Jessica, who is a dear blogger friend, fellow Italophile and the author of the WhyGo Italy travel site, shares my passion for Italy. And for travel. So naturally, she is a perfect fit for a guest post on My Melange.
I asked her to tell us about her early days of falling in love with Italy…and here is what she wrote:
My traveling career started in college, when I was fortunate enough to spend a month touring New Zealand and Australia with my choir, and then even luckier to spend a semester studying at Nottingham Trent University in England. I’ve loved travel ever since, but until I got to Italy I’d been awfully fickle about it.
Let me explain.
After returning home from England, I declared myself an Anglophile. I couldn’t get enough of Brit-pop, desperately missed the cider-and-lager concoction called a “Snakebite” that I’d enjoyed in the campus pubs, found myself occasionally saying “ta” in place of “thanks,” and lamented the fact that no one was calling me “love” anymore.
That affection for England, however, lasted only until my next trip many years later.
In 1999, I spent just over two weeks with my then-boyfriend (now-husband) and four of our closest friends chasing the Tour de France. The three boys in the group were all cyclists and cycling fans, and I’d become a fan as well, so it was a truly memorable trip.
In 1999, I spent just over two weeks with my then-boyfriend (now-husband) and four of our closest friends chasing the Tour de France. The three boys in the group were all cyclists and cycling fans, and I’d become a fan as well, so it was a truly memorable trip.
And, predictably, upon my return I was a Francophile to the core. I started taking French classes through the local community college (a language I’d dabbled in back in high school and then mostly forgotten), taught myself to like French wines (before that I hadn’t liked wine at all), got lost in French films, and plotted return visits to see my French cousins.
I’m guessing you can see a pattern developing here.
So, it shouldn’t come as any surprise to you that when my still-then-boyfriend and I took his younger sister to Italy in 2001 as a high school graduation present, I fell head-over-heels madly in love with the country.
So, it shouldn’t come as any surprise to you that when my still-then-boyfriend and I took his younger sister to Italy in 2001 as a high school graduation present, I fell head-over-heels madly in love with the country.
In the case of Italy, though, the infatuation has never worn off – not even after subsequent trips to other places.
Italy captured my heart on that trip in a way that is hard to put into words. Our arrival point was Venice, and when your first impression of Italy is a city like Venice, it’s really hard to not fall in love with it.
Italy captured my heart on that trip in a way that is hard to put into words. Our arrival point was Venice, and when your first impression of Italy is a city like Venice, it’s really hard to not fall in love with it.
But beyond that, there is something about Italy which, to this day, has taken hold and isn’t about to let go. Since that first trip, we’ve returned many times, and we’re even midway through the process of obtaining a long-term visa and – eventually, we hope – permessi di soggiorno, or permits to stay. We just hope Italy loves us as much as we love it.
One moment I remember from that first trip (which, although it isn’t the reason I fell in love with Italy, does help showcase one of the things I love so much about it) was in the train station in Pisa. We were en route from the Cinque Terre to Florence, and making the requisite two-hour stop to see the famous leaning tower. We had checked the tower off our to-do list and were waiting for our train to Florence when we decided to call our expat friends north of Venice to give them an update on our status.
But, being the hapless tourists we were, we couldn’t figure out the phone.
Our expat friends had given us one of those phone cards where you break off the corner and insert it into the slot on the payphone. It was a used card a former guest had left her, so she passed it on to us. But it wasn’t working. We kept trying, doing exactly what we thought it said on the card and the machine, and we got nowhere.
Our expat friends had given us one of those phone cards where you break off the corner and insert it into the slot on the payphone. It was a used card a former guest had left her, so she passed it on to us. But it wasn’t working. We kept trying, doing exactly what we thought it said on the card and the machine, and we got nowhere.
Finally, an older gentleman walked by us on the train platform. He paused, saw we were having difficulty, and did a U-turn to come back to us.
He helped us figure out the phone issue (the card turned out to be all used up, so it wasn’t our stupidity after all), and then when I thanked him in Italian he said, “Oh, you speak Italian?”
He helped us figure out the phone issue (the card turned out to be all used up, so it wasn’t our stupidity after all), and then when I thanked him in Italian he said, “Oh, you speak Italian?”
“Un piccolo,” I said – a little.
I was proud I could use what little language skills I had, until I saw him shaking his head.
“No, no, no,” he said, “Piccolo is for kids. You would say un po’ in this case.”
“No, no, no,” he said, “Piccolo is for kids. You would say un po’ in this case.”
I was embarrassed to have gotten it wrong, but his correction came with a broad smile, a word of encouragement about my Italian, and a cheerful “arrivederci” before he went on his way.
That story remains near and dear to my heart for several reasons. First and most obviously, because no matter how badly you speak Italian in reality, the Italians are – almost to a person – ridiculously flattering about your language skills and always ready and willing to give you polite corrections if you make mistakes. They know, on some level, that there really isn’t a point to learning Italian, and are happy that you’re trying.
But more than that, it displays the open arms with which I’ve always been received by Italy, from that first visit to my most recent.
But more than that, it displays the open arms with which I’ve always been received by Italy, from that first visit to my most recent.
I’ve continued to make mistakes with Italian, and will probably always do so. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
This girl is now, and always will be – no really, I mean it this time – an Italophile.
This girl is now, and always will be – no really, I mean it this time – an Italophile.
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About the Author
Jessica Spiegel is a travel writer who works for the BootsnAll Travel Network and writes the Italy travel guide, WhyGo Italy. Photo is of a gondola stand in Venice and is courtesy of the author. It may not be reproduced without permission.