Introduction: Arriving in the Heat of a Dream
Italy in summer is not subtle. It announces itself immediately—with heat that wraps around you like a thick blanket, with scooters darting through narrow streets, with the clink of glasses filled with something cold and bitter-sweet. The air smells faintly of espresso, sunscreen, stone warmed by centuries of sun, and sometimes the sea.
This trip was never about ticking boxes or racing from landmark to landmark. It was about time: long lunches, slow trains, wandering without a plan, and letting places reveal themselves gradually. Over several weeks, I traveled from historic cities to rural hills and down to the coast, following little more than instinct, appetite, and the promise of summer.





