The brochures say to go to the Vatican, my friend told me to only eat pizza in Rome, and television shows us that Milan is the place for fashion connoisseurs. Try saying no to a tempting offer to tour Florence on a bike. Instead, take a walk or go out with a native. Perhaps the best way to experience a new place is by having someone, who has it tattooed to the back of his hand, show it to you. Not literally. But put aside the brochures and delete the number for the tour guide from your phone. Then and only then will you truly know what it feels like to discover a place.

 I cannot say that I initiated this contact because I met Claudio through my friends. He is not a certified tour guide nor is he an employee of Italy’s tourism board; however he is passionate about showing his country to others. To me Italy is one big museum and on Sunday Claudio took my friend and me to the exhibit of a little town called Candelara.  Let me reiterate that if it was not for Claudio—who represents anyone willing to unveil the beauty of his or her own country—I would never have breathed in the fresh Candelara air.

Right now I am opening the file in my memory that is titled Candelara, Sunday, June 12, 2009. Italian soft rock mingled through the thin evening air in the adorable Italian town. Italian families and friends pranced by gleefully as they enjoyed the festival. I was perilously perched on a ledge that offered a panoramic view of the town. At that moment—which lasted fifteen minutes but existed as its own entity separate from the rotating world—I could have been an Italian, a journalist, a performer, anything.

If I was trudging through the hallways of the Borghese Museum in Rome I would have been a foreigner, possibly even an American—although I am from the Caribbean. But there on that stone wall, looking out toward the darkness polka-dotted with yellow and white house lights, I knew that I could be anything I wanted to be. I discovered part of Italy and forse anche me stessa (maybe even myself).