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A Record of Visiting the Most Romantic Towns in Italy

Frontline Bureau 128 Locations

I. Before Departure: Another Imagination of “Romance”

Before going to Italy, I thought romance meant Venice’s gondolas, Rome’s wishing pool, and Florence’s sunset. All of that was true—but only when I truly set foot on this land did I realize that Italy’s romance is never hidden in those bustling big cities filled with crowds.

It’s tucked along the lakeside in the north, it’s perched at the cliff edge in the south, and it’s deep in the hills of Tuscany—hidden in small towns that might not even be marked on the map. In those places, time moves slowly, so slowly that you can hear the sound of your own heartbeat.

So I decided to take a journey to find Italy’s most romantic towns.

II. Orta San Giulio: The “Gray Pearl” from Balzac’s Pen

My first stop was Orta San Giulio.

It’s hidden in Italy’s northern Piedmont region, set on the shores of Lake Orta. With an area of less than seven square kilometers, it’s so small it feels like a pearl gently lifted by the lake water. The great French writer Honoré de Balzac once called it a “gray pearl in a green basket”—and that metaphor is remarkably fitting.

I arrived at dusk. The setting sun painted the whole town in golden and pink hues, making the buildings look soft and irresistibly charming in the lingering light. Winding through narrow lanes, the stone-paved paths underfoot had been polished to a bright sheen by hundreds of years of footsteps. Houses from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries stood quietly on both sides, and the architectural style has remained unchanged through centuries of wind and rain.

The most captivating part of the town is Piazza Motta, right on the lake. In the center of the square stands an old building with colonnades—an ancient community palace from the era of the self-governing municipalities. Its exterior walls are a warm yellow; the faded murals are exquisite, and the history can be traced back to 1582. I sat on the stone steps at the edge of the square, facing Lake Orta, calm as a mirror. Across the water, lights turned on on San Giulio Island—twinkling like they were igniting a warm feeling in each passerby’s heart.

I suddenly understood something: romance is not something meant to be watched by crowds—it’s a moment you get to enjoy entirely on your own.

III. Sirmione: A Dream of Lake Garda Among Purple Flower Beds

Heading east from Orta San Giulio, crossing Lombardy, I arrived in Sirmione on Lake Garda.

The town is built at the tip of a slender peninsula that stretches about four kilometers from the lakeshore toward the center of the lake. To enter the peninsula, you first cross a bridge. At the bridgehead stands the ancient castle of the Scaliger family; its weathered, mottled walls tell stories of its age.

But what truly震撼ed me about Sirmione was the sea of purple flower beds across every wall and courtyard. Purple represents mystery and romance—when you really come here, you’ll be stunned by that overwhelming expanse of purple. In front of each household’s door, plants are set out; in every window, flowers are in full bloom. A gentle breeze carries their fragrance everywhere.

I slowly walked along the town’s distinctive brick-and-stone paths, as if every road could lead to Lake Garda. Lake Garda is the largest inland lake in Italy, and its water is that intoxicating “grandmother green.” Between lake light and mountain scenery, the town looks tranquil yet full of energy.

Someone described Sirmione like this: “Sirmione’s romance isn’t quite like the casual romance found in typical Italian places. Here, flowers bloom everywhere, the sunlight is bright, it’s full of vitality, yet it’s so quiet—when you stroll along the town’s brick roads, wander through narrow alleys, meander among flower clusters, and linger between lake views and mountains, it feels like you’ve stepped into a fairytale paradise from a dream.”

I wholeheartedly agree. Here, you can’t tell who is a resident and who is a tourist. Everyone is simply enjoying that relaxed and romantic mood. Everything lies quietly inside the passage of time.

IV. Verona: Under Juliet’s Balcony, Believe in Love

Leaving Sirmione, I continued east to Verona.

This city is called the “City of Love”—because Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet made it one of the most romantic places in the world. Some say Verona is “a small city meant to be wandered slowly at half-speed, where sunlight and shadow intertwine, like literature and history woven together here.”

Juliet’s house is hidden in an unremarkable little alley. At the entrance is a “love letter wall,” covered with letters from visitors around the world written to Juliet. In the courtyard, Juliet’s bronze statue stands there; her right breast shines bright from being touched by countless tourists—people say this brings good luck for love. I stood among the crowd, watching lovers embrace and kiss on the balcony overgrown with climbing ivy. Spending several dozen euros to climb up to that famous balcony might be just to fulfill a dream about love.

In the evening, I walked to the viewpoint across the Adige River and looked down over the entire city of Verona. The setting sun turned the ancient city into warm amber; church spires, old palaces, and winding rivers were all bathed in golden light. Shakespeare may never have visited Verona, but the love stories in his writing keep the city alive with romance forever.

Verona’s romance isn’t something deliberately constructed—it’s woven into every cobblestone street, every ancient building, and every dusk.

V. Manarola: A Color Palette Spilled Across the Cliffs

From Verona, I went south to Cinque Terre on the Ligurian coast. The five cliffside villages are like five jewels scattered between mountains and sea. And among them, the most romantic is Manarola.

