One of the noises here in Cortona I notice most is the silence. By the time I decide to let my fatigue conquer my need to complete homework and I turn off my light, the only discernible sound is that of AJ and Gino wailing away in the common room – and even that subsides after a while.

Used to living in the center of downtown Athens in a converted warehouse, the absence of hollow high heel noises through the halls and the electronic sounds of whatever band people think is most obscure and consequently most awesome (but more often than not is MGMT) is not only noticeable, but almost uncomfortable.

In any environment, I rarely, if ever, fall asleep upon pillow-to-head contact. Every night, here I sit in the silence of my surroundings as a parade of thoughts infiltrates the silence in my head. Lack of such aforementioned vapid distractions turns my reflections to my present situation.

As I mentally rewind my day, all I can think of is my fortune to be in this town, this country, living among these people, living with these friends.

Everything is seemingly perfect: Italy is everything I’ve ever heard it to be. The only negative thoughts I’ve had in the past month stemmed from a petty annoyance of a fellow traveler – Americans. I find original words and insightful thoughts failing me. I, too, have fallen victim to the fatal charm of Italy.

In his novel, “The Italians,” Luigi Barzini discusses at length this “fatal spell” that makes recognition of fact and practice of objectivity unconquerable tasks for any traveler to Italy.

Italy has always been a place where people flock in great numbers – a Catholic land that serves as a mecca for those indulging in food, fashion, culture, spirituality and self. People come for a host of seemingly contradictory reasons – the recognized come to be obscure, the obscure come to be noticed, the unimportant come to be needed and the purposeless arrive to find purpose or ultimately conclude that specific purpose is unnecessary.

Regardless of travelers’ intents, most depart with the conclusion that life in Italy is just better. Barzini debates whether or not this perception is a product of “mislead senses” – if Italy is really as pleasant and beautiful as all expect and declare it to be, or if everyone has fallen “victim of some devilish trick done with emotional mirrors.”

Although pilgrims to and inhabitants of Italy are met with the same offerings, they are perceived in a way that is completely personal. The food I savor every day Barzini calls secondary to French cuisine. The ruins I stared at in amazement Barzini belittles in comparison to Greek temples. The weather I spent hours basking in Wednesday Barzini calls more comfortable in Florida.

The exaltation of a state whose main offerings are fringed jorts and air-brushed T-shirts over the magnificence of what I view Italy to be was almost too much for me to read.

Although Barzini is the native, I take a strange personal offense to comments about Italy that make it seem like anything less than the finest destination on the planet.

Surely not every slice of pizza here is best in the world; certainly not every smiling neighbor is the kindest in the world, and unquestionably the landscape outside my dorm window is not the most beautiful in the world.

But right here, right now, on my own “peaceful invasion” of this country, it is.

What Barzini would call my blind traveler’s euphoria I call his native’s subjective complacency. We are all victim of letting the exceptional things we see daily become as commonplace. Barzini is able to speak of the Tuscan landscape in the same way I am able to close my bedroom blinds during sunset on Broad Street. It was there yesterday; it’ll be there again tomorrow.

Removal from familiar surroundings evokes one of two clichés: it either makes you appreciate what you have at home, or makes the grass on the other side shine like emeralds. The charm of Italy almost always evokes the latter.

Perception of physical beauty is inextricably tied to emotional attachment to place. People fall victim to Italy because of the instant bond they make with its personality, because of the ease in which it becomes a part of you.

As another casualty, Henry Adams, recalls in the book: “Italy is mostly an emotion.” Italy is not only a place on a map; it is a place in a traveler’s heart.

- Megan Routh is a junior from Peachtree City majoring in magazines and anthropology.