The elderly man sitting in front of me at the dinner table squeezes his eyes a little as he looks at me. We have been chatting for some hours already while enjoying the most delicious pasta and for the last couple of minutes I realise that he is trying to fathom me, the seemingly so Dutch lady. Something is not right, according to him, and I know it will only take him a little more to put his finger on it. His face then suddenly lights up. “Now I know!” I pretend to wait expectantly for what he has to say, but in fact I already know. “Non sei olandese, sei una romantica.” You’re not Dutch, you’re a romantica. I raise my eyebrows and the old man’s enthusiasm for his discovery makes me smile. I fake being surprised by his comment, because the truth is that I have this conversation about three times a week in Rome. In fact, pretty much every time I talk to an Italian who doesn’t know me yet.
I was stunned at how literally it can be interpreted, but how I had never noticed it myself at the same time
So I’m a romantica. But what exactly do the Italians mean by this? Contrary to the associations this undoubtedly evokes, it has nothing to do with roses, candlelight and an amorous love story. But then what does it mean? Although I’ve known the term ‘essere romantica’, ‘being a romantica‘, for some time, it wasn’t until last week that a passionate guide told me where the word romantica comes from. I was stunned at how literally it can be interpreted, but how I had never noticed it myself at the same time.
A feeling stronger than all the emotions he had known until now took hold of him. He tried to understand this feeling, and to express it in words. Was it love he felt?
A very, very long time ago, there was an Englishman traveling through Italy. Once arrived in Rome, he tried to take in the absurd and surreal beauty of the Eternal City. A feeling stronger than all the emotions he had known until now took hold of him. He tried to understand this feeling, and to express it in words. Was it love he felt? Admiration? Awe? But the man discovered that, for this very special feeling, merely aroused by a city so aesthetically beautiful that it almost hurts your eyes and where the energy of days gone by is still so palpable as if you are brushing your fingertips over pages with thousands of encounters, not a word existed yet. On the spot he decided to invent a new word for it. Since ancient Rome was the embodiment of this feeling, he decided to not make it any more complicated. Romantica. Two words fused together. Roma – Antica. And that’s how the ancient Rome actually became an emotion.
It is not one thing, one character trait or habit, that makes you a romantica. Nor is it something that can be taught
Nowadays, the term has taken on a broader meaning, yet I exactly know what the Italians mean when they call me a romantica again. It is not one thing, one character trait or habit, that makes you a romantica. Nor is it something that can be taught, although I do believe it is often suppressed in today’s society. One is a romantica from their deepest self. And although it’s not easy to describe, I’m going to try to do it here.
It’s the inability to keep yourself to tight schedules and agendas, simply because ‘life’ happens in the meantime.
It’s the natural, unstoppable tendency to always choose the aesthetic over the practical. Italians know however that one does not have to be at the expense of the other.
It’s often being distracted by things your senses perceive. The group of starlings flying above your head making you wonder where they’re heading to or those three chords of music in the distance that immediately evoke a memory.
It’s not being able to tell stories efficiently because the details are as important as the message (the length of my blogposts speaks for itself). You have a strong urge to describe the atmosphere when you tell a story.
It’s being able to believe without seeing facts.
It’s daring to follow your heart. Even when your whole environment objects or it doesn’t seem logical at all. You simply cannot do otherwise.
It’s regularly losing your stuff and forgetting what you were doing only two minutes after you started something.
It’s considering nothing unimportant and still being able to give up on everything.
It’s sincerely feeling better when you are surrounded by beauty. A well-known Italian saying is “L’arte e la bellezza salveranno il mondo”. Art and beauty will save the world.
It’s regularly ending up in places and situations that make you wonder how on earth you ended up in it this time.
It’s letting yourself get dragged into a movie completely.
It’s the fact you genuinely feel better and more at peace in a chaotic environment where things are not strictly organised.
It’s your love for traditions and rituals. Lighting candles (I discovered you can even do this online), wearing a certain underwear for good luck (I did this during my high school exams, when taking the test for my driving licence, the first day at university…) and singing traditional songs.
It’s spontaneously sending cards, or leaving sweet notes on a pillow.
It’s going along with the rhythm of life in the city instead of trying to fight it.
It’s regularly being overwhelmed by emotion – both joy and sadness – that suddenly hits you like a wave.
It’s using all the colours of the rainbow to think instead of considering things black or white.
It’s immediately feeling a deep connection with someone you only met five minutes earlier.
It’s the firm belief that coincidence does not exist.
It’s being in awe and admiring everything that Mother Nature has created. Nothing has such a meditating effect on my mind as looking at the waves of the sea and listening to the sound of the water.
It’s having an enormous imagination and never considering things ‘too much’. Artists like Michelangelo and Bernini are the perfect example of this. Just think about how sober the Roman churches and squares would have looked like if they had been any more down-to-earth (literally) in their approach.
It’s living life with full devotion, without the feeling the handbrake is on.
Italians often think that the Dutch cannot be romantica by definition. That is not true of course, although the Dutch practical folk nature of being down-to-earth, sobriety, and thrift embodies the opposite
Is being a romantica something exclusively Italian? Not at all. Although the whole culture in Italy is imbued with romantica, it is also reflected in the sob of good old country music, the works of Shakespeare and old Hollywood films. Italians often think that the Dutch cannot be romantica by definition. That is not true of course, although the Dutch practical folk nature of being down-to-earth, sobriety, and thrift embodies the opposite. At the same time, not all Italians are romantica, but it may be obvious that the widely known Italian passion, the devotion with which they cook, drink coffee and talk to their dogs and their inability to take decisions swiftly and efficiently – at least that’s how it’s perceived by the northern European countries – derive from this romantic culture.
When I ask him if he is not considering emigrating to Germany to be with her again, he shrugs his shoulders. That’s all written in the stars
Back to the old gentleman opposite me at the table. So, does being a romantica not have anything to do with love at all then? Of course it does. The man continues his life story and tells me about his German wife who, for years already, has been living more than a thousand kilometres away from him, after she decided not to come back to Italy with him because she was too homesick. But to divorce her? Never in a million years. Because, so he says, your one true love is forever. The great distance and the fact that they can no longer be together physically only makes the desire greater and their love more special, he says. When I ask him if he is not considering emigrating to Germany to be with her again, he shrugs his shoulders. That’s all written in the stars. Does that sound like the sense of drama of a real romantica, you think? You tell me…