Vicenza serves up Palladian perfection with a side of dark humor—locals still joke about their mangia gatti (“cat-eaters”) past, though these days the only thing on the menu is grappa and unlimited belly rubs. Gigia claims the rolling Berici Hills as her runway, bats chess pieces across Marostica’s square, and dangles her tail over Bassano’s iconic bridge—living proof the province’s only “creative cuisine” now involves stealing bites of baccalà alla vicentina.
Between golden vineyards, frescoed villas, and the breezy pastures of the Sette Comuni, this is Italy’s most misunderstood gem—where even the darkest legends fade beneath the weight of feline charm.
(Modern translation: Mangia gatti now means “we share our plates”—mostly under duress.)
Asiago Plateau (VI)
Asiago Plateau (VI)
The Altopiano dei Sette Comuni (the Asiago Plateau) is nature's masterpiece—a highland realm where the Venetian Prealps pierce the sky, wildflowers dance across emerald meadows, and rifugi beckon with the promise of steaming canederli and fireside warmth. Winter wraps it in silent snow; summer sets its trails alight with colour. We came convinced this alpine dreamscape would be the perfect cover for the English version of our book Gigia & Me!
The plateau delivered every photographer's fantasy: golden-hour glow, misty mountain backdrops, even curious cows as "extras." But when we reviewed the shots, one truth became clear—no sweeping vista could compete with that headshot.
There it was: Gigia's perfect portrait, tail a proud exclamation mark, emerald eyes gleaming with quiet mischief against some humbler backdrop. The mountains? Majestic. The lighting? Divine. But Gigia's essence—her regal charm, her I woke up like this brilliance—needed no competition.
"Sorry, Asiago. Your peaks are glorious, but my best angle is always... my angle."
—Gigia (probably), flipping her tail at the rejected landscapes
Bassano del Grappa (VI)
Bassano del Grappa (VI)
This town doesn’t just have grappa—it is Grappa, with a capital "G." Between the iconic Ponte degli Alpini (freshly revamped and begging for Instagram fame), the vibrant ceramics that put rainbows to shame, and the prized white asparagus that foodies whisper about in reverent tones, Bassano is a feast for the senses. But let’s be real: the real magic happens after a few sips of that liquid courage, when even the most reserved traveler starts eyeing the nearest table like a dance floor.
Yet for true connoisseurs, the real gem is Gli Abusivi—a restaurant with a deliciously rebellious past (hence the name, "The Illegal Ones"), perched right on the Brenta River. Here, two stars emerged: their Florentine steak, seared to perfection, and Gigia, who turned the riverside wooden rails into her personal haute couture runway. As she strutted above the water with the poise of a trapeze artist, even the grappa-distillery cats nodded in respect.
"They said not to drink and walk on narrow rails. They never said anything about cats."
—Gigia’s life philosophy, probably
Eat & Drink
Marostica (VI)
Marostica (VI)
In the medieval town of Marostica, life typically moves with the precision of a chess game—until a spotted queen named Gigia decided to flip the board. Famous for its living chess matches played across the giant Piazza degli Scacchi, this Venetian hill town met its match when our feline protagonist turned the historic square into her personal playground.
The spectacle began with Gigia commandeering a schoolgirl's roller skates, transforming into a furry hood ornament as they zipped across the black-and-white squares. Her tail flicked like a windshield wiper on high speed, while stone chess pieces stood frozen in what we can only assume was horror. The town's 600-year-old chess tradition had never seen such disrespectful brilliance.
But the real drama unfolded when Gigia faced off with the piazza's resident tomcat—a battle-scarred boss who ruled these streets with iron paws. Their standoff was pure Renaissance drama: arched backs, twitching tails, and a tension so thick even the gelato vendors paused mid-scoop. Just as the feline Godfather seemed ready to throw the first punch, Mom executed a perfect interception, scooping Gigia up like a fumbled football. From the safety of arms, our heroine delivered her parting shot—a look that clearly said, "This isn't over, whisker-face."
