La Bella Italia

My genetic composition is 100% European. All it takes is one look at my olive skin, hidden behind masses of curly hair and my unruly eyebrows, and it’s physically evident that I’ve been injected with a high dosage of Wog.

Since day dot, my heart has been beating Napoli sauce through my veins. The closest I’ve ever been to true love is staring into a plate of Nonna’s Gnocchi. Seriously, if I go a day without olive oil I start to have severe withdrawal symptoms.

It’s genetics. More than that… it’s science.

So after a childhood spent surrounded by bleach-blonde, surfing, spaghetti-out-of-a-can-eating Aussies (my Italian ancestors are rolling in their graves at that last one), it was only natural that when I first stepped foot on Italian soil, I’d felt more at home than anywhere else in the world.

From the opulence of the Duomo’s, to the salty air of the Mediterranean; the vineyards that go on for miles, the constant bustle of people in the cities and the solitude in the countryside; the terracotta cottages, a cuisine that supplies a lifetime’s worth of carbs in the entrée alone, glittering city lights, romantic music, men with chiselled features… there’s something for everyone in Italy (unless you’re gluten intolerant – then really, there’s just no point).

I suppose I’m biased, because I’m a true patriot of my home country. But ask anyone who’s been to the land of carbohydrates and cathedrals – there’s something pretty damn special about Italy.