When I was in my mid-twenties, my family took one of our typical fishing vacations to northern Ontario. Our station wagon carried my parents, my three siblings, and, on one particular trip, my 88-year-old grandmother. Getting to Smoky Lake meant hours in the car, then an exhilarating 15-minute floatplane ride over pristine, island-dotted water. Each day, we dropped our lines, pulled up fresh bass, and headed to shore for lunch, where we ate our catch between slices of Wonder Bread and bacon. I remember the food, yes. But what I really remember is watching my grandmother hoist herself into the seaplane, clamber in and out of the boats, climb over rocks to sit down for lunch, and take a “walk in the woods” before heading out for more fishing. I remember thinking: When I’m 88, I want to be like Grandma. That thought has stayed with me throughout my life.

I have been blessed with a mother who is as devoted to travel and experiences as I am. We call her Gigi, and for years she has been on a mission to take a trip with each of her grandchildren as they graduate from high school. We discussed possible trips for my own daughters for so long that my oldest was eight years out of high school by the time we finally landed on cooking in Italy.

Our weeklong adventure was anchored by our shared love of food. We made pasta, biscotti, and pizza. We visited olive mills, wineries, prosciutto producers, and water buffalo farms. We also wandered through history, from an ancient acropolis to the crypt of St. Benedict in the Abbey of Montecassino.

But the question I kept coming back to was simple: What would my daughters take away from a week in Italy with their grandmother? My oldest remembered the moment we arrived at our hotel overlooking the countryside of Ciociaria. “Wow,” she said. “Gigi is in the motherland.” My youngest remembered that Gigi really wanted a gelato, but wasn’t up for the walk, so she ran out to get it, happily eating the drips from Gigi’s cone on the way back.

I will remember how the trip brought out the best in my children. They helped Gigi navigate uneven stones and long stairways. They made space for each other’s interests. And my mother got something rare, too. Not just a short visit, but the chance to see them in motion, pursuing what they love.

That, to me, is the gift of multigenerational travel. With a shared interest as an anchor, a flexible itinerary, realistic plans for mobility, and enough unstructured time for people to wander toward what delights them, a trip can become more than memorable.

I still want to be like my grandmother and my mother when I near 90. I have decades to get there, and I plan to spend them making trips that give the people I love what this one gave us: discovery, wonder, and connection.

Leslie Krohn lives in Naperville, Illinois, and enjoys nothing more than seeing new places through the eyes of locals.