Paolo Conte’s song Max makes me cry. Its undulating melody echoes the Tuscan hills. I played his greatest hits often on a family trip to Tuscany nine summers ago. I close my eyes when I hear it now and see the sun setting on lush green hillsides.
Travel is sensual. We readily think of sights, the visual, but there are other senses that pull us into a place more deeply if we allow ourselves the time and space to engage them.
The morning smell of espresso or bread in the bakery ovens. Rosemary and lavender warming in the Mediterranean sun. Geraniums. The exotic perfume of spice markets or the briny scent of the sea.
The sweet taste of local honey or chocolate. The saltiness of sheeps’ cheese or the earthiness of truffles. The many flavor notes of a wine as explained to you by its maker.
The precarious feel of cobblestones under your feet. The sweet grit of marzipan on your tongue or the heat of your first cafe au lait. The cool marble of dark Renaissance churches or the warm sun-baked stones of ancient ruins.
The soothing sound of cowbells echoing through the valley or the low vibration of an alpenhorn. The mingling of voices in a busy tapas bar. The signora whistling Verdi as she hangs her laundry.
All of your senses are engaged when you travel well. Travel invites a hyper-mindfulness, an acute presence in the moment. The key is to slow down.
Taste: Try new foods and local specialties like raw herring, wine and olive oil, chocolate eggplant, pastis, paella. Savor.
Hear: Tune in to local radio. Eavesdrop; even without the language you’ll understand. Make time for a concert. Sit in silence. Listen.
Smell: Close your eyes in gardens, markets, restaurants, the woods, everywhere. Cover your ears. Inhale.
Feel: Touch the marble and stone. Pet dogs. Try on a fancy dress. Shake a hand or grab an elbow to help someone. Connect.
Enjoy your travels.