Myth shattered - Italian Stallions few and far between

Well I must say our little break has worked wonders. I recommend it now for all relationships. Just my relationship happens to be with one of the oldest cities in time. The night I arrived back into town, after adding a nice couple of pounds around my waistline, I skipped out for a beer or two near Piazza Venezia. As I sat with friends, nestled down a cobbled side street, I was glad to be back. I missed the pinks, browns, mustards and oranges that regimentally cover the buildings. I missed the smell of the warmth and the pine trees in the sun. I even missed the stupid clown noises the polizia cars make.

So I am glad to be in my Rome home and even managed to get myself a job. I am now the proud baby sitter of Luca, aged 14 months. He’s an adorable character with a lovely family so once again I feel I have been lucky here. So my strutting around Campo Di Fiori, showing off my tan and sun bleached hair days are over and now I can be found panting up a hill pushing a buggy shouting in a high pitched baby voice that all us females manage to reach when with a child, “ooh look Luca, it’s a bunny rabbit!”.

Last Saturday night I managed an evening of culture. Equipped with a group of fairly international friends, French, Italian and Australian, we climbed up the Captoline Hill and settled down for a free evening of George Gershwin. There we sat in the beautiful surroundings of Piazza del Campidoglio listening to, funnily enough, Gershwin’s “American in Paris”. It was magical and I am sure just the thing Michelangelo had in mind when he designed this magnificent Piazza. It was as if the white seagulls that glowed so ethereally, knew that they were just adding to the magic as they circled over our heads.

Whilst soaking in all this abundant culture I have also tried to infiltrate the less cultural aspect of what is known as “The Dating Game”. I haven’t exactly been a participant but more of an observer of the game between Italian men and women. I arrived hoping that the “Italian Stallion” myth was true but I am sorry to report, ladies, that as in anywhere, they are, in fact, few and far between. Upon asking my Italian friend Francesca, who has some knowledge of the British male, whether Italian men were different, easier, less commitment-phobic, she replied with all honesty, “Luki, men are the same all over the world. The only difference is their address.”

Then after a grilling on my part with my Italian male friend he admitted that Italian men don’t like their girlfriends having male friends and are quite protective. From my own experience, and I don’t at all mean to be insulting because I am merely passing an observation, the Roman men seem to fall a little, well, short. I myself am only 5”3 and most of the gentlemen seem to be of the same height. And then there’s the Roman nose.

However, all is not lost. I have it on good authority, (a girlfriend who toured the whole of Italy for six months) that it is just the Roman men while men from Bologna are "perfetto". But rather than travel for four hours in search of the Bolognese, I think I’ll just stick to my lover here because at least the City can’t argue back.