If I’m honest, I was drunk. The Chianti had gone to my head and the already glowing evening had taken on an ethereal quality, framed by a heavy Photoshop vignette.
Florence’s famous Medici family constructed an entire network of secret passages across the city to connect them to their residences, work and places of worship. Many take the form of tiny bridges that span narrow streets; barely noticeable at first glance.
I got an acute sense of time passing inside Rome’s Pantheon. Not only because it was built almost two millennia ago, but because its ancient architecture acts as a colossal sun dial.
From the 1620s Italy has attracted and rewarded the inquisitive. The Grand Tour, as it later became known, saw British youngsters of the upper classes travelling slowly into southern Italy from London. They often encountered treacherous alpine passes, terrible weather and disease on route.
Through the narrow windows of the cathedral’s bell tower, the landscape was split in two. Dazzling blue sky sliced across layers of terracotta rooftops and behind them, lay the Adriatic Sea.
The postcard A-lister, St John’s church stands over the small cove at Kaneo. It’s the final focal point on a peninsula that suddenly gives way to the blue waters of Lake Ohrid beyond, and has been for over eight hundred years.