Italy is more than a country–it’s amazing how much art, style, culture, and flavor can be contained in one place. A place that differs in look and feel, accent and food from nearing town to mountain valley and which feels like a hundred different realms in one territory.

To the rest of the world, Italy exists as an idea. It’s a vibrant orange bittersweet spritz, ice clinking inside, as you nibble on chips and olives and talk with friends before drinking wine and eating more at dinner. It’s a deep espresso al bar, served by a waiter in a white jacket and black bow tie, preferably with a large mustache and knowing grin, who says “prego, Signorina”, although I’m clearly more of a Signora these days. It’s a desire to escape to any beach cove, turquoise waters below and striped umbrellas above with the “Cocco bello!” seller waving and weaving in between tanned bodies. It’s a melting cone of gelato to cool off in the inescapable heat. Gelato was invented in Florence during the Renaissance, too; more than just paintings, sculptures, frescoes, and half of the world’s art treasures come from here, you know.

Italy from a distance appears steeped in history, a place whose dwellers scantily acknowledge the legacy of the Romans and everything that came after them, accepting that the heritage of an antique urban palazzo or an old country ruin is just meant to exist amongst them. From afar, it looks like a place of passion–with hand gestures and loud conversations about football; opulent, stylish clothes, sometimes worn more in a peacocky way by men than by women; and heart wrenching ballads and operatic warbles wafting from tiny cars always badly parked.

La grande bellezza–the great beauty–is that Italy has always been loved because its reality is even better than the perception of it.