Relationships with Italians and Italophiles are an occupational hazard of mine. Too many years spent traipsing Veneto for work and then escaping to the Amalfi Coast for a dose of Vitamin D means that I have had my fair share of amore all’italiana. I have become accustomed to Italian methods of flirting, of dating, of loving, and of breaking up. Trust me, they all too often follow the same pattern–passion, jealousy, and drama. Colpa mia. But what I have learnt from these relationships is that those who have a connection with Italy really know how to love–no matter where it may end up.

This first became apparent to me six years ago when I almost entered into an illicit tryst with a man who was meant to get married in a month’s time… not that that seemed to matter to him though. Despite the simmering passion, we didn’t follow through, but to this day there remains fondness and a genuine friendship.

Similarly, relationships with colleagues equally fluent in Italian and Italian culture have seen crossed wires with the boundary between love, intellect, and indifference. And in turn, dalliances with charming Florentines, Milanesi, and Veronesi have made me more than accustomed to how Italian men have honed the art of flirting.

There was always one constant in all these episodes: a shared love of Italy. A love for Italian food, culture, language, art, architecture… No matter with whom I’d find myself in a relationship with, sitting at a restaurant with, having spritz with, our relationships would so frequently revert to that common ground of our shared Italian affections. To put it simply: Italy was the root of all my love stories. 

What I eventually came to realize was that I wasn’t in love with all these Italians and Italophiles, but with the connection to Italy that being with them facilitated. Speaking Italian? Visiting an obscure Italian town? Sussing out an off-piste restaurant? I was fresh pasta in their hands. An Italophile in love with Italians? What could be more of a cliché?

But somewhere along the line, I finally learnt not to love all’italiana. 

It started with something as simple as a negroni. A negroni. It was November 2021, and I’d just returned from three months living between Venice and Munich where I’d have negronis at a designated Campari bar every day after work. Back in London, I’d heard word on the street of a new restaurant in London where the negronis were as strong as in Italy–and were sold at Italian prices. 

 It started simply enough: small talk at the bar about how similar the negronis were to the ones I drank in Venice, swiftly followed by where else we both went in Venice (the same places inevitably) to where else in Italy we liked. Florence was the clincher; we both held it as our second Italian home after Venice. Further visits followed on my end–principally for excellent negronis, but also for this vibe that I hadn’t found elsewhere in London.

Six months or so later, we realized that trading snatched anecdotes about Italy wasn’t enough; we had to sit down at a table together and exchange essays rather than trade notes about our common love for Italy. The date finally came, and that lunch lasted five hours. By the time I left, we still weren’t finished: we were only just beginning. Another lunch swiftly followed, then a dinner, and well, you can imagine what came next.

In the early days, we used to say to each other that if we ran out of things to say, then we would part ways. But that day never came. Instead, we made the impromptu decision to go to Venice together, and then extended the trip to go to Florence. We started a game of one-upmanship: who knew the best bar or the best shortcut or the best early morning walk. In the three weeks that we spent together in Italy, just one month after getting together, we realized something very quickly… We were as equally in love with each other as we were with Italy. We saw Italy through the same eyes.

Our love continues to this day–with at least another three trips to Italy in our diaries–and is much more than all’italiana: my lifelong love for Italy created a gateway to the most genuine love, a love that stretches far beyond the borders of the boot-shaped country.