Italy has become the greatest romance of my life

Maria Pasquale

I’ve loved and been in love with Italy my whole life. That unconditional love where you take the good with the bad, while your desire and admiration never wavers.

Mark Twain once said, “Find a job you enjoy doing, and you will never have to work a day in your life.” That’s how I feel about the privilege of being able to write about and live in Italy all day long – it’s my muse, my inspiration, my guilty pleasure, my life.

‘Italy is not a country for the faint of heart but it nourishes the soul like a love affair, with moments that challenge and others of fiery passion.’

I was born in Australia to Italian parents. I spent much of my 20s travelling across Italy and have lived in the bel paese for the last decade. But even before moving, I grew up in a household that ate Italian, spoke Italian, watched Italian films and TV and practised Italian customs.

My parents instilled in my siblings and me a profound respect for the values Italians hold dear – family and tradition – and our ties to the motherland remained strong as my paternal grandparents never emigrated. I remember, as a kid, being forced by my parents to stand in front of the camera and wish my nonna e nonno “Buon Natale”, or to perform a running video commentary of all the gifts I received on my first Holy Communion.

I was six years old when I visited my grandparents’ home for the first time. Those memories are of central, small-town Italy – Abruzzo to be precise. I remember being intrigued by how different it was to the world I knew: the town piazza as a charming centrepiece of community, the trips to the mercato with my zie.

But it was when I visited again as a 16-year-old that I became infatuated – with the culture, the people, the language. With an energy that ignited the senses, of a place where so many forces collided in what I could only describe at the time as a beautiful chaos. Italy was a part of me, and I knew one day I would live there.

Throughout my life, the non-Italians around me – friends, colleagues, acquaintances – have always been so curious about my Italian heritage. They want to know about the culture, the way of life and that special, defining spirit of a beautiful country with an animated and generous people. My pride in my origins has always inspired me to tell stories that uncover why Italians are the way they are. What defines them, what drives them, what generates their infectious energy and why they are so loved by so many.

How does one capture the essence of what it means to be Italian? The words I kept repeating were beauty, passion, excellence, resilience and pride. For me, they are the cornerstones of the Italian character, alongside family and tradition. Both are at the very heart of the Italian psyche. So, too, is a respect and inherent appreciation for human connection, food, art, design, history, sport and so much more.

It’s important to note that many of my observations are through the lens of someone who grew up in Australia, in a family hailing from central Italy, and who now lives in Rome – my views are a by-product of that experience. Each region has a distinct and unique identity of its own. Life in the northern cities couldn’t be more different to that in the south. This is one of the things I love most about Italy: her diversity, cultural struggle, dynamism, and contrasts and contradictions.

No matter where you travel in the country, however, it seems as though those born on the boot-shaped peninsula were given the secret to la dolce vita: the sweet life.

From the way they take their coffee in the morning to the way they dress. When and what they drink and how they express themselves. The way they have fun and their attitude. Oh, it’s their attitude that’s key.

The Italian lifestyle is the country’s trademark. It truly feels like the coolest, most magnificent party ever hosted – everyone wants in, but invites are limited. Because being Italian is a feeling, it’s hard to truly express.

Like the sights – awe-inspiring monuments, resplendent piazze, light that bathes the ochre buildings and ancient ruins of Rome, the canals of Venice, le nonne rolling orecchiette on the streets of Bari or quite simply, friends and family – and even a group of priests – lunching at a trattoria. Or the sounds – the distinct Italian ambulance sirens, the melodic ring of church bells, the aggressive clinking of cups and plates at the bar, the street vendor loudly selling their wares, the scooter zooming by and the unmistakable purr of a Fiat 500.

Oh, and it’s the smells too – the roast of the coffee beans, the fresh out of the oven pizza or focaccia, the waft of a just-baked cornetto or sfogliatella, the salty hues of the salumeria, the Italian fabric softener permeating bucato, the scent of oranges in Sicily and the lemons of the Amalfi Coast.

It’s the sun setting on the cupola of St Peter’s or the Duomo in Milan. The wind blowing through an open window of a medieval town palazzo, the beautiful mess of clothes hanging from the balcony in a narrow Neapolitan street. To be Italian is the riposo (that rest time usually taken after lunch) and even the sciopero (an industrial strike).

It’s Michelangelo’s statue of David, the Sistine Chapel and Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. It’s the passeggiata (the leisurely stroll) and having your coffee al banco (standing at the bar counter). It’s l’estate italiana (the Italian summer) symbolised by sunbeds, stripy beach umbrellas and the tune of roving vendors shouting “ciambelle calde!” or “cocco bello!” , and the juicy watermelon you eat on Ferragosto.

It’s the heat rising from those cobblestones and how they become slippery during le prime piogge, the first rainfall signifying the end of summer. It’s the long Sunday lunch that starts around one or two in the afternoon and lingers right on to six. And it’s la bella figura (making a good impression) and the dolce far niente (the sweetness of doing nothing).

The Italians don’t have a reputation for forming queues, nor are they a people you’d think would be okay with social distancing. Touching, hugging, kissing and togetherness are all defining characteristics of the Italian DNA. And yet here they were. Sixty million people told to stay at home, go out only for essentials and keep a metre apart from one another. No more passeggiata. No more caffè al bar.

In years to come, the world will be better for having seen Italians dancing and singing from their balconies, windows and terraces. From the national anthem to nostalgic Italian classics, these moments brought young and old together: a nation unified, supporting one another. Watching Italians rapidly and collectively mobilise, like nobody thought they could, provided solemn comfort to many at a time of fear and uncertainty.

The pandemic and its devastating impact on the country has changed Italians. You don’t watch a long line of military trucks transporting coffins out of the hardest hit city, Bergamo, and come out unscathed. The catchcry that quickly went viral at the height of the emergency, “andrà tutto bene” (it will all be okay), are words that will be forever associated with the pandemic. Italians won’t ever mouth them again without thinking of 2020.

With Italy as my muse, I have had many life-changing moments and epiphanies. This is what Italy does: enthrals, thrills and excites just as it infuriates or disappoints. It’s not a country for the faint of heart but it nourishes the soul like a love affair, with moments that challenge and others of fiery passion.

For me, every time the plane touches the tarmac at Rome’s Fiumicino airport, I’m home. And not just in a physical sense. It’s like returning to the familiar arms of a lover. “Mi si allarga il cuore”, my heart sings. With a country that loves love and believes in il destino, how could it not have become the greatest romance of my life? Let’s face it: doesn’t everybody want to be Italian?