outside of the Arsenale and Giardini Biennale. Back to Mirano on Wednesday to take Caro and Bertie out for a thank you dinner. I couldn’t have made a trip like I’ve had without the kindness of Bob and Sally, Caro and Bertie. So blessed.
Got back to Venice, buying my vaporetto pass. The power in the flat was on fortunately, but we’d cranked the fridge up too high and had broken one of the water bottles. Took the vaporetto to the Accademia where we saw that Marina Abromovic has a show in the Accademia. We walked on to the Zattere and had dinner at a trattoria next to Nico Gelato, the old place I used to go near my American friend Bob’s house. They seated us right on the rail next to the water and we shared a greek salad and a veggie pizza. It was lovely, and Caro helped me to order my fake spritz.
The sky was stunning, with Tiepolo-esque clouds at the end of the Zattere. Caro chucked some bread over the railing separating the trattoria from the gelateria. About six pigeons proceeded to eat it, much to the consternation of a tourist eating his ice cream cone quite far away. He shot daggers at Caroline and proceeded to kick one of the pigeons off the porch. A few minutes later a piece of bread hit Caro’s shoulder – I can’t swear the irritated tourist was the source, but I’d bet on it. We laughed a lot. Walking back, we met a lovely British couple with a golden retriver and Caro and this complete stranger carried on a direct conversation about the benefits of castration for dogs (in terms of their behavior). It was wild.
7/6/26 Two more days! Tea with Caro in the Venice flat. On the way, we went through Campo Santo Stefano where I had lived for the second half of my year in Venice. We visited the church, which had an elegant wooden ceiling, and a chapel of Tintoretto paintings and a small museum we visited for 3.5 euros.
It was very nice. We watered a plant which was droopy in the sacristy with my water bottle. The door to the church was across the calle from where I lived in the last part of my time in Venice, a walk up apartment (illegal I think) belonging to a young Venetian woman I knew at the time. We also walked through Campo Santo Stephano and bought a tickeet for a concert of Vivaldi’s Quattro Stagione at 9:00pm that night. We entered the Marina Abramović exhibit which was incorporated into the regular collection at the Accademia, her pieces interspersed like little Easter eggs.
Initially they were very sparse throughout the gallery, and I started to feel a little snookered. But after seeing so many “old friends” in the collection by Giovanni Bellini and Veronese, we finally came to the Abramović gallery. There was a timeline of her career from her 1947 birth in Serbia to 2026 Venice! There were some very powerful pieces in the exhibit, including a pile of bloody cow bones from a 1997 exhibit entitled Balkan Baroque which appeared in the 47th Biennale.
“You can’t wash blood from your hands as you can’t wash the shame from the war” a statement that defines the works enduring meditation on guilt, grief, and the persistence of violence.”
A piece with the same name – Balkan Baroque but from 2011 calmly told as “the story of the rat” by a video of Abramović in a scientist’s lab coat with panels of photos of her mother and father to the left and right. This one is quite different from the cow bones, and is very disturbing. Read on – if you can stomach it. Italian on the left, English on the right.
The next rooms were full of her crystals and more sensory work. By the end of the exhibit, I felt like I had had the Accademia experience combined with a retrospective of her work and was artistically sated.
On the way back to the apartment I stopped again at the Teatro Italia, mimicking our order from the other day, Prosciutto, melon, tomatoes, a cucumber, mozzarella, aranchini, bread, milk. Food is so much cheaper in Italy than in the US now. All that was 17.40 euros. Going to the market was so much fun and reminded me of doing the shopping when I was an au pair in Venice, except that I used those trips to enhance my Italian with all the different vendors along the Rialto bridge at the time I lived there.
After supper, I attended the concert at San Videl. Vaporetto to L’Accademia, hike over the bridge and into Campo Santo Stefano.
