Bologna — A Gentle Reset

I am trying.

Trying to be patient with the reset of my nervous system. It feels like a roller coaster that never quite stops, but over the past few days I sense that something is shifting — like a quiet turning of a page.

Right now I am in Bologna, Italy — the food capital of Italy, or so I am told. Yet instead of dining out in celebrated restaurants, I find myself staying inside my beautiful Airbnb, making simple dinners from fresh ingredients gathered at the near by market.

If you don’t know me, this might surprise you — I don’t usually enjoy cooking. Years of planning family meals, shopping, and preparing food under time restraints, around food sensitivities, then with my limited skills to then the meals often went unappreciated and drained all pleasure from it.

But here in Italy, the simplest ingredients offer the most extraordinary flavours. With one bite, I feel a quiet pride. This time, I am cooking only for myself — and that is part of my reset but I also wished for a moment that my family could also taste it. They might not believe me!

After the Olympics, my husband and our friends flew home, but I knew I wasn’t ready to leave. Italy has always held a special place in my heart. It touches something in me that few places do. Ireland and Morocco come close, but Italy feels like nourishment.

So I decided to stay nine extra days and go with the flow – solo.

I booked only my accommodations and a train ticket to Bologna before leaving Verona after the Olympic closing ceremonies, knowing Florence would also be part of the journey, but leaving everything else open. There is something deeply alive about being alone in a place that is new. My senses sharpen. I notice everything. I take nothing for granted.

If I miss a train, I must figure it out. If I get lost, I must find my way. I rely on myself.

From the moment I step into a taxi, I begin observing — the architecture, the streets, the way people interact. Are they warm with one another? Do they seem relaxed? Are they rushing or lingering? I note places that might be worth exploring and others that feel better left alone.

My Airbnb turned out to be a gift. Choosing one always feels like a small gamble — will it match the pictures? Will the access be easy? Will it feel comfortable?

This one exceeded my hopes.

Italian design often seems to fall into two extremes — stark modern or heavily ornate — but this apartment found a perfect balance between the two. The space blended contemporary simplicity with subtle Baroque elements in the artwork. The craftsmanship impressed me most. Large slabs of stone had been cut and fitted perfectly into walls where nothing was truly square.

The warmth of the finishing materials used in the kitchen as a designer I appreciated greatly. With the careful selection of the Italian Marble so warm and dramatic! The naturally bold veining were used for all of the countertops, backsplash and open floating shelves for impactful continuity, the hardware used was a mix of brushed gold and warm leather. Cooking in this kitchen is a tactile experience as well as visually stimulating while also practically structured. The choice to incorporate the deep blue and brass six-burner La Canche stove, Italian dishes and the pale blue Smeg appliances invited and convinced me to stay in and cook instead of exploring the many restaurants just outside the door.

A grocery store only steps away provided the essentials. At the cash register, I learned the hard way that fruits and vegetables must be weighed and tagged with the price before checkout. The cashier was not impressed, but that is part of travel — learning how locals do things. I was prepared for next time.

Across the street, a handmade pasta shop welcomed me warmly. The women behind the counter helped me choose ricotta and spinach tortellini and assured me that five minutes in boiling water with olive oil and fresh parmesan was all I needed.

They were right.

My eyes widened with delight at the first bite — fresh pasta, a simple salad, and a five-euro bottle of red wine. Nothing complicated, yet everything full of flavour. It reminded me how little we actually need to feel satisfied.

I slept deeply that night. The room was perfectly dark and the temperature just right. I woke naturally, grateful that I had not booked a morning tour.

Later I walked beneath Bologna’s endless porticoes toward Piazza Maggiore and discovered the Biblioteca dell’Archiginnasio almost by accident. The painted entrance drew me in, and for ten euros I entered one of the city’s great historical treasures.

The building houses millions of rare books and the Teatro Anatomico, where anatomy lessons were once performed. I had seen something similar in Padua, but it still felt astonishing to imagine learning in such a place centuries ago.

Eventually I felt overwhelmed by the weight of history and stepped outside for a break. Some places carry a heaviness — the presence of all the people who came before us. Parts of the building had been rebuilt after World War II bombings, reminders that even beauty is fragile.

Part of my reset plan is simple: remember to stop and make time to eat. I can get lost in the discovery and then hit the wall. Not anymore.

So I found a small table outside at a nearby restaurant and ordered focaccia, bottle of still water and a glass of white wine. Bologna is a university town, and I enjoyed watching students move through their day. Some hurried to class, some smoked in clusters, but many simply lingered together — talking, laughing, unhurried.

Human emotions are something I always notice. Sometimes I feel as though I absorb them — as if I am experiencing them myself.

Back in my apartment, I spent time studying the artwork on the walls. The paintings were darker and more emotionally layered than I expected. When I was younger, I preferred Impressionism — light, colour, and softness. Baroque art felt too intense, almost unsettling.

Now I see it differently.

Baroque paintings tell stories in complex ways. Each figure experiences the same moment differently, and through light, symbolism, and expression we see multiple truths at once.

I find myself studying where each person is looking, who stands in the foreground and who fades into shadow, what emotions appear on each face.

One painting in my kitchen tells a timeless story about choices. A woman has demanded a man’s head on a platter. Now that it has been done, she does not appear satisfied. She looks to her mother for reassurance, while the mother seems more pleased than she is. The man who carried out the deed withdraws quietly into shadow, not proud of his accomplishment.

It is a reminder that decisions made in the moment must still be lived with afterward. Perhaps some choices deserve more time and deeper trust in our own judgment rather than the influence of others.

This reflection led me to visit Bologna’s art gallery, where centuries of work have been preserved and displayed with care. For twelve euros- for my ticket and a locker to store my coat, I wandered among enormous paintings comfortably at my own pace.

It was a meaningful experience — but I left with a heavy heart. Some stories captured in paint are deeply tragic, and the emotional intensity stays with you long after you leave.

Walking back beneath the porticoes, I wondered why they were built so extensively. They protect from rain and summer heat, yet they also block the sun. Vitamin D is so essential for our emotional health— perhaps the architecture itself shapes the mood of a place?

Tomorrow I leave for Florence — a city I know well and love deeply.

Bologna gave me exactly what I needed: a gentle reset and renewed confidence in traveling alone.

I even bought a sketchbook, though I have not yet opened it. Perhaps that is part of the lesson too — the idea that I must do everything I imagine is unrealistic.

This journey is not about accomplishing a list.

It is about following what feels right, moment by moment, and learning to live comfortably in my own rhythm again.

Grazie Bologna,

You are truly a marvel and I am glad we got to know each other.

Lisa