Rome is stuffed with cultural sights. A turducken of archeological, artistic, and anthropological marvels accrued whilst serving as the heart and soul of two of history’s greatest empires. Both ancient Roman and Catholic power have found their nemesis in Germany. So maybe it is with an element of smugness that hordes of goths, visigoths, and vandals still pour into the holy city by the bus load.

Today, Germanic excursions to Italy are more toned down. Gone are the cruel axes and wicked war-thongs, gleaming helmets and scarves made of human meat. Now the uniform of the Hun horde is a brightly-coloured, print-your-own t-shirt and a practical sun hat (the same for every member of the platoon). I can see the practicality in this. In the seething crowds of the Vatican or the Trevi Fountain, it is easy to lose one of your school children or church group (the two main types of German gang I could discern).

But if I were a sixteen year-old on a trip to Rome and my teacher offered me ein ‘sehr cool and funky team shirt und hat it’s very nice and hipsterkatten ja’, I would feel like a bit of a wally to accept. Anyway, I have included some pics of crowds in Rome so you can play ‘Where’s German Wally?’. See how many different clans you can spot. You get extra point for finding an act of rape’n'pillage, and special prize for macabre moustache plaits.

Oh and here’s something puerile, a wry graffito, and some excellent gnocchi.

Florence shall forever be known as the home of artistic genius, the cradle of the Renaissance, the fountainhead of western thought and culture. So I thought I should write about the way they do beefsteaks here.

Thick. Crisp on the outside, bloody as a Primark sale on the inside. Served simply without any sauce, no bullshit. Perhaps you could have some lemon juice, oil, or pepper at most. Fantastic t-bones and rumps allowed to show off their natural flavour, not stifled by any pretensions to improving on nature’s work.

I first had bistecca Fiorentina when I was a kid, and my dad laughed that it was bigger than my head. It is still the best way of eating steak, in my opinion, but never quite the same outside of Florence.

Florentine food is quintessentially unpretentious. They try and show off the natural quality of their produce with almost an arrogant minimalism- as though they don’t believe they need to do anything fussy because they simply have the best ingredients available to man in their city. They might well be right.

Their cannellini beans, for example, are served boiled with just the addition of salt and olive oil, and can be plumper and sweeter than grapes. Why piss about with seven layers of stock preparations like the French grand style cuisine? More important to eat healthy, delicious food every meal as standard.

So go and try the bistecca, let the blood run down your neck like a prancing cannibal in orgy of blood and wine with beans on the side. Which is coincidentally the context originally described by the phrase ‘La dolce vita’.

The drive from Emiglia-Romana to the Tuscan hills is dramatic. The northern plateau stretches behind you as you climb twisting mountain roads through boar forests and porcini country.

Around every twist in the valley a picturesque hilltop town appears. It was a land of constant war and strife between city-states for hundreds of years so towns were developed with defence in mind. Cultural propaganda also always seems to go along with war and economic contention, and in Italy it took the form of artistic and grand architectural projects. This has endowed her with a global treasure trove and ensured a lucrative tourism economy indefinitely. Well, just compare the David and and The Colosseum to 50m high statues of Lenin or Mao, and you’ll probably agree the Italians have done pretty well out of their history. Perhaps if the Chinese had done Mao naked with a little masonry penis then things might be different. At least they could be flogging comedy Mao-statue aprons to tourists.

Lucca is small but perfectly formed. Pretty streets and excellent food (which is not saying much in Tuscany). There are towers, like Bologna though not as alarmingly high. One of them does have trees growing on the top terrace though.

There is a great little place to go for lunch if you ever visit – Trattoria da Leo – small and easy to miss, but busy. Their reddish brown spelt minestrone is fairly popular – they do like their grains in Tuscany. The tripe was first rate- it melted on the tongue. Lots of locals were eating there which is always a good sign.

Bologna would be a fun place to live. It is studenty and has a strong history of socialist activism- it reminds me of Bristol, although with less middle-class embarrassment.

The city is striking. Nearly every street is porticoed- the characteristic feature of Bolognese architecture. I don’t know why we don’t have more in England where it usually pisses down all the time. One thing our countries do have in common is a bounty of vacuous graffiti. Ahhhhhh kids…

We cruised around the city on Saturday night pretending we weren’t lost in the treacherous one-way nest. There seemed to be a pretty good night life. There are about 100,000 students in the city.

We ate at a trattoria where the ragu was excellent and the atmosphere was Bohemian. The walls were covered with pictures which diners are invited to scrawl on their placemats. My effort was the shittest thing I have drawn in a while. But I was tired and drunk, and I have included a photo of it for completeness.

Northern Italy is clearly the economic and industrial engine of Italy, probably why it was the socialist stronghold. In the main square of Bologna is a photo wall of everyone who died in the Socialist resistance to Nazi occupation.

We dropped by Maranello on our way out if Emiglia-Romana. There is really nothing there apart from a Ferrari sign and a gift shop. And… erm… a municipal building. I have included a photo but again, only for completeness.

La Isola Bella on Lago Maggiore, and the view from Bellagio on Como.

Italians have been coming to the lakes for thousands of years whenever they fancied a break from flaying Goths, besieging Ghibellines, or reinventing art. Warm, clean air, cool water and majestic scenery.

The town of Stresa on Maggiore is a monument to old school Grand Tourism itself – pleasant, faded glory. La Isola Bella is one of the prettiest places I have ever seen: world class gardens with backdrops of the lake and the alps.

Como is surrounded by dramatic, craggy hills as opposed to mountains. It feels extremely affluent here – probably explaining the number of yachts on the lake.

Driving is sketchy around the tight, fast roads of the lake hillsides. It takes ages to get anywhere too. I imagine the celebrities use choppers.

Although Lombard motorway driving is slightly hair-raising during rush hour, it is far more sane than Sicily where they make three lanes out of two, and they do have a minimum speed for the fast lane which I consider highly civilised.

We’re off to Bologna now. Gastronomic bliss awaits in Emiglia-Romana.