At the request of a dashingly exotic friend of mine who had the misfortune of never visiting the land of the Mafia (don't get offended; I haven't even started yet!) I've been asked to write about and admit to a far-reaching love of the land of my ancestors---Italia.

My first direct memory involving an excerpt of my Italian heritage goes back to the days when I was about 5, when we as a family would pile into our yellow punch buggy to visit Aunt Gemma, who would greet us at the door with "Ahhh---ragazze!" After a hug, she would tell us we were adorably cute in Italian while pinching both cheeks. {So far, we're well within the stereotype.} We endured and relished the visits, for any time, day or night, there would be a steaming pot of "pastina" simmering on the stove, and my sister and I would make a mad rush to the table at the prospect of the perfect Italian bowl of soup!

Ah-the bliss of childhood! Later in college, I was fortunate enough to be able to visit Italy during a term abroad for a semester. As a gift for my host family, I brought a quilt, and upon opening it, my host mother gleefully exclaimed, "It's perfect! I needed a tablecloth!"

TABLECLOTH?!?!?! YOU'VE GOT TO BE JOKING!

After recovering from the mortal wound of eating off a quilt every night, I learned from every cultural mistake I made while over there. (Hint to the unaware; never cut your ravioli. It's considered rude to "cut" into perfection...I'm not kidding!). I had a marvelous time! We visited churches, toured monasteries, and drank lots and lots of fine wine. I spent countless hours literally roaming the countryside, often sneaking off with friends, hopping a train, without knowing where it was going, and "sailing away" for a few hours to Pisa or Lucca, or as far as our funds would get us.

By far, the luxury of Italy was the access to reams of the finest cappuccino known to man. Cappuccino and expresso are indeed the mark of a true Italian, and desiring to blend into the Italian world, we would leave the house in the morning and pick up a cappuccino on the way to school. If we were famished, we grabbed another from a vending machine, (what I wouldn't give for a cappuccino vending machine here) and then partake again at night. My energy level was never higher, I must tell you.

As a woman, I was warned about Italian men, and I must say that they fit every warning description that my father threw at me before I jumped on the plane for Florence. Many knew only one of two English phrases, either "I love you," or "You are the most beautiful woman in the world." With greased lightning hair and leather from top to bottom, they were quite a sight, and we had all we could do to hold ourselves back. {I doubt that} There was a hierarchy of how Italian men viewed females. {Without going into too much detail, suffice to say it's not complimentary} Needless to say, we Americans got quite the kick out of the Italian "romantics" over there!

On a serious note though, how I wish I could convey to you all the places it is essential you visit while in Italy! Venice, Florence, (skip Pisa---the Leaning Tower is the only thing there, and it's not that exciting), Siena, Rome...the list goes on and on and on. One is more rewarding than the next, and how I loved them all! Watch out for gypsies, (I was robbed twice in Rome, and I still love the place!) but relish the ruins and the frescoes and the marvelous people! It is certainly BELLISIMA! {My name is Vito Corleone . . . }