Today is the two-year anniversary of my arrival in Italy. It’s also the day I’m leaving. I didn’t plan it like this; a few months ago, I got offered a position in a city I could not deny, and my visa got approved for the exact same date I had arrived. Two perfect calendar years, seems like to me. 

Italy, I have nothing more to say than I have fallen deeply in love with you. You’ve pushed me to grow and helped me discover things about myself that no other country could.

Let me start at the beginning. I had been a tourist in this country–I was in Rome when Italy won the 2006 World Cup, and I celebrated like an Italian–but I had never dreamt of living here. I ended up in Italy through a combination of COVID-induced free time, plus a Google search that led me to a school in Piedmont nobody back home had ever heard of. In the midst of a global pandemic, Italy seemed like a solid nine-month plan. 

I arrived with no expectations, a rare occurrence in a type-A person like me. But this was not my plan A; it was just a plan. But from day one, Italy made me feel at home. Neighbors brought me food during my quarantine and smiled graciously when I made grammar mistakes, taking them as nice personal touches. My family is not of Italian heritage, but I could sense that Italy is where an Argentine comes from. Our cultures are so deeply linked that, even without one single gene, I felt grounded, a safe base from which to embark upon adventures. 

I traveled to Cinque Terre (and started a different kind of love story), the Dolomites, Reggio Emilia, Veneto. Went on a summer road trip through Lazio, Campania, Calabria, Basilicata, Puglia. Explored and discovered. Enjoyed aperitivo every day at 7 PM–Negronis for me while everyone else sipped their Spritzes. 

Then I moved to Florence, as romantic a city as there could be. Stunningly beautiful yet packed with crowds of tourists. I kind of fell in between: I am not them, but I am not a local either. After a year, I still managed to get lost in some of its small windy streets. Florence taught me that the real Italy is not in the streets, no matter how windy they may be, nor the museums, but in the people you meet. So these two years will be remembered by the coastal capers and aperitivo escapades, yes, but mostly by the generous heart of one friend, the cheeky smile of another, and the open arms of all.