Can it be that northern women are more beautiful than their southern sisters? It was true in Spain, as far I’m concerned. Beginning my journey in Valencia – I thought that women there were perfect, just beautiful. Then I arrived in Madrid and almost instantaneously I’d forgotten about Valencian women. A week later I found myself in Barcelona and there I could barely remember the women of Madrid. In Barcelona I’d declared, if only to myself, that one day I shall present to my good mother a fine woman from this Catalan city. There was really nothing else to do.
Then I flew to Rome.
In Rome, I spied on the local chicas everywhere – on the streets, in a rally, in the Alien nightclub, in the piazzas – and by the end of it all declared that there’d be nothing for me but a Roman woman. Then Florence. Oh Florence, how I miss thee. Your women at least smile at visiting strangers – in a phrase, more beautiful than Rome’s. And now, Milano. Surely, no other woman, but one from Milan, makes the daily ritual of dressing seem as easy as breathing. Graceful and elegant is a woman of Milan.
So it’s true: northern women are more beautiful than their southern sisters. It must be weather up there.