The Group Interpreti Veneziani is a group of musicians who play a series of concerts there. This was Vivaldi. They were the most expressive players and so filled with joy. We weren’t a terribly sophisticated audience, blundering through the pauses between the movements with our blind, idolatrous clapping. There was a pause before the next piece, a Concerto per Violincello, Archi e Cembalo RV40, which was gorgeous. The cellist, Davide Amradio had a serene yet dynamic face and his physicality was mesmerizing. He held the audience’s applause in a way that neither the first soloist Petro Talamini nor the second soloist Livio Troiano could during the Four Seasons with a raised hand and a bemused but corrective expression. The audience was packed – mostly tourists, and lots of children eight to fifteen years in age. Spilling out into the calle outside San Vidal afterwards as we all made our way to the Vaporetto made me almost feel like I was in my twenties again. Almost…the bridge was not as easy. I walked back to Caro and Bertie’s flat in Campo San Mariziano and up the four flights to take another shower – so humid there.
7/8/26 My last day in Venice and in Italy. I went to the Guggenheim that morning and had reached out to see if there was anyone who would meet me since I missed the May 7th Biennale Kick off cocktail party for alumni fellows. Doubtful that anyone I knew in 1983 was there, I still enjoyed my time in the collection. I was struck by the impact that Peggy Guggenheim’s very personal collection has had on me and the formation of my artistic taste as a collector, modest as I am in that regard. This collage by Kurt Schwitters evokes the same feeling as some collages in my collection do. The exuberance and color of the Kandinskys that I looked at over and over while there is reflected in much/most of my art. Each of the things in her collection has impacted the way I grew to appreciate and collect art. That was really heart-opening for me to realize.
Again, I had stood in the gallery which I found to be quite quite changed from when I had been there as a docent, and I contemplated the effect of exposure to art and how it can change the viewer. There was a beautiful exhibit of the work from Peggy Guggenheim’s Jeune Gallery on Cork Street in NY. The portrait of Samuel Beckett stopped me in my tracks.
I also halted in surprise when I saw a Francis Bacon in the hallway. I remember a time when I was still a student of Art History at Princeton and I went to Washington to visit my Dad. I dragged him to the Hirshhorn Gallery in the pouring rain. We crossed the mall and I led him up to look at a triptych by Francis Bacon with dismembered bodies in adjacent glass cubes and declared that he was my favorite artist. The look of disbelief, disgust, calculating the return on investment for my education, and not a small amount of worry on his face came flooding back to me in Peggy Guggenheim’s hallway and I guffawed out loud. Happy to say that infatuation with Bacon has more or less passed. But the relationship between a docent and the art they have the privilege of sharing with visitors has clearly stuck with me.
Recently, when my granddaughters were visiting, at the urging by Caroline to take them to the museum, we went to LACMA and it was a pretty horrible experience for them and me – more on that later; however, we were in one space and a guard offered to take our picture in front of a bright heart-shaped work. You would never know from this photo that we were all desperately dispeptic. It was a testimony to the pride of the work she was guarding that she offered to take our picture. Caro, this picture is for you. 🙂
On the way back from the Guggenheim, I stopped in a Palazzo where there was an exhibit by Ukranian artists entitled “Still Joy“. It was such a moving exhibit that after five years of being under seige, there were still artists sharing their creativity and hope with the world. These Murano-inspired chandeliers are made out of marshmallow.
Laurel Leaf in the Mouth You Will Receive a Message by Pavlo Kovach, 2026
This work by artist and serviceman Pavlo Kovach is a monument of hope. Each laurel leaf here is partially covered in brass, and the case number of a missing soldier is engraved on its surface. Brittle, dry leaves that seem to have fallen acquire longevity – this is how fragile sculptures capture a disappearing presence. The title of the work refers to a folk belief: if you find a bay leaf in your soup, you will get good news.
The laurel, which is typically used to celebrate winners, here embodies expectation and quiet reverence. A field made of hundreds of leaves is a landscape of loss, open to the experience of both grief and hope. In most such cases, the person is declared deceased, but there is always a chance for a different outcome. This expectation is contained in every leaf, which along with the case number also records the fate of the soldier.
The work captures the state of uncertainty between life and death, hope and memory. Here they coexist, just like in the feelings of those who await news about their loved ones.
Courtesy of the Artist, produced with the support of PinchukArtCentre
On that poignant message, I complete my 21 days of fellowship and friendship, art and reminiscences in Italy for 2026. Thanks for coming along with me!
lifeinthethe8tre 