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Opinion

Chris Harrison Content director September 15, 2025 — 6.12pm

Before the heel of Italy’s boot became the new Tuscany, I lived there for many years. I’d met one of its bellissima locals on a trip to Dublin and fell so stupidly in love I accepted her invitation to turn my Sydney life upside down and follow her home.

We lived in her tiny fishing village, Andrano, named after the patron saint of fishermen, St Andrea. It’s your classic whitewashed Mediterranean town of 5000 locals and as many stray cats, and it became my second home.

Not immediately. Things were tricky at first.

There was the language to tame, and I made several shocking gaffes, such as asking an alarmed man on a beach if we could hire a paedophile (pedofilo ) for an hou

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