Ciao, Kit—Stupendous party! Stupendous news! Of course we knew, ever since the dinner in Cormòns. Just a quick thank-you from here in the Dolomites, where the word cozy must have been invented, but contemporary, not cuckoo-clock cozy. Our lodge is all soft, sleek bleached timber, steaming hot tubs, velvety robes, and views into the far yonder. But—no snow! My girls are skiing down a piste made from snow guns. I hope neither breaks a leg. On either side of the run the hillsides are stubby and brown. No crowds or queues for the lifts. I use them for sightseeing. We can hike through pastures up to a rifugio. Oh! Potato and apple soup, venison with truffles. Julia would be blissful! I am sitting out on the broad terrace in the pale sun. We ordered fondue for breakfast! The air feels intoxicating, as though we’ve lost cabin pressure and a mask blowing oxygen has descended on us. The apples—amazing. Ruddy and sweet/sour. We’ve munched the whole basket left in our room. Ciao from San Cassiano. Hope you’re enjoying Florida. A presto, Susan

PS I’m cc’ing this to J and C, as I am almost out of battery.

Hey, Susan, hey, Camille,

You all were sweet to Daddy. He loved you both! Wasn’t Kit and Colin’s party fabulous? We found many new friends. We’d better watch out—we may ensconce ourselves in San Rocco so thoroughly that we’ll never leave. Christmas was strange but peaceful. We had an afternoon stroll around the Spanish Steps area, prosecco sitting outside, then dinner, excellent, in our hotel. Afterward we watched Three Coins in a Fountain, earlier female explorers of Italy. Younger—and more romantic. Silly, but I cried. Neither of us mentioned Lizzie or Wade. I’m becoming a master of living in the moment. After grand days in Rome—warm—we came to Naples on the fast train yesterday. A different world. I’ll be a long time absorbing the dizzying differences in Italian towns—Atlanta and Charlotte and Raleigh are not profoundly different, right? Well, the quick trip from Rome to Naples lands you in a warp. Racist, I guess, but I’ve heard that Italians say “After Rome begins Africa.” Well, it does seem stupefyingly different. Just from the taxi to the hotel, Daddy and I were gripping each other’s hands, and I cried out a couple of times but the driver just laughed. Finally, I relaxed when I realized that other drivers expected ours to cut and swerve and careen, and that they even expected to drive behind a Vespa with three on it carrying a bicycle horizontally. One smoked, one pulled in the front wheel when necessary, and another manipulated the back wheel, all laughing and calling to friends. No one seemed perturbed but us. Susan, you’d fit in just fine! Today we wandered along Spaccanapoli, the straight street (the Roman decumanus) that splits Naples, up little lanes where it looked like murder could occur, and off it on a cramped little lane where they sell all the paraphernalia—much of it battery operated so the figures move—for the presepio setups we saw all over San Rocco. These are incredibly elaborated. Wonder why that craft became quintessential to Naples. Kitschy as hell, of course, but I found myself leaning down and exclaiming over the tiny woman ironing, the man shoving bread into a forno, the vegetable seller, the manger animals shaking their heads, plaster angels (I bought a few), on and on. Daddy thought a little bit went a long way. We proceeded to one of the celebrated pizza places for lunch and I know it’s heretical but I thought the pizza wasn’t that great—chewy, bready dough and thin tomato and cheese—though the mozzarella is the buffalo milk type. I like the thin Tuscan crust much more! Back at the hotel before we venture out for the afternoon—a handsome palazzo with a dignified courtyard. Below my window, someone is going through the trash with a stick. Actually, the contrasts get to me in an exciting way. A place where you don’t know what to expect. Haven’t we become up for that? Let me know how your trips are going. Miss you! Julia

Dear dear friends,

San Rocco seems even more intimate at Christmas. Charlie and Ingrid are falling hard for the place. Ingrid, almost fifteen and just out of braces, asked her parents to move here. She’s enamored, hearing of a high school called a liceo, where she would study Latin and Greek. (She hasn’t excelled at Spanish, however!) She’s loving the pudding-thick hot chocolate and the melt-in-mouth cream-filled meringues. Most of all, she loves the villa. I think it conjures The Secret Garden. Charlie and Lara, too, are stunned by every room and also by the way of life. Even Lara, who always finds fault, as my mother would say, is silenced. She walks from room to room kind of nodding her head and smiling. This is good. Of course, she does take exception to the cats, and keeps shooing them off the furniture. “What were you thinking, keeping three cats?” she asked incredulously.

“We weren’t thinking,” I answered sweetly.

The four of us grilled one of those giant local steaks and cooked potatoes in the fireplace. We had a big salad of wild greens that Patrizia dropped off. Annetta brought a blackberry crostata. Julia, we did well! Tomorrow night, we’re invited by Gilda and Luca to a feast at the hotel. My family will be awed and thrilled. I am having great fun seeing our town through their eyes. Charlie, dreamboat boy, is attuned to everything he’s seeing. Lara wants to rest, as she travels all the time. But she is making an effort.

Susan, thanks again for finding us the apartment in Venice. I can’t wait to see their faces when we arrive! Charlie researched all the art—he may swoop to heaven in a cloud like the Virgin. He’s reserved a table for us for New Year’s Eve. Right on the Grand Canal. Hoping for snow. Want me to visit your antique shop, Susan? Can’t wait to be there. I have a soul connection to that mirage on the waters. After they fly out of Venice, I’m giving myself a day alone. It will be sad to see them go but as you know, that city speaks to me. And—I am looking forward to taking up where we left off at Villa Assunta. Travel well. Have many epiphanies before Epiphany when we again raise our glasses together. Xxxooo, Camille.