From Military Wife to Luxury Travel Advisor, Thanks to One Neapolitan Pizza

I didn't set out to plan luxury trips to Italy for a living. That's what I do now, as a luxury travel advisor, but that's not where this story starts. It starts with a pizza.

My husband had been called into work — again — which was simply the rhythm of military life in Naples, where we'd been stationed. His schedule was unpredictable, and our plans were perpetually at the mercy of someone else's timeline. So I did what I'd learned to do during our four years there: I grabbed a few friends and walked out the door without an itinerary.

We ended up on Via dei Tribunali, one of the oldest streets in Naples, where centuries-old churches stand shoulder to shoulder with family-owned shops and busy pizzerias. Naples has this wonderful, slightly chaotic energy — the kind you really have to experience to appreciate. It isn't polished. It isn't curated for tourists. It's alive.

We stumbled upon Antica Pizzeria Port'Alba, a historic pizzeria that has been part of the city's food culture for generations. Authentic Neapolitan pizza is a completely different creature from what most Americans are used to. The crust is soft and airy, the tomato sauce is simple and fresh, and the mozzarella is nothing like the shredded supermarket cheese we reach for back home. My recommendation is always the Bufalina, made with fresh mozzarella di bufala Campana DOP. That first bite is the kind that's impossible to manufacture, but not impossible to plan for.

What made that afternoon stay with me wasn't the food alone. It was the spontaneity of it. We hadn't gone looking for some extraordinary cultural experience. We'd simply gone out because the alternative was sitting at home waiting. And yet there we were, discovering a small piece of Naples' history through something as ordinary as stopping for pizza.

The experiences travelers remember most tend to feel exactly like that: spontaneous, unhurried, as though they simply happened. But they almost never simply happen. The right knowledge, the right timing, the right person who knows which street to turn down — that's what good planning looks like from the inside. That's what I wanted to offer.

Life in Naples, Italy

As the wife of an active-duty U.S. Navy servicemember, I didn't choose Naples. The Navy chose it for us. Military families understand this dynamic — orders that uproot everything and drop you somewhere extraordinary with no roadmap. It's one of the reasons I feel a particular kinship with military families who travel, and why I take their logistics especially seriously.

My husband worked fourteen- to sixteen-hour shifts on a rotating schedule, alternating between days and nights. Some weeks were brutally long — there were stretches when it felt like I barely saw him. But other weeks, he might only work two days, leaving us with three-day weekends and the opportunity to explore. We made the most of those windows. Living in Naples put so much of Europe within reach — quick trips to Vienna, Budapest, and Milan, and when he had longer periods of leave, bigger adventures, including a road trip through Scotland for our babymoon.

Living overseas wasn't all spontaneous weekends and beautiful destinations. One of the harder adjustments was realizing how many resources and conveniences we'd taken for granted in the United States. We had one small military hospital on base, with limited access to specialists. Things that might have been simple to arrange back home could become much more complicated when you were living abroad. Combine that with my husband's demanding and unpredictable schedule, and there were times when I had to be especially independent and resourceful.

I loved our life in Italy, but I also learned that living somewhere beautiful doesn't necessarily make everyday life easy. You still have responsibilities, unexpected problems, and moments when you need help navigating systems that aren't familiar to you. Those four years taught me adaptability, cultural awareness, and something I didn't expect to value as much as I do now: the importance of having the right people and resources available when you need them.

What Those Years Taught Me About the Details

For my birthday one year, we planned a getaway to Capri. I'd found a beautiful rental house in an ideal location, and everything looked perfect on paper. Traveling with a two-year-old meant being a little more strategic about our schedule, so after messaging with the owner, she kindly agreed to let us arrive at two so our toddler could get his afternoon nap.

She assured us the cleaners had been notified and the property was ready.

They had not been notified.

We walked in expecting to put our exhausted toddler down for a nap. Instead, we were greeted by two women shouting at us in Italian, increasingly animated, with one word coming through particularly clearly: polizia.

The cleaning staff had no idea anyone was checking in that day. They were convinced we were trespassing and were preparing to call the police. We had the owner on the phone, we showed them our reservation, we tried explaining the early check-in arrangement. Nothing seemed to convince them. Meanwhile, our tired two-year-old was having an increasingly spectacular meltdown.

What should have been a simple check-in turned into more than two and a half hours of confusion, frustration, and negotiations — none of which made for a particularly festive birthday arrival.

By that point, we'd been living in Naples for three and a half years. We understood enough Italian, knew the cultural nuances, and were comfortable enough navigating the unexpected that we could manage the ordeal — and once we were finally settled, we walked down to the piazzetta as the sun dropped behind Monte Solaro, our toddler falling asleep in the carrier to the sound of church bells. It ended up being a beautiful birthday. Capri is extraordinary when it cooperates, which is precisely why it's worth getting the details right.

But imagine arriving there for your honeymoon, your anniversary, or a once-in-a-lifetime Italian vacation — and suddenly you're being accused of trespassing at the property you've already paid for. A nightmare, even for a travel professional.

That experience stayed with me. Today, it's one of the reasons I'm so particular about the details. A beautiful property and a confirmed reservation don't necessarily guarantee a seamless experience. I thoughtfully select accommodations, coordinate arrival logistics, communicate preferences and special requests, and leverage my agency's hotel relationships and concierge resources to anticipate potential problems before they become my clients' problems.

Because luxury isn't just about where you stay. It's about how well you're taken care of when things don't go according to plan.

From Personal Journeys to Professional Ones

The idea of becoming a travel advisor had been quietly gathering in the background of those four years — present on Via dei Tribunali, present in that two-and-a-half-hour standoff in Capri, present every time I found myself thinking: someone should know to prevent this, or make this easier, or know which street to turn down. When we returned to the United States at the end of 2025, I stopped nudging it aside.

I interviewed with another agency first, but the more I learned about their model, the more I questioned whether it was the right fit — limitations on what I could book, fewer resources for my clients, and fees to join and stay affiliated. I kept coming back to one question: shouldn't an agency's success be tied to the success of its advisors?

That's part of what drew me to LuxRally Travel. It was the kind of host agency I'd been hoping to find, where the resources actually matched the ambition. Preferred hotel partnerships, an internationally connected concierge team, Forbes Travel Guide recognition, and the infrastructure to deliver a truly full-service experience to every client. I passed my examination on the first attempt and made my first booking within a week.