About Mark Smith

Mark Gordon Smith in Florence as a Child

My brother Brian, mother Helen, and me in Florence, Italy

It is as if I were born in Italy. 

As a young boy entering first grade, my first impressions of this textural and spiritual land came when we disembarked a military ship in the port of Livorno. I recall the smell of the sea and the oil and paint of that ship; I can hear the cacophonous sounds of the port and feel the confusion of arrival. 

We lived in an apartment in the seaside village of Tirrenia on the Mediterranean coast. Our landlords, Dottore and Signora Barale from Pisa, brought us welcome gifts: some of their olive oil and a few other small items that, as I recall, brought my parents to tears. At some point early in our stay in Tuscany, my mother asked the Barales why the living room had no fireplace, a vision inspired by her passion for books and reading. About two weeks later, two workmen arrived with sledgehammers and tile and built a fireplace in our home.

After only two years in the country, my mother returned to Walter Reed Army Medical Center where she was diagnosed with lung cancer. This cut our time in Italy short. Our final days — the departure on the Blue Train for Paris, the flight to New York — tore at me. My mind, and my brothers’ mind, filled with fear, trepidation, and the confusion only children can feel when a parent is absent. 

We reunited at Walter Reed after her successful surgery. We had her in our lives for nearly thirteen years. Hardly a week passed when she did not talk about how she longed to return to Italy — the land of melodic language and the place of human touch. She never stopped studying the Italian language.  

She was never able to return to Italy. 

Those early memories stir within me every time I step on the tarmac at airports across Italy. There is an indefinable connection, soul to land, I cannot explain, yet, it is as true as breath.

After she passed, I promised to create a legacy for her and my father in gratitude for sharing the beauty, inspiration, and bounty of Italy with my brother and me. I share that legacy with every guest and every student I meet. 

The country repeatedly called. During summer leaves from West Point, I returned to reconnect with the place that so strongly called me ‘home’. 

Tuscany, June 2015

Tuscany, June 2015

I moved to Florence early in the Summer of 2001 to write my first book. I kept returning to write both travel memoirs and textbooks. Later, while I was teaching at a university in North Carolina, an adult student posed a simple question to me: “Mark, why don’t you share the places you have written about in your books with others?” Private Italy Tours grew from that question. 

A villa near Florence for a first season in 2003, then another. New itineraries and new experiences emerged from expanded encounters with the most generous and loving people I have ever met. I built this company, this life, on the faith and trust of so many.

We don’t just offer a ‘tour’; we share experiences and encounters with the Italian culture: your own villa, meals in private homes, aperitivos served on the terrace of pools, visits to private art restoration workshops, visits to small, family-owned wineries, interactive cooking classes, all while taking time to note the more ephemeral like the odor of lemon blossoms along the Amalfi Coast.

Annie Robichaud in Assisi

Annie Robichaud in Assisi

This is Private Italy Tours — exclusive, unique, intimate. 

When I greet guests arriving in Italy after long trips from their homes, I welcome them to their home, and mine. Italy is, I believe, all our homes. 

Give us the opportunity to share our Italy with you. 

Join us. Welcome home to Italy.