Between escapades, Gigia sampled Marostica's finer offerings with regal discernment. At a cozy vinoteca, she sniff-glassed local wines before settling for water (swirled with appropriate disdain). The bakery's pastries underwent merciless scrutiny—"This cornetto's layers are acceptable, but where's the tuna filling?" she seemed to muse.
Marostica may pride itself on strategic games, but Gigia proved that true mastery lies in chaos, carbs, and knowing when to retreat with dignity (into someone's arms). The town's chess masters still whisper about the day a four-legged maverick turned their hallowed squares into a grand feline adventure.
Checkmate? More like check-mew.
Eat & Drink
Others
Schio (VI)
Schio (VI)
Schio, the so-called "Manchester of Italy," wears its industrial heritage proudly in the red-brick grandeur of its textile mills. Gigia, ever the discerning critic, approved of its piazza naps and historic shop windows, though she kept a respectful distance from the whirring looms. "Let humans keep their factories," her yawn seemed to say. "A queen requires only sunshine and admiration."
The real surprise, though, lay beyond Schio’s smokestacks, up winding hills where Sant’Ulderico waited like a hidden stanza in a Veneto poem. Famous for cherries and little else, this village became the unlikeliest stage for drama when a mysterious feline figure slunk into Trattoria Diana's courtyard - all sideways glances and calculated retreats. Was he the restaurant's cat? A neighborhood rogue? A furry phantom of the orchards? The mystery only deepened as Gigia locked onto him with the intensity of a cat who'd just spotted her next great mistake.
Their silent conversation spoke volumes:
Gigia: "At last, someone worthy of my attention."
The Stranger: "Not today, principessa."
With one dismissive tail flick, he vanished into the cherry orchards, leaving Gigia to ponder what might have been—and us to savor Sant’Ulderico’s trifecta of hearty food, sun-drunk cherries, and silence that smells like grandma’s kitchen. As we departed, the trees seemed to whisper secrets about the cats who move through these hills unseen. Gigia, for her part, pretended not to look back. But the way her ears twitched at every rustle told another story entirely.
"They say he still watches from the orchards. They also say the sweetest cherries grow where feline mysteries take root."
Eat & Drink
Vicenza (VI)
Vicenza (VI)
Vicenza gleams with Palladian perfection—its villas are architectural sonnets, its Fiera d'Oro draws jewelers from Milan to Mumbai. But Gigia? She came for the chase. In Querini Park, destiny presented a fluffy rabbit. The hunt began with all the drama of a Verdi opera—paws poised, tail twitching—until the rabbit sprinted away, leaving our heroine with nothing but a lesson in humility (and possibly a new respect for lagomorphs). Ever the adaptable diva, she simply lifted her chin and redirected her spotlight to the Teatro Olimpico. The world’s oldest enclosed theater had one glaring flaw: "No Cats Allowed." Gigia took this injustice with typical grace (read: sat outside like a furry protestor), no doubt envisioning herself center stage in La Gattoparda. But the city’s real twist? A local myth claiming the Vicentini eat cats. Gigia was understandably appalled. She gave everyone side-eye, especially anyone who looked too fond of spezzatino. "Don't worry," I whispered. "You're a tourist. You're safe." She wasn’t convinced. Vicenza’s Ironies: 🏛️ Humans: "Behold these golden treasures!" 🐈 Gigia: "Behold me beholding them—from this very strategic patch of sunlight. And also… are they joking about the stew?" As the afternoon faded, we left Vicenza’s gilded streets behind—Gigia nursing wounded pride, me nursing hopes she wouldn’t spot another rabbit, and Palladio rolling in his grave at the thought of a cat critiquing his proportions. "Gold fairs come and go, but the memory of that rabbit? Eternal." —Gigia’s travel diary, probably"
