I used to measure my life in global fashion strategies and conservation milestones. As a Wharton MBA shaping the direction of houses like Gucci and Benetton, and later as the "Tiger Lady" who founded the South China Tiger Project to rewild a critically endangered species, my world was one of high-stakes missions and 200kg predators.
But then, the world as I knew it unravelled.
Within a year, circumstances beyond my control forced my career and my sense of purpose to an abrupt end. My possessions were reduced to a few suitcases, and I found myself starting again in Treviso, a quiet provincial city in north-east Italy. My constant companion through the aftermath was a small tabby cat called Gigia. She had been born on the edge of a Trevisan vegetable patch, and in a period when everything else shifted, her steady expectation that dinner would arrive on time became the only anchor I had left.
Travel had always been central to who I was, and I was determined that neither circumstance, nor Gigia, would stop me. I had no interest in booking her into a cattery—an idea that filled me with dread and her, I suspect, with silent contempt. So, I made a decision that was purely practical at the time: She came with me.
I realised then that if I could apply behavioural enrichment techniques to wild tigers, I could surely expand the world of one domestic cat. What I didn’t expect was that Gigia would be the one to re-educate me.
Our first outing was a short drive into the Prosecco hills of Valdobbiadene. I expected protest and panic. Instead, Gigia sat on my lap with the composure of a seasoned commuter. When we stepped into a small village cafe, the owner produced a bowl of water and scratched her chin without hesitation. Standing there with my espresso, I realized I had discovered "accoglienza"—the deep, instinctive Italian hospitality that extends to everyone, including a cat.
That moment altered how I saw Italy. It also turned me into a different kind of observer. Applying a Wharton-honed eye for detail to the winding streets of Lazio and the rugged coast of Abruzzo, I began to record our journeys.
Gigia, it turned out, was not just an expert acrobat of 13 tricks, but the ultimate travel critic. She has an almost scholarly interest in stone walls, shady doorways, and warm patches of 14th-century pavement. While tourists hurried past with guidebooks, we remained stationary while she conducted a detailed inspection of a medieval drainpipe. This is an excellent way to notice things. Through her eyes, I began to see faded frescoes, tiny shrines, and the authentic local life that unfolds when you stop rushing.
As we toured more than 100 villages, I dove into writing our first book, Gigia and Me!. I realized we were onto something when Gigia's Google Maps reviews started attracting thousands of views. We eventually built GigiaTravelCat.com to share our "Cat’s-Eye View" of Italy.
Gigia quickly became a celebrity. In Lazio, we wandered through the near-deserted borgo of Celleno; in Abruzzo, she climbed to the highest point above the Sangro Valley with the composure of a mountaineer. Everywhere we went, people recognized her. Cafe owners remembered her name. She acquired the sort of following usually reserved for minor royalty or particularly talented Labradors.
To my ongoing amusement, Gigia became a feline influencer in her own right, eventually presenting her book at seven flagship COIN Department Stores across Italy. Those quiet drives on weekends eventually became my new memoir, Gigia’s Italy: A Cat’s-Eye View.--Italy, I learned, is a country that understands that ospitalità isn't a policy; it’s a philosophy. At Gelivs in Oderzo, a Michelin-starred restaurant accommodated her with elegant calm. At Osteria al Forno di Agnese in Civita di Bagnoregio, we were given a table when they were fully booked—a decision I am convinced was based entirely on her presence. Plates of grilled tuna would arrive with the phrase, “Per la principessa,” and she accepted this tribute with regal, feline composure.
My method for judging a place became simple: If they liked Gigia, I liked them. It has yet to fail me.
Everything Gigia taught me about traveling through Italy is available to you if you arrive from the UK this spring or summer with your own cat and a willingness to embrace mild absurdity. The practicalities—the pet passports and the car hire—are straightforward. The real challenge is surrendering your schedule to a creature who refuses to be hurried.
You don’t need to live in Italy to experience this. You simply need the courage to abandon the idea that a successful holiday involves rushing from one famous sight to another. Italy rewards those who wander gently, and should you have a furry companion leading the way, you will discover that the best journeys are the ones that leave paw prints on your soul.
Jasmine L. Quan is the author of Gigia’s Italy: A Cat’s-Eye View – available now. Gigia provides travel tips to Italy at GigiaTravelCat.com
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