Me having fun hosting guests in my Bologna.
I was born in Bologna and have always lived here. I’ve never had to “discover” it. It’s just always been there, and over time, you stop expecting it to prove itself. You just notice it, little by little.
When I want the city to feel completely mine, I go looking for it from above. For years, we residents climbed Torre Asinelli for the bird’s-eye view of the red city. Now the tower is closed for renovation, and I still miss it. So I climb the San Luca portico instead.
The best glimpse isn’t from the top. It’s from a turn midway.
You’re walking, you’re slightly out of breath, and then the city shifts into view at an angle. Rooftops, warm colours, a strip of distance you didn’t expect. It doesn’t feel like a “viewpoint.” It feels like Bologna letting you see it for a second, then carrying on.
I love to see the admiration in visitors' eyes!
Enjoying Bologna's architecture with a guest.
Early morning or sunset in Piazza Santo Stefano gives me the same feeling. In the morning, the square is calm and the day hasn’t fully arrived. At sunset, the light changes quickly, and people slow down without deciding to. Someone crosses the stones with a coffee. Someone stops to greet a shopkeeper. Under the porticoes, you hear small talk in passing, the kind you only catch a few words of, but you know exactly what it is.
Food does this too. Rosetta alla mortadella is the quickest way back for me. Round, crunchy bread, mortadella inside, and the smell hits before you even take a bite. It’s immediate. It pulls you home without asking.
Sunday has its own signal. Ragù. The bubbling sound from the pot early in the morning, the steam in the kitchen, the smell drifting down the hall. You don’t need to ask what day it is. You already know.
The smell and the taste bring me home!
Me and some of my guests enjoying gelato!
Posing with a happy guest during their visit.
One guest moment I still remember happened in the main square. I welcomed Mark and Laura, and there was impromptu music, a traditional filuzzi melody. We stood there smiling because it was impossible not to. They loved it, but of course, they couldn’t dance it. So I took Mark and showed him the step, and then he turned and pulled Laura in.
At first, they were stiff, trying to copy it properly. Then Mark missed the beat, Laura laughed, and something loosened. They stopped checking themselves. They started moving with the music like it was theirs for a minute. That’s the moment I love most. When people stop trying to do the city “right” and start being in it.
That’s why I love sharing Bologna. I love watching the second when someone’s face changes, before they say anything, because they’ve just felt it.
And it happens the way Bologna always happens. Not all at once. More halfway through, when you turn a corner, and the city shows you what it is.
