As the day of graduation approached, I was filled with angst and dread. Panic set in as I realised that I had barely made it to two other cities in France during my studies abroad. Concerned with keeping up grades, internships and networking, I had forgotten to do what all young people are advised to do- see the world. In despair I looked up tickets, desperate to get a last peek of Europe, preferably over a glass of aperol before it was time to leave. I forfeited pre graduation rituals, swapped out the gown and cap for jeans and a t-shirt. The next week, I set out for the ruins of Rome, armed with a gal pal and enthusiastic spirits inspired by Gillian Gilberts’ Eat, Pray, Love’, we made our way to the land of artists, popes, pasta and gelato. The rain greeted us in Venice, turning our smiles to frowns at the sight of the fog. Determined not to be deterred by this conspiracy between Murphy's law and mother nature, we grabbed our umbrellas and boarded the waterbus. First lesson we learned is that you haven’t truly experienced Venice if you haven’t gotten lost amidst the pathways, hidden corners, squares and churches far from the Grand Canal. “Dai”. I heard it from everyone. Between the “allora’s” y “bene’s”. “Dai”. From impatient kids, irritated parents to passionate declarations. “Dai”. Perhaps this would be my word for Italy, “Dai”, the spirit of “come on” and “let’s go”. The next destination was Cinque Terre, the promised five lands. Blessed with sunshine for the first time in a while, we basked in the warm rays soothing the roar of the crashing of waves around us. We took in the characteristic pastel buildings nestled around, on and in the joints of the hills. Fueled by ambitious youth, we tightened our laces and high fived. Five minutes later we were panting profusely and regretting the swelling focaccia in our bellies as we began our wind up the first ‘land’. It was all smiles and sweat, till the sweat ran cold as we found ourselves stuck between two hills, the clock running out. As we contemplated the various options we could see it in each other's eyes. The worry stamping out our withering hope. Our second lesson was that travel and indeed life, rarely goes as planned. Yet if given the opportunity to do it again the answer? “Magari”. Alas there was Genova. A place I thought existed only in the world of ‘The Princess Diaries’. From its trading and shipping history, to its ‘trompleyeux’ and ‘paroc’. Home of pesto, farinata, and focaccia. The walking tour taught us more than we could have imagined and certainly more than we bargained for- Genova’s origins of banking and architecture as well as it’s contribution to places all over the world and a certain fun fact about the British flag. Our road trip wound down in Milan. Where most come for the hustle and grind, we found relaxation. As the linguine scoglio and calzone warmed our bellies, we sat contentedly in our seats, our own makeshift graduation dinner. In my post meal bliss I couldn’t help but overhear an elderly couple, grins plastered across their faces, trying to convey through broken english and hand signals, their pleasure at the meal. The waiter smiled as he cleared their table commenting that what they were experiencing was “abbiocco”. “ Something like a food coma” he explained “but more pleasant because it calls for relaxation”. I left Italy with a satisfaction no ceremony could have ever given me. I had learnt countless lessons not only about the various italian locations but about life and travel. I had endured the mishaps, persevered through the unexpected, yet enjoyed Italy. Her pastel buildings and colorful shutters sitting languidly against the orange dusk. Her mundane stand up coffee breaks. A melody found in the trebles, trills of her language. Unapologetic for enjoying life. Unapologetically Italian. Venice in its timeless grandeur, the incomparable sunset of Cinque Terre and the unwrapped mystery of Genova. I found my word as well. ”Abbiocco”. Not the food coma though those are welcome but the content nostalgia every time I remember Italy.