Italy, where every street, square, and corner has its own personality.

Steeped in history, each town has been shaped by centuries of life, work, and art.

Florence feels deliberate and refined. The white marble of the duomo catches the sun like paper, sharp and clean against the blue sky. The scent of roasting Florentine steak drifts from trattorias, smoky and rich, while conversation hums softly along narrow streets. In a small cooking class, rolling fresh pasta connects you to tradition, each twist and fold a practice refined by countless hands before you.

Not too far away, Empoli hums quietly along its calm streets, which somehow hide a bubble tea shop serving delicious Taiwanese chicken wraps. Vinci draws you through its curved, narrow lanes, tracing the steps of Leonardo da Vinci and imagining his sketches taking shape in quiet workshops and sunlit gardens.

Pisa buzzes with tourists snapping photos of the leaning tower, while nearby Lucca moves at its own slow pace. Despite the summer concerts, the town still feels frozen in small-town rhythms, bikes ringing their bells along narrow alleyways that spill into quiet courtyards.

Montegiorni, Siena, and San Gimignano feel cinematic. Cobblestones, worn smooth by generations, lead to intimidating towers rising above clay-red Tuscan rooftops. The smell of pici and chianti drifts through piazzas, making centuries-old history tangible just like Ezio Auditore did.

Bologna is alive. Students of the world’s oldest university rush under endless porticos, the scent of tagliatelle ragu thick in the air. Crescentine stuffed with creamy cheese and freshly sliced prosciutto disappear as fast as they come. Each meal is a celebration of local pride in this culinary capital.

Verona is a city of stories, from Juliet’s balcony to the ancient Roman amphitheater. Ristorontes fill the air with aromas of crab gnocchi and red wine risotto, and even the arancini balls at McDonald’s smell of golden fried perfection.

Milan is modern, sleek, and unmistakably international. Starbucks, Uniqlo, and Primark line the streets as Milanese cutlets and pistachio tiramisu tempt you at every turn. Rain and hail tap the smoothly-paved streets, yet the city remains undeterred, with the Sforza Castle rising nearby beside the Milan Triennial and its striking red chair.

Genoa and Nervi lie by the sea. Pesto drifts from restaurants, Roman bridges stretch over calm waters, and palm trees sway against deep blue skies. Venice floats on poles, canals curling past colorful houses, its many neighbourhood squares hiding old wells. Its manufactured history has, over time, become history itself.

Bari and Lecce glow with the pale yellow of Lecce stone, soft enough to bear the marks of time. Whole burrata balls spill over sandwiches, orecchiette pasta curls like little ears, and the sea glimmers beyond Bari’s ancient walls, past the ferris wheel turning slowly by the port.

Naples is gritty, lived-in, and unapologetically raw. Pizza is everywhere. Streets are narrow and chaotic. The city wears its history openly, and its people carry it with pride. Positano and Sorrento cling to cliffs, waves crashing below as tourists chatter across steep streets.

Finally, Rome just hits different. History presses in from every corner of the Eternal City. You walk past ancient columns, Renaissance cathedrals, and Baroque fountains, all on the same street. Monuments, churches, and piazzas feel lived-in, layered over time, while scooters weave past and cafés spill onto sidewalks. It is regal and chaotic, grand and intimate all at once.

Everywhere you go, your surroundings feel distinct. Some precise, some chaotic, some sun-worn, some buzzing with energy, but all carrying the weight of centuries.

Every street, square, and corner has a story to tell, written by the rhythms of daily life that have played out for generations.

I guess that’s why they call it the Old World.