But I was here to live their lifestyle, and if that meant entering la discoteca without a beer shield then so be it. ‘Just make sure you don’t look down and you’ll be fine,’ I thought to myself. As we waited patiently in line with our tickets I could not help but notice the calmness of the bouncers: practically redundant as no-one pushed, shoved or shouted obscenities.
As soon as I walked through the door, I understood why the beer shield was unnecessary: this was without doubt the classiest club I had ever set foot in and I was delighted not to have goggle eyes to distort it, flashing lights to hide it, or thudding music to drown out conversation. Yes, we were actually having a conversation. It was the most unusual sensation: sitting there on a swanky sofa chatting away to an entire group of people who didn’t have to say “scusi?” once. Here there was no deafening bass or word-slurring to make talking such a challenge, just a few irregular subjunctives.
Dancing was an option, not an obligation. When conversation ran as dry as our mouths we would head over to the surprisingly clean dance floor to move in a non-grinding, non-twerking, non-embarrassing kind of way. I suddenly felt as though I'd travelled back in time to an era that I thought lived only in history books, not modern day Italy.
The next morning I awoke with the most unusual feeling – they call it memory. I woke up at the break of dawn (when I would normally be stumbling home) and sprang out of bed feeling wonderfully fresh and ‘hungunder’. It felt great eating fresh fruit for breakfast in place of the usual Donervan, but despite all this, I still felt a slight anti-climax. As much as I had enjoyed the novelty of having pleasant conversations and shoes that didn’t stick to the dance floor, that’s all it was: a pleasant night. I couldn’t help feeling that the Italians were missing out on all those crazy stories that just don’t start with ‘I was downing an espresso’. The truth is, and I am certainly not alone when I say, that some of my funniest memories are the result of lowered inhibitions, impaired judgment and a severe lack of coordination. Is that terrible? Should I be ashamed?
The answer is subjective: one which I will leave you to debate amongst yourselves. What matters is that we come to our own conclusions rather than simply accepting the norms imposed on us by society. Travelling allows us to see the world from a different perspective and appreciate that something completely natural in one country could seem strange, silly or even sinful elsewhere. Learning a foreign language is a chance to broaden our mind as well as our vocabulary.
Weren't us Brits renowned for our excellent ability to form orderly queues? Not outside clubs apparently. The Italians were putting us to shame.