Manarola’s history dates back to the thirteenth century. Local villagers built their houses on the cliffs to escape pirates, and marked their homes with bright colors—red, yellow, blue, green, and more—so their loved ones at sea could identify them from far away. That’s how the scene we see today came to be: colorful houses stacked layer upon layer on the cliffs, cascading from the sheer rock edge all the way into the deep blue Mediterranean.

I hiked along the “Via dell’Amore” (Road of Love) connecting Manarola and Riomaggiore. This path is about one kilometer long. On one side is a steep cliff; on the other is the vivid blue Mediterranean. Along the way, you can see couples’ locks and kissing statues everywhere. It’s hailed as the “most romantic walkway in the world.” Waves crash against black volcanic rocks, and the air is filled with the scent of sea salt and basil.

Evening is Manarola’s most beautiful time. The setting sun painted the entire town in pink and gold; the colorful houses glitter in the twilight, like a fairytale castle lit up with magic. I sat on the rocks by the shore, holding a glass of local Sciacchetrà wine, watching colored houses reflected on the sea and a fiery sky above. It felt like the whole world had left only love and quietness.

As locals say: “Manarola’s beauty lies in how it’s always at its best in unexpected moments, giving you the freshest postcard.”

VI. Positano: Look Once, Then Die

Continuing south, I arrived in Positano on the Amalfi Coast.

Some say, “Look once at Positano, then die.” At first I found it a bit exaggerated, but when I stood up high and overlooked the town, I understood—lemon-yellow, coral-pink, and mint-green little buildings are built along the hillside, stacked layer upon layer, stretching from the cliff to the seaside like a color palette spilled by a painter. The Mediterranean blue is that luminous Tiffany blue; sailboats dot the sea surface, and even the wind carries the fragrance of lemons and sea salt.

The Nobel Prize–winning writer John Steinbeck visited Positano. In his travel writing he wrote, “Positano is a dream world: while you’re there, it isn’t quite real; after you leave, it becomes vividly alive.”

I walked slowly along the winding stone steps, and every turn hid a surprise—balconies covered in bougainvillea, small shops stocked with handmade ceramics, and sweet dessert places perfumed with lemon. In the air, it was all the taste and scent of lemons and the sea. In this place, even breathing becomes a kind of enjoyment.

When night fell, the town’s lights gradually came on. On the cliffside, colorful buildings shimmered like jewels. I sat on the restaurant terrace on the edge of the cliff, facing the sea reddened by the sunset clouds, and thought—maybe this is Italian romance: no reason needed, just you here, quietly feeling it.

VII. Alberobello: Living Inside a Fairytale of Trulli Houses

My final stop was in Puglia in southern Italy, searching for Alberobello.

It’s a town that feels like it’s been enchanted. Trulli stone houses with white walls and gray roofs climb the hillside; their domes are scattered like a forest of mushrooms. These cone-roofed houses were originally built by local residents to avoid taxes—dry-stacked without mortar, made entirely from stones, easy to dismantle; when tax officials arrived, they could be quickly knocked down. Today, they’ve become one of the few remaining architectural wonders in the world. In 1996, UNESCO listed them in the World Heritage List.

I stayed in a renovated Trulli guesthouse. Stone vaults, wooden beams, small windows that let light in. In the morning, sunlight slanted in through the small windows in the domes, gently kissing my face; at night, I fell asleep with the starry sky as my pillow. It was truly living inside a fairytale.

The Monti district of the town is the area with the highest concentration of Trulli architecture. The terraced white houses stacked on the hillside look like neatly arranged mushroom-blocks. I climbed up to the viewpoint at Piazza del Popolo and looked down over the entire town—under a blue sky, countless white cone-shaped rooftops glittered in the sunlight. The scene was clean and gentle, with no crowded commotion—only slowly moving time and healing scenery.

At dusk, I went up to the viewpoint again. The setting sun tinted the white stone houses a warm golden color; windmill and house silhouettes echoed each other in the twilight. In that moment, all my fatigue was healed.

VIII. Epilogue: Italy’s Romance, Hidden in Slowing-Down Time

After completing this journey, I suddenly understood the line Italians often say—“dolce far niente,” the sweetness of doing nothing.

In Italy’s romantic towns, none of them wins by “sightseeing.” Their charm lies in those unplanned, incidental moments: a quiet dusk by Lake Orta, a gust of purple flower fragrance in an alley of Sirmione, a love legend on a Verona balcony, a glass of sunset wine by the cliffs of Manarola, a corner on Positano’s stone steps covered with bougainvillea, and a strand of morning sunlight inside a Trulli house in Alberobello.

These towns remind us that Italian romance is far more than the waterways of Venice. It’s scattered across every cobblestone road worn smooth by time, blooming on every flower-covered windowsill, and settling into every glass of wine you sip slowly.

If you ask me which is the most romantic town in Italy, I can’t answer. Because each one is unique, and each deserves to be felt with a heart that learns to slow down.

Just like Italian romance itself—it isn’t manufactured. It’s discovered.