Slow Down, Ya Move too Fast! (Solution: Maybe Italy?)

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The turn of a new year is a time to reflect on one’s life. This year, I realized that, unintentionally, our moving to Italy has had distinct health benefits. For several years in Seattle, I had been picking up the classic symptoms of aging: high blood pressure, high cholesterol, deteriorating memory, pain in the fingers, numbness in the feet, and so on. After years of living here, most of these conditions have stopped. Some have even reversed.

When we first embarked on our move to Italy in 2017, like so many other newcomers, I envisioned a host of benefits. Superb food and wine. A lower cost of living. Less expensive housing. Living in a charming village. And easy access to other countries and cultures. What I did not fully appreciate was the effect it would have on my personal health.

As tourists, we are caught up in the excitement and romance of an adventure over a short period. It is a break from day-to-day reality — a time of freedom from schedules, social obligations, and stress. However, in just a few weeks, we cannot experience the long-term effects of a place. I now notice that moving to Italy has brought dramatic personal health benefits.

Certainly, some of them are the result of a functioning national health system. For a fraction of what Americans pay for health insurance in the United States, here one gets a good local doctor and free or very low-cost treatment. If specialized care is required, our doctor arranges it, finding the most expeditious service. She calls in prescriptions to pharmacies. And reminds us to have blood work done annually to monitor changes. We need not fear an enormous bill at the end of hospital treatment. No one appears prior to treatment with a clipboard, demanding insurance information. All emergency care is free.

Our small town provides free EMT and ambulance service to hospitals if needed, using shifts of volunteers as drivers. Over the years, my wife and I have both had surgical procedures; the work involved was professional, caring, and performed with state-of-the-art equipment. We have never paid more than 40 euros as co-pay for those procedures. The psychological benefits are palpable. We need not fear going bankrupt from a sudden catastrophic condition.

Sadly, many of my friends and former colleagues in the U.S. have suffered failing knees, hips, or internal organs, and of course the Big C. Almost weekly I hear about trips to hospitals for scans or treatment. As such conditions are common with aging in the U.S., I fully expected to follow in their path. But here in Italy, I have virtually no afflictions, save for a minor condition controlled by medication.

Of course, maintaining one’s health requires more than simply good medical services. Regular physical activity is important. The variety of local shops and services, restaurants and cafes of our hilltop village of Santa Vittoria in Matenano, in east-central Italy, encourages us to walk daily for everything we need. Sometimes, days go by with no need for a car. Exercise happens naturally and is often combined with social activity. Indeed, a simple short errand frequently turns into a 45-minute series of conversations with friends, neighbors, or shopkeepers.

Shopping for fresh fruit & veg at an outdoor market (Photo: Sunny Savina Bertollini).

Likewise, the food we eat surely makes a major difference. Everything we buy in local shops is from surrounding farms. No preservatives or other chemicals blunt the nutrition and flavor. (Many contemporary diseases in the U.S. started showing up after the introduction of ultra-processed foods.) I’m convinced that when American tourists rave about the food in Italy’s restaurants it’s as much about being able to taste it as about the skill of the chef. An added bonus: By buying goods locally, rather than from the big corporate chains, we help support more than a dozen families who work in local shops. I constantly marvel how this village supports three small food markets, each with somewhat different stock.

There is also the matter of mental health. The rolling pastoral landscape that surrounds our town — and dozens of other ancient towns atop the higher hills — is constantly soothing with its patchwork of greens, yellows, and browns. Italy forces you to slow down and enjoy life; few things move quickly. The mid-day breaks, the walks along cobblestone lanes, and the friendly neighbors make every day pleasant, even during the winter. Italy also seems relatively free of the rancor, divisiveness, and hate now flourishing in the U.S. People here can vehemently disagree but in the end, most of them seem capable of participating in a mutually supportive community.

I also benefit from the plant-based tinctures that my wife makes by hand in her artisanal workshop. She uses an old-school method called “enfleurage,” which uses gravity to drip alcohol slowly through glass beakers filled with different combinations of herbs. Recently she has opened a studio in our village and has been attracting a growing clientele. I’ve benefitted from her works for 15 years, and the results have been nothing short of astonishing. Using one of her salves for six months, I rid myself of the eczema that had plagued my elbows and hands for years. Another salve eliminated a persistent arthritic condition in eight fingers.

Finally, we both seem to benefit from an incident that was as mystical as it was entirely unexpected. Nine years ago, before moving here, we spent time in an active archaeological dig. A 2000-year-old Roman town was being uncovered by a team of archaeologists; it had been buried many centuries ago by the Catholic Church, as the town and its temple were built to honor a pagan goddess.

That deity was Salus — the protector of health. Without realizing it, we all still recognize that figure whenever we raise a wine glass and say “Salute!” often followed by “To your health!”

Our loquacious Italian guide for the excavation invited my wife to touch an exposed exterior wall of the temple decorated with images of animals and humans and words of an ancient language. Touching the wall of a sacred place is not uncommon in Italy. The grand cathedral in the town of Loreto contains what is purported to be three walls of the Holy House of the Virgin Mary, which — legend has it — was delivered by angels to its present location. After many centuries of being touched by countless thousands of Catholic pilgrims and people hoping to heal afflictions, the walls are almost black.

When my wife touched the wall of the old Roman temple, there was an immediate connection that was physically manifested with uncontrollable shaking and a startled look — neither of which she remembers. We viewed that physical epiphany as one of several signs that we needed to live here. Some things just cannot be rationally explained.

With all of the elements involved in maintaining our health while aging, the secret to success could be any or all of these — mysterious or not. In any case, they seem to have worked.

Mark Hinshaw
Mark Hinshaw
Mark Hinshaw is a retired architect and city planner who lived in Seattle for more than 40 years. For 12 years he had a regular column on architecture for The Seattle Times and later was a frequent contributor to Crosscut. He now lives in a small hill town in Italy.

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