I take artistic license in defining the Italian phrase La Dolce Vita (“the sweet life”). Mine is more subtle and abstract, less crude and concrete. But what is it really? Is it man’s natural state; the purpose of life to maintain this homeostasis? Is it a progression to a certain level, only after life’s more base needs have been steadily fulfilled? For me, La Dolce Vita are those rare inexplicable moments that catch us off guard and add just the right amount of sweetness to life.

An Italian plum tree by the driveway. Even after having grown up among papaya, banana, and other tropical fruit trees and surrounded by unending rows of pineapples and fields of sugarcane, I still marvel at the sources of our food and the more unfamiliar, the more captivating. These could be touched and picked, not unwrapped or defrosted; they could sustain life. Maybe it was a primal instinct to know first-hand where our sustenance came from. Here it was in my very hands.

An unexpected invitation to dinner. On our final night in Tuscany, Nicola, who had become a new friend and not just our AirBnb host, and his housemate had invited us to dinner in Montecatini Alto, the hilltop town that had teased us from a distance the entire time we were visiting. That evening was like every fantasy of Tuscany come to life. A soft setting sun. Wonderful food and wine. Intriguing and insightful conversation about life, Tuscany, and Italy. Clear skies and warm evening air. Young children playing soccer at the far end of the cozy piazza. The clinking of glasses and forks on plates. Delicious aromas emanating from all around. The muted music of a small band playing just around the corner.

A taste of a local’s favorite. There are few things more thrilling to me than being let in on a secret, especially if it is a delicious one. After dinner on our last day, Nic took us to his favorite gelateria, a local gem, La Bottega Del Gelato. Would we have found this place on our own? Probably not. Would we have ended up at some second-rate shop where the gelato tasted just like plain old American ice cream? Most likely. We were honestly touched that he had shared an experience with us we would otherwise not have had.

A night stroll in Pistoia. After the gelatos, while on a leisurely passegiata (“stroll”) in the neighboring town of Pistoia, Nicola had pointed out that the old buildings we were slowly passing were built in the early 18th century. 18th century? He was telling us that these stone structures had been erected and inhabited longer than the US had been a nation. The realization was simply breathtaking and a perfect ending to our stay in Italy.