I was a reluctant violinist, and would have quit in an instant if my mother had let me.
And that would be the end of the conversation.
My kids inherited the music gene from my mother, who died before they were born.
Violin maker Gaspar Borchardt, left, at his Cremona studio, with musician Fabio Imbergamo.Credit:Federico Ciamei
At four my son asked for piano lessons, and when he was five I agreed.
Now they compete for practice time on our living-room piano.
Families often come along, she said.
From left: Cremona Cathedral; a guest room at Corte Airone, an agriturismo outside Cremona.Federico Ciamei
My son looked at me with incredulous excitement.
Here was our excuse.
And I knew how much the immersion in Cremonas musical culture would mean to them both.
From left: A Cremona resident heads out for the evening; outside the Arena di Verona opera festival.Federico Ciamei
I heard my mother quoting Shinichi Suzuki.
I found myself saying yes.
Cremona, located inItalys Lombardy region, has been the world capital of violin making for six centuries.
Backstage at the Arena di Verona’s annual opera festival.Federico Ciamei
He also provided expert guides and booked our hotels.
All we had to do was pack and, in my sons case, practice, practice, practice.
In mid-July we boarded a plane from New York, our luggage full of sheet music and concert clothing.
Extras in La Traviata kick up their heels.Federico Ciamei
Our children, alight with excitement, talked nonstop until they collapsed into open-mouthed sleep.
My husband and I toasted the trip with Pedrottis Trentodoc sparkling rose.
Dessert was a pair of sorbets, raspberry and lemon, that tasted like July itself.
Gelato at Gioelia Cremeria.Federico Ciamei
The road narrowed until we found ourselves on a rutted dirt track between high cornfields.
Corte Airone, a medieval country estate, is now an inn where centuries-old agricultural methods are preserved.
A handmade sign advertised the weekly farmers market; kitchen workers carried boxes of vibrant greens into the restaurant.
A dancer warms up backstage at the Arena di Verona.Federico Ciamei
My husband and I toasted the trip with Pedrottis Trentodoc sparkling rose.
Dessert was a pair of sorbets, raspberry and lemon, that tasted like July itself.
The next morning our musical adventure in Cremona began.
The Arena di Verona before a performance of La Traviata.Federico Ciamei
Amid the noise, another sound caught our attention: the resonant, amber-toned voice of a Cremonese violin.
I explained that our son was a student at the academy, and that I was a longtime violinist.
When Mozart visited the city, that was where he stayed.
From left: Tortelloni at Corte Airone; grapes at Winery Zeni.Federico Ciamei
(Scholars think that the instrument may have been brought to Italy by Sephardic Jews fleeing the Inquisition.)
On identical workbenches on either side of the shop, violins lay in various stages of completion.
Before we left, Gaspar asked if Id like to try a violin.
Castello Scagliero, a 13th-century castle in Sirmione.Federico Ciamei
I could scarcely bring myself to touch one of those beautiful instruments, worth tens of thousands of dollars.
But he insisted, and my curiosity overcame my reluctance.
Gaspar took up a half-finished violin and went to his bench, working as I played.
The audience prepares for La Traviata at the Arena di Verona.Federico Ciamei
The violins curves are based on the Fibonacci sequences found everywhere in nature.
Afterward, we strolled along Bardolinos boardwalk toward a high white Ferris wheel overlooking the lake.
That evening in Cremona, my son and I went to a concert at the Museo del Violino.
A Bertoldi Boats cruise on Lake Garda.Federico Ciamei
That night, musicians from the Casalmaggiore Festival performed on instruments from the museums collection.
I ordered a peachcornetto,my son a hazelnut one.
Did we want a wafer cookie on that?
From left: The gardens at Corte Airone; lemons for sale in Sirmione.Federico Ciamei
Did we want whipped cream?
Yes, yes, yes.
By the time we returned to Cremona that evening, the nightlife was in full swing.
Salsa music spilled across the cobblestones as a hundred couples danced beneath a disco ball.
At the reception desk, screens printed with dark green trees seemed to usher us into a fantastical forest.
We followed her into a stone-walled labyrinth where the air vibrated with anticipatory energy.
The orchestra warmed up nearby; extras quickstepped through the curving halls in 1950s-era costumes and stage makeup.
At the performers entrance we met Cecilia Bosaro, from the festivals press office.
We followed her into a stone-walled labyrinth where the air vibrated with anticipatory energy.
The orchestra warmed up nearby; extras quickstepped through the curving halls in 1950s-era costumes and stage makeup.
Across the hall was the shoemakers shop, lined floor to ceiling with cardboard shoeboxes.
She introduced my son, explaining that he was a pianist at the Cremona academy.
Ah, how fantastic!
Then it was showtime.
Bosaro took us through an archway and out into the natural light of the arena.
Moments later, the audience erupted into cheers and shouts: Armiliato had entered.
Onstage was a fictional version of Mantua, its hyperrealistic buildings painted in the sun-washed colors of 1950s Italy.
Waves of performers surged onto the set.
Our children leaned forward, rapt.
English supertitles offered a guide, but we wouldnt have needed one.
A breeze picked up and blew the light, colorful clothes of the audience members and performers alike.
The singers went silent.
The musicians took up their instruments and ran for cover.
An announcer begged our patience: the show would resume when the rain had stopped.
I thought it was a special effect!
How did they time it so perfectly?
The rain crescendoed, crested, ended; the musicians returned.
The final scenes unfolded before us, and Rigolettos last anguished words Ah, it is the curse!
flew out into the night.
As we stood and cheered, hundreds of performers assembled onstage and bowed.
No one wanted to stop clapping; the cheering seemed a final operatic act.
When the spell broke at last, our family drifted out of the arena as if in a dream.
It would have been hard to surpass an experience like that.
It was hard to imagine anything ever coming close.
As if on cue, rain began to fall.
The singers went silent.
The musicians took up their instruments and ran for cover.
An announcer begged our patience: the show would resume when the rain had stopped.
I thought it was a special effect!
How did they time it so perfectly?
On our last afternoon, we returned to Sirmione for a sunset cruise.
A moment later my son came to sit beside me, lost in thought.
Whats on your mind?
To be here on a boat on a lake in Italy, at sunset.
Music exists for the purpose of growing an admirable heart, I told him.
And so does travel.
The hotel pool is an oasis of quiet luxury; the restaurant offers local produce, artfully prepared.
Maximalist touches on a minimalist background set a tone of tasteful indulgence.
Choose on your own, or consult the expert sommeliers for a recommendation.
Long lines at times, but worth it.
Pasticceria Duomo dal 1883:Cremonas historic purveyor of traditional Italian pastry.
Culinary time travel at its best.
Oficina Lovers:An airy, well-curated trove of cool clothes in Cremona.
Sleeveless 1970s wrap dresses hang alongside vintage denim and new pieces by local designers.
Private backstage tours can be arranged.
Winery Zeni:This family-owned cellar in the town of Bardolino traces its history back to 1870.
Sample a variety of vintages at the tasting counter, then learn about Lombardy wine-making culture in its museum.
Theyll arrange transportation, accommodations, dining, and amusements, including VIP access.
