Perché Italia? Perché!!

Why Italy? Well, because…

Let’s get the obvious stuff out of the way first: Italy is ridiculously good-looking. Like, 15-million-Instagram-followers good-looking. A land of stunning landscapes, sun-kissed piazzas and layers of history at every turn.

But Italy is also beautifully, maddeningly ironic. And I’m discovering that’s where the real magic lies.

But why move here? It’s a question I’ve asked myself at least once a day since moving into my 14th-century former monastery apartment in Paciano — a small medieval hilltop village in Umbria. Not many people have heard of it, or know where it sits on “the boot”. Picture a blend of olive groves, vineyards and mountainous forests where deer and cinghiale (wild boar) run wild. A place where the bell tower tolls with operatic drama (albeit one minute early) and local cats lounge like minor royalty in the sun.

I’m an Australian copywriter, photographer, and part-time watercolour painter who recently swapped life in inner-city Brisbane for cobblestones, chaos and a near-spiritual relationship with espresso. I don’t speak fluent Italian (unless Duolingo considers “toddler on a sugar high” fluent). I also can’t eat gluten — which, in Italy, is a bit like joining a wine club and announcing you’re off the booze.

So… why Italy?

Perché (pronounced per-kay).

That’s the answer. And it’s also the question. In Italian, “perché” means both “why” and “because”.

Perfectly confusing. Perfectly poetic. Perfectly Italian.

The view from my rooftop terrace of the sun setting over the Tuscan hills.

The Beauty and the Bewildering

Italy is undeniably beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes you pull over like Mad Max to snap yet another photo of a hillside ruin or golden field. Every day, there’s a moment — or ten — that stops me in my tracks.

Yes, sunset watching is now my new sport. That, and eating.

There’s something about the way the light hits the stone here — it makes you want to photograph it. Paint it. Or, like now, write about it while sipping a glass of local Sangiovese I bought at the supermarket for €4.

As a photographer and painter, Italy is an all-you-can-eat buffet of beauty. Every crooked street, sun-faded shutter, ornate door knocker and field of wild poppies dares you to do it justice. You never quite can. But trying is a joy in itself.

The workhorses of every hilltop village - Ape 50s.

An Expat’s Life: Strange, Sweet, and Slightly Gluten-Free

I knew life in Italy would be different. I just didn’t realise it would be a daily masterclass in paradox.

Where chaos and order exist in a kind of passionate standoff.

Where bureaucracy is Byzantine, but somehow your neighbour can get a plumber on a Sunday night.

Where every rule is open to interpretation (especially parking) — except when it isn’t.

Where life is slow, with three-hour lunches… yet speeding is the national pastime.

And yet, it all works.

Even when I fumble through broken Italian to explain that I can’t eat gluten, people usually get it — and somehow, they find a way.

Because that’s the thing about Italy.

It’s chaos with soul. Confusion with heart.
A country where everything feels slightly improvised, but deeply felt.

The village walls are alive with greenery … and pidgeons.

What Italy Teaches You (Whether You Want It To or Not)

Living here as a creative is like tuning into a different frequency. The pace is slower. The priorities are different. Greetings are expected. Small talk is an art form. Deadlines? Flexible, at best.

But the joy of Italian life doesn’t lie in efficiency — it lies in the texture of everyday moments.

The clink of glasses at 11 a.m.

The proud unveiling of homemade limoncello from the freezer.

The feeling that every meal could be your last — so it better be amazing.

Italy reminds you to pay attention. To let life in. To stop trying to make sense of everything.

Because sometimes, perché isn’t a question that needs an answer. Sometimes, the experience is the reason.

Creative juice is flowing

So, Perché Italia?

Because it’s maddening and magical.

Because it’s absurd and achingly beautiful.

Because I wanted to shake things up.

Because this place doesn’t just inspire creativity — it demands it.

Because despite all the reasons not to, I simply couldn’t say no.

Perché Italia? Perché.

Why Italy? Because Italy.

And honestly, that’s the best reason I’ve got.