Last year I made a handful of trips to Italy. Some for work, others simply for the pleasure of being somewhere warm and beautiful. Between the long trattoria lunches, the early evening strolls and daily aperitivo hours, I developed a huge appreciation for living like an Italian, even temporarily.
It started on a beach. I was watching a group of young locals – in their teens or early twenties, maybe – and I noticed something so pure and simple that it stopped me in my tracks: they weren't on their phones. Not a single one of them. They were sprawled across towels, playing cards, laughing, making eye contact when they spoke to each other. There was a looseness to them, a confidence that didn't seem performative. They were just genuinely, unhurriedly in the moment. It sounds like such a small thing, but it felt almost radical. Like catching a glimpse of something we'd collectively agreed to give up without quite realising we were doing it.
The literal souvenirs from those trips are, I'll admit, fairly unremarkable. Beautiful handmade leather gloves, an embroidered napkin, a linen tablecloth I've yet to use because I don't want to spoil it. A bottle of something local that I keep meaning to open on a special occasion. The usual accumulation of beautiful things bought with the best intentions.
But the thing I returned home with was more than just memories and stories. It was a kind of permission to embrace that Italian-style relationship with the present. Time doesn't feel like something to be optimised there. A meal is a meal. An evening is an evening. Conversation doesn't have an agenda. I'd been before, plenty of times, but something about last year – particularly in those slower coastal pockets, away from the tourist trail – felt different. Maybe I was ready to actually see and feel my surroundings, rather than just visit.
The gloves are still in excellent condition, for what it's worth. The tablecloth remains unwrapped and the bottle is still waiting for its moment. Some souvenirs, it turns out, are better used than preserved.
My must-pack items
Personalised backgammon roll, Not Another Bill; £52
Supersonic travel hairdryer, Dyson; £249.99
Shampoo and conditioner travel set, Pelegrims; £19
Panama notebook, Smythson; £60
Perfect Weekend Tote, Alex Mill; £195
Hightide Nahe neon travel organiser, Selfridges; £20
All In Good Taste, the regular column from Laura Jackson, first appeared in the fourth issue of Broadsheet London's magazine.
