The three of us sat looking at each other across the dinner table on the first evening of our week-long stint in northern Italy. The large plates of pasta and bowls of focaccia were not enough to distract us from the fourth place setting, vacant but for the cutlery and empty wine glass. We raised ours in a simple toast, “To Dad” — a ritual that we would uphold for every meal of the trip.
It was our first family holiday in five years, and our first without my dad, who had been in a care home for three months. He was diagnosed with dementia six years ago, when he was 58, but the effects of the illness began taking hold a further six years before that. Since then family holidays had been a little different and increasingly hard to navigate. We continued going on our regular camping trips to south Wales and tried the odd flight, until the pandemic put a stop to holiday-related thoughts.
During our most recent trips with Dad — to Malta in 2016 and Portugal in 2018 — we realised just how difficult it was to take a confused adult abroad. My mum found herself barricading the hotel room door to prevent awkward nighttime loo confusions and would jolt awake at any slight sound of movement.
We adapted in other ways too. In 2018 my brother was 21, three years older than me, and hotel staff would naturally turn to my dad as the family patriarch for instruction or payment. Waiters would be confused when we ordered on his behalf; their well-meant comments, such as “My wife is the one in charge too”, were met with awkward smiles as we whipped bills and receipts quickly out of Dad’s hands.
His condition deteriorated so significantly during the lockdowns that when the travel bans were lifted a family trip abroad couldn’t have been any further from our minds — we couldn’t go with him, but we couldn’t go without him either.
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Now that he’s living full time in a care home, my mum finally feels as though she can take proper breaks — before, she didn’t want to be more than a few hours’ drive from him.
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As a seasoned traveller I took it upon myself to plan a trip for our reduced family so that my mum and brother could switch off for a while. It would be the first time that the three of us could spend quality time together since Dad had moved to the care home.
Mum had always wanted to go to Florence, Italy holding a special place in our hearts with fond memories of balmy evenings walking down the cobbled streets of Rome and devouring fresh fish and icy gelato in Naples. In those days Dad would have rented a car to drive us around and the trip would have been planned to coincide with his annual leave from his job as a business development manager.
I decided that we’d take a twin city break, connecting Florence and Bologna via a 40-minute high-speed Frecciarossa train. We didn’t want to be too budget-conscious for our first trip in such a long time, so I booked flights at civilised times and central four-star stays in the two cities.
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In my dad’s absence, I see myself as the head of the family. My brother has been an excellent carer, but to him taking charge never came naturally and filling Dad’s shoes never appealed. Since the age of 16 it has been me manning the barbecues, mowing the lawn, uncorking the wine and taking Mum out for lunch — as far as I’m aware the only criteria for being the man of the house. So on our trip I embraced the role by pacing up and down the airport, looking out for our gate information, holding on to the passports and putting Mum’s bag in the overhead locker.
When Mum mentioned recently that she hadn’t felt beautiful since my Dad last told her that she was, I knew that I had to go full throttle with the princess treatment.
Landing in Bologna felt magical. It was Saturday night and as we wandered through the maze of alleys and piazzas, the city was buzzing, heaving with people enjoying the culture and aperitivi. Our route took us along porticoed walkways to Hotel Roma, near Piazza Maggiore.
The city-centre location was great for truly appreciating Bologna. We began with one of our favourite ways to explore a new place: aimless wandering. We had sights in mind — the Two Towers, the piazzas, the basilicas — but we left the journeys between them to our instincts.
Come noon the waft of pizza seemed inescapable. We had been craving a hand-stretched margherita since we landed, so lunch was already decided. The weather during our visit in March was perfect. It was about 20C, so not too hot, but it felt as though summer had arrived and a light was shining on our little trio — we deserved this trip and seemingly the sun agreed with us.
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Aiming for the San Luca basilica, on top of a hill southwest of the city, we hopped on a tourist train, not fancying the uphill climb through two and a half miles of porticoes. The journey didn’t just give us a rest, it also gave us a commentary on the city, as well as a fun rollercoaster-like ride to a point 215m above where we had started. We agreed that it was the best way to take in views of Bologna, from the Renato Dall’Ara Stadium to the 22 towers that spike the skyline.
The food in Bologna turned out to be just as good as everyone had told us it would be. With only two nights in the city, we feasted on tagliatelle al ragu, tortellini in brodo and as many local meats as we could, along with endless Aperol spritzes and bottles of red pignoletto wine.
The fast train to Florence — 40 minutes from Bologna at speeds of up to 185mph — was a dream, and a particular treat for my transport-aficionado brother.
Florence was beautiful and we had the most gorgeous views of the city skyline from our hotel, Kraft, not least from its rooftop pool. We could pick out the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore and the Arnolfo Tower backed by the Tuscan mountains.
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Over four days we fitted in the Uffizi Gallery, Pitti Palace, Boboli Gardens and the Central Market. But we knew that it was important to properly unwind too, so we would spend the mornings out and about and the afternoons lazing by the pool. The evenings were filled with delicious food, card games and laughter.
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An Italian colleague had recommended a meal at Osteria del Cinghiale Bianco, which serves typical Tuscan and Florentine dishes, so we made a booking there for our last night. We ordered cold cuts to start, then shared suckling pig and wild boar (mains from £8; cinghialebianco.com). The cosy, dimly lit tavern had a friendly family feel and it was the best place to end our time in the city, toasting Dad in the process.
We achieved what we believed to be our ideal balance of culture, relaxation and food consumption during our trip. It felt wrong to be having such a lovely time without Dad — they say that three’s a crowd, but to us it wasn’t enough. However, this is our new norm and Italy gave us a wonderful introduction to a new chapter.
Sasha Nugara travelled independently
Where to stay in Bologna
Hotel Roma
Down an alley just off Piazza Maggiore, Hotel Roma is the perfect springboard for city exploration. In business since 1895, it has chic interiors in accents of ochre and burnt umber. An ornate staircase takes you up from the ground-floor bar. The restaurant, C’era una volta, serves tasty bolognese and tortellini.
Details B&B doubles from £107 (hotelroma.biz)
Where to stay in Florence
Hotel Kraft
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With views across the steeples of Florence, the rooftop bar is undoubtedly the highlight of this four-star hotel. It’s just outside the city centre, about 20 minutes’ walk from the main sights, but there are plenty of bars and restaurants within a five-minute stroll. The rooftop pool is heated year-round and there is a gym and sauna too.
Details Room-only doubles from £101 (krafthotel.it)
Hotel Bernini Palace
Backing almost directly on to the Uffizi Gallery, this hotel is best suited to culture seekers who don’t want to do too much walking. The guest rooms are lavishly decked out with linen sheets, ornate headboards and parquet floors.
Details B&B doubles from £230 (hotelbernini.duetorrihotels.com)
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