Mark Hinshaw

Perhaps the greatest challenge I’ve encountered is not linguistic or social, but physical.

I often narrow my choices to salmon, mussels, tuna, or scampi. One cannot go wrong with any of these.

Doesn't Stanley Tucci's American upbringing ever cause him to crave hash browns? And is there an Italian version, perhaps with extra-virgin olive oil?

What if you didn’t have a calendar to glance at every once in a while? What if it was a list of numbers, 1 to 31 displayed in random clusters?

Non-Italian food in Italy? Pretty damn hard to find.

I was given a prescription by the surgeon to address the recovery process. One day, there was a knock on the door, which I answered it in my pajamas and robe. It was the local pharmacist, asking if I needed any refills. I had never imagined a pharmacist making house calls.

In our little Italian village, an extended construction project across the street turns into an opportunity for unexpected kindness.

The secondary school system in Italy, not unlike some other European countries, offers options to students when they are about to enter high school. Eventually attending a university and making a plan to do so is one option. But there is another, equally good one. That is to enter a high school that specializes in specific talents and skills. There are a several types. They include technical, pre-professional, and cultural tracks. 

We had to learn how to live all over again – where to shop, where to find things, where to go when we had a problem, who to ask our questions – but learn we did. 

Along with this diaspora of ordinary working families went most of the local shops and cafes. Long gone are the little shops carrying clothing and jewelry made in an adjacent room. Also gone are the small, quirky galleries selling authentic works of hand-blown Murano glass. They have been replaced by shops carrying mass-produced tchotchkes for tourists who want souvenirs to cram into their carry-on bags.