I met Steve and Valentina back in 2022, on my first trip through Italy. They own a B&B just outside Palazzolo Acreide, a gorgeous, UNESCO-designated town in southern Sicily. I always said I’d come back and finally, I did.
Their home has an otherworldly tranquility. It’s a huge property that includes two glamping tents, a pool, a view of the valley, and tremendous sunsets. Most guests come and just spend their entire days there. I had my best sleeps in years. But this time, what struck me was how similar it felt to visiting Morocco, when I stayed at Eric’s place outside Ouarzazate: These were homes in which the spaces felt truly alive.
Taking care of the home and guests requires nearly non-stop work and attention. They cook daily breakfasts for the guests, garden & maintain the land, plus an enormous bevy of other duties, including taking care of five cats and one dog (and while I visited, two stray dogs and a sickly cat). As I watched them, though, it didn’t feel like “work,” necessarily, but service.
And service is purpose.
I found myself feeling jealous, in the healthy sense — the type of jealousy where you see what you’re yearning for: In my case, something that is bigger than me, and that’s in service to helping others.
That said, there’s a reality to running a B&B. This work is exhausting, and pretty relentless for about nine months. I arrived at the very end of their season and I saw the effects of it. Valentina was laid up in bed for a few days, Steve was getting over a cold himself.
But seeing it all in action was also beautiful. They attract guests from all over the world, many of whom become good friends. Valentina was an architect, and she’s always creating & designing in service of the home. Steve is an exceptional chef, and they both curate special menus for guests and dinner events, like pizza nights, Indian dinners, Steve’s Thai Pie, and many others.
Most of all, they both genuinely enjoy meeting the people who come. I loved hearing them describe some of their favorite guests from the past, their quirks and backstories, and how they lit up when talking about them. And the guests always seem to leave with something special — not just an experience or getaway, but the feeling of being cared for.
That’s at least how I felt. I stayed for a week this time. They cooked for me nearly every day. I felt as if I was treated like family. Even in my first stay, I was a solo traveler and they always included me in their plans, like going to the neighbors for dinner or to the beach for a day. One night on my current visit, it was storming hard at 3am and I was sleeping out in the glamping tent. Valentina texted to suggest I come inside the house, after which I came running inside, clutching my book and my blanket in the wind and rain, as she held the front door open for me.
I was lucky to come during olive-picking season, as you see from the pictures below. It was a meditative delight to pluck these little guys off the tree. I didn’t stay long enough to enjoy the fruits of my labor, literally, but the feeling of picking olives on a crisp autumn day in Sicily is nearly unbeatable.
The days of picking olives were some of my favorites amongst this entire trip. First, it just felt good to do something physical, plain as that. But also, as trite as it seems, it felt good to have something to do in general — a task, and specifically one that wasn’t serving myself.
It reoriented my outlook on work, especially as I begin to look for new jobs: It’s not about “what do I want to do,” which is what always guided me before, but more so, “How can I use my skills and talents to help someone else?”
