I went back to Italy last summer after almost three years away. Not a vacation. Not a family emergency. I just needed to see if the country I grew up in was still the one I remembered, or if I had been romanticizing it from 10,000 kilometers away the whole time.
Turns out, both things were true.
The Airport Moment
Fiumicino Airport. The moment I walked out of arrivals and hit that wall of Roman humidity, I knew I was back. Not because of the heat ( Montevideo gets hot too ), but because of the smell. Jet fuel, espresso from the bar at the end of the terminal, and something vaguely like cigarette smoke that should not still exist in 2026 but absolutely does.
My ride was late. Of course my ride was late. This is Italy. If someone is on time, you check if they are feeling okay.
Standing there with my suitcase, I realized I had forgot the rhythm. The volume. Italians do not talk to each other. They perform. At the airport, at 9 in the morning, with luggage carts and children and arguments about where the car is parked. It is theater, and I had been sitting in the audience for too long.
The Food Is Not a Myth
Everyone talks about Italian food like it is some mythical experience. I always rolled my eyes at that, because I grew up with it and it felt normal. But after two years of cooking Italian in Montevideo ( where the Parmigiano is imported and costs what a whole meal should cost ), walking into my mother’s kitchen hit different.
The pasta water was already boiling when I walked in. She did not even ask what I wanted. She already knew. Penne all’arrabbiata, because that is what you make when your son comes home from the other side of the planet.
Things I had been doing wrong in Uruguay ( without knowing it ):
- Salting the pasta water like the sea. I was undersalting by about 50%.
- Not saving pasta water. That starchy liquid is the entire sauce. I was draining it all away like an animal.
- Buying the wrong tomatoes. San Marzano are not just fancy tomatoes. They are the correct tomatoes. Everything else is a compromise.
Two weeks of eating and I gained four kilos. Worth every one.
The Reverse Culture Shock Hits Different
People talk about culture shock when you move abroad. Nobody tells you about reverse culture shock, which is the thing where you go back home and everything feels slightly wrong in ways you cannot explain.
The espresso still costs 1.20 at the bar. In Montevideo I am paying the equivalent of 3 euros for something that tastes like regret. Every morning in Italy I would walk to the bar, drink standing up ( the way you are supposed to ), and leave. Total time: 3 minutes. Total cost: negligible. This is the correct way to do coffee.
But the things that annoyed me before I left? They still annoyed me. The bureaucracy. The queues. The way nobody answers email and you have to call three times and then show up in person. I had just forgotten, because from Uruguay it all seemed charming in retrospect.
It is not charming when you are standing in a post office at 11AM and they tell you to come back after the pausa. The pausa. In 2026.
Things That Changed ( And Things That Did Not )
What changed:
- My hometown has better internet now. Not good internet. Better internet. Fiber exists in some buildings. In others you are still praying to the ADSL gods.
- Contactless payments are finally normal. The first time I left Italy, paying with a card was an act of war. Now even the tabacchi takes Apple Pay. Progress.
- Coffee prices went up ( still cheap though ). A cappuccino that was 1.50 is now 1.80. Inflation touches everything, even Italian bar culture.
What did not change:
- The way Italians argue. Loud, with hands, about nothing important. I missed this more than I expected.
- The bread. The bread has not changed. It is still aggressively simple and perfect.
- The feeling that nothing is urgent. Everything can wait until domani. This used to drive me insane. Now, after two years of trying to slow down in Uruguay, I appreciate it more than I can say.
The Weird Stuff
Things that caught me off guard:
1. I kept saying "che" and "b" like in Uruguay. My friends looked at me like I had a disease. Apparently my Italian now has Uruguayan particles in it. Like dust you cannot shake off.
2. I apologized when someone bumped into me. This is not Italian behavior. In Italy, if someone bumps into you, you glare at them. I glared. It felt like riding a bicycle.
3. I could not find a proper mate in my hometown. People looked at the gourd like it was an alien artifact. Fair enough. It is their national drink, not mine ( it is mine now ).
4. I walked everywhere faster than everyone else. Montevideo is a slow city but Rome is slower if you are not a tourist. Locals do not rush. They amble. I was ambling wrong for two weeks.
The Real Lesson
Here is what going back taught me: you can leave a country, but you cannot leave the way it shaped you. I am Italian in ways I do not notice until I am somewhere else ( the hand gestures, the volume, the instinct to cook for anyone who enters my house ). And I am becoming Uruguayan in ways I did not plan ( the mate, the rambla, the fact that I now think 10PM is a reasonable time for dinner ).
The trip was supposed to be two weeks. I stayed three. Not because anything dramatic happened. Because the first week I spent remembering how to be Italian again. The second week I enjoyed it. And the third week I realized I could take the best parts with me and leave the rest.
So now I salt my water like the sea. I make arrabbiata on Tuesdays. I drink espresso standing up when I can. And I keep the mate going all day, because that is who I am now.
Both places. Both versions of me. That is the real answer.