Italy: Beyond the Hype

by Ellen Barone

Just mention you're headed to the land of La Dolce Vita and people go all dreamy-eyed and nostalgic. You can nearly hear Dean Martin crooning in the background, or catch a glimpse of the Fellini film playing in their mind's eye.

A look inside any magazine devoted to travel tells the same story. Up pop picture-postcard photographs of Venice, Florence, and Rome advertising "Bella Italia." Or an enticement for Tuscany, showing sun drenched vistas of ancient olive groves and terraced vineyards, with the tag line, "A Charmed Land." And then there's the dramatic Amalfi Coast, sold in one headline as "Paradise Found."

Truth told, I thought it all a bit over the top. I just wasn't buying it.

But it was exactly that romanticized, Under the Tuscan Sun reaction I'd hoped for when I invited my friend Ute to meet me there for a photo assignment. "It's Italy!" I'd said in my best tour-guide voice, striving for the enticing generality that cloaks the sticky specifics: a grueling itinerary of overcrowded tourist meccas; driving in a country renowned for its aggressive drivers; or that until my morning four-shot due doppio espresso kicks in, I'm barely human.

"Italy? Really?" She'd exclaimed. "When do we leave?"

Roma, Firenze, Venezia, Milano, Siena, Perugia, Montepulciano, Assisi, Orvieto, Lucca, Pisa, Napoli, Isola di Capri, Pompei: Our itinerary was package-tour ambitious. Three weeks of churches, museums, piazzas and monuments.

But eventually, even the most hardened aesthete can reach saturation point. After we'd done our duty to culture by wandering through the Colosseum and the ruins of Pompei; after we'd traipsed through the Vatican Museums and the hundredth duomo (cathedral); after we'd thrown our tourist coin in Trevi Fountain, climbed the leaning tower of Pisa, and cruised the Grand Canal by gondola; only then did we connect with the country and experience the real Italia.

An Italy of crowded neighborhood trattorias filling narrow cobble stoned streets with booming laughter and whiffs of garlic, of college kids kissing on the duomo steps or clustered together for gelato and flirtation. A place where people dress up - men wore jackets and carried fine leather briefcases and women pedaled bicycles in slinky skirts and sexy sling-back shoes; where you run across butchers who wear Gucci shoes and quote Dante while slicing your meat. A country where they wrap your prosciutto crudo in elegant paper and tie it with a ribbon; where every outdoor cafe is in full swing, peals of laughter bouncing off the Palazzo; where friendly grocers, sensing a stranger's interest, wave you over "Guarda. Ecco. Fragole. Mangi." ("Look. Here. Strawberries. Eat."); where motorists caught in the snare of an automobile accident, make a party of it, exchanging food, music, and laughs.

Whenever we could, we abandoned the insular, pre-packaged, carefully choreographed experience that our itinerary imposed on us. Instead, we followed the locals through a honeycomb of back alleys, away from the crowds, to their favorite gathering places, where the crowd was native, the ambiance genuine, the prices cheaper.

For the freshest markets, we followed the housewives; for our morning coffee, we looked for the jittery and listened for the telltale hiss of the espresso machine; for spicy panni, we waited for the noon clang of cathedral bells then tagged along after the shopkeepers as they ducked out for a break; for an afternoon gelato, we listened for the chatter of schoolchildren; for an evening wine-bar, we looked for Armani-clad executives stopping in for an after-work apertivo; at night, we trailed families and the scent of garlic and herbs to unassuming trattorias and family-run restaurants.

In the car, using a Berlitz CD, we practiced our Italian - "Buon giorno." ("Good morning.") "Grazie." ("Thank you.") "Come va?" ("How are you?") "Molto benne." ("Very well.") "Quanto costa?" ("How much is it?") - hoping to become more participant and less tourist.

Like most women traveling in the land of amore, Ute and I heard our fair share of "A bella!" ("Hey, beautiful.") But the flirtatious greetings conveyed no malice, or expectation. More than once Italian men, with their classic Roman profiles, and the smile and eyes to go with it, managed to make me, more Meg Ryan perky than Sophia Loren sexy, feel beautiful.

In Venice there was Leonardo, a gondolier with Paul Newman blue-eyes and a don't-take-me-too-serious smile. In Florence, an amorous violinist had Ute blushing. In Rome, charming Giovanni modeled "David" knock-off aprons for our cameras.

Then there was, Daniele, an alluring young motor coach driver, who without fuss - "È niente." ("It is nothing.") - loaned me his "extra" mobile phone, for two weeks, when my own stopped working. Which led to Alfonso, who kept calling, originally for Daniele, then later for me. "Dove siete oggi?" he'd ask. ("Where are you today.")

And if the infectious charm of its people, language and way of life wasn't enough to convert me, the movie-set beauty of the place was sure to. At every turn, the elements of an ideal composition seemed to present itself: faded pastel walls peeling picturesquely; soft flowers against ancient stone in shades of beige, gray and ocher; endless vistas of terra-cotta rooftops; pink bed sheets fluttering from a second-story window above Romanesque arches; zucchini blossoms spreading their golden wings; terraced fields of green; a riot of red geraniums pushing out from balcony window boxes. It might be clichÈd, but it was everywhere.

I'd set out for Italy dubious of the hype, but returned enchanted. Had I chosen to, I could've come back righteous with negativity, for there was plenty to disparage: astounding prices ($3 bottles of water and $5-a-gallon gas), swarms of tourists and endless lines, a confounding deficiency of directional signage, to name a few. But instead, when people ask me about my trip, I go all dreamy-eyed and nostalgic, waxing lyrically about Bella Italia, A Charmed Land, Paradise Found.

Before You Go:

Arriving armed with guidebooks, dining guides, language CDs, and an Italian road atlas, helped us to overcome the challenges of language, culture, and currency. Prior to departure, I ordered each of the following online at http://www.insighttravelguides.com.

Insight Guide Italy includes Italy's history, aspects of the country's life and culture, a region-by-region guide to the sights, and a comprehensive Travel Tips section packed with essential contact addresses and numbers. Plus evocative photographs and maps.

Berlitz Eating and Drinking in Italian Mini Guide covers all the expressions needed for enjoying food and drink abroad in a handy wallet-sized format. Includes local cuisine and tipping information, easy-to-read pronunciation, and a unique easy-fold format.

Berlitz New Basic Italian (CD) is an easy to use and fun course featuring short, lessons, using practical, everyday language.

The Italy International Road Atlas by Hammond International is a must if you plan to drive, featuring regional maps and city insets, and also contains a comprehensive index.

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