Could my parents have accidentally switched me with an Italian bambina there on the Piazza San Marco? If you knew my parents, you know what a joke that is. It's a toss-up which one I resemble more. Forget that theory.
If you believe in past lives, maybe... I'm agnostic on the subject, but I don't like that theory either.
Here's my theory: it's not elegant or simple, but it's the best I can do. I have always loved languages. I studied French from 6th grade through high school and into college. I took Latin from 8th through 10th grades. I discovered linguistics my junior year in college, and if I could have changed my mind at that point, I would have majored in linguistics. Italian is the perfect next step for a student of French and Latin. It's extremely regular like Latin, beautiful like French, and the Italians, unlike the French, are very encouraging of any effort to speak their language.
Italy is also a great place to be a vegetarian, which I am. At least central Italy, where I have spent most of my time, is full of fabulous food that doesn't necessarily include meat. I read in La Repubblica on the way over that Italy has more vegetarians per capita than the other EU countries.
Here's the other thing: in addition to the fact that I may or may not have taken my steps on the Piazza San Marco, I spent my entire childhood sleeping in a bed over which hung the above-mentioned Venus on the Half-Shell, a fake Della Robbia wreath,
and another print, which I have just recently realized was that Botticelli Madonna del Libro. My mother was far from religious. I don't think she'd object to my calling her an atheist, but that didn't preclude her loving Italian renaissance art, and exposing her daughter to it. It was just like her to pick the painting where Mary seems to be teaching Jesus to read. Reading could have been said to be my mother's religion.
I know it sounds goofy, but there is some reason beyond Italy's obvious charms that I feel at home when I come here, and this is the best I can do for now.
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