Rome. Venice. Milan. Florence. When most people think of Italy, these are the cities that spring to mind first. I know that before I arrived here in the beginning of September, I barely knew where Florence was located.

But after being here for nearly a month and researching possible weekend trip destinations, I felt fairly sure I knew the must-sees of Italy.

So when my friend Kailen asked me if I wanted to go to Cortona for the weekend, my first thought was “Cortona? What’s in Cortona?”

Without a word, she handed me the guidebook. Subtly implying, read for yourself.

The ancient town of Cortona regally surveys both Tuscany and Umbria from its graceful mountain peak. Quote, unquote. As I read on, I couldn’t help but think of Heidi, the movie.

From the description in the book it sounded like a nice enough place, although it didn’t exactly scream excitement. It had no Coliseum to boast, no canals or gondolas, and no famous cathedrals to visit.

But after a busy week spent dealing with the hoards of people that seem to descend upon Florence like bees on a hive, the prospect of a quiet weekend sounded like a definite change of pace. So I agreed and we hopped the first bus out of Florence and made our way through the winding roads of Italy, past the vineyards and villas that line the countryside.

The bus ride, which we thought was supposed to take an hour and a half to our first stop, Arezzo, ended up taking almost three hours and by the time we finally got to Cortona, after spending part of the afternoon in Arezzo, it was evening and I was ready to set my feet on solid ground again.

From the moment I stepped off the bus, I was struck by the drastic contrast.

The first thing was the silence. At 8 p.m. the only noises that could be heard were the sounds of crickets chirping, the soft hum of the street lights that speckled the square where the bus had dropped us off, and the occasional vespa (moped) scampering up a street somewhere in the distance.

Even compared to Ames, this place was a ghost town.

Unsure of exactly where we were going, we made our way searching up and down the steep alleys that filled the town for our hotel. After about 20 minutes with no luck, we finally stopped and asked a carabinieri (policeman) for directions. Smiling at my pathetic Italian, he tried, in his own broken English, to direct us on the right path and eventually we found the Albergo Athens.

Aldo, the proprietor of the place, spoke no English, showed us to our room. Made up of two beds, a sink, a closet and no carpet, it promised no frills but a place to sleep. As he casually sidestepped one of the many cats I later found also inhabited the place, Aldo told us in a distinctly thick accent that if we decided to leave that night to just knock to be let back in.

We decided to call it an early night and woke the next morning anxious to explore. The charms of this town became evident as we made our way around the wall that signified the outer edge of the city and up through the narrow streets of Cortona.

It was as if everywhere I looked there lay a treasure waiting to be found. In the windows, Italian women whistled as they hung their laundry to dry outside their stone homes.

On one corner, an older gentleman had just finished setting up the fruit stand outside his store, placing fresh peaches and plums carefully into wooden crates.

And amidst all this interaction, not once did they treat us like the tourists we were. They seemed, instead, to gaze curiously at first, but quickly welcome us into their daily routine.

Like the pace of the locals, the day progressed leisurely and by the time we made it to the bus stop it was nearing sunset. I took a seat on the ledge and watched as the sun began to descend down between the peaks of the hills and mountains in the distance and it was then that I realized something.

Rome. Venice. Milan. Florence. These are the towns Italy is known for. And while each is great in its own rite, the heart and soul of Italy lies in the towns that aren’t on all the maps. Just like in America, the land and the people are what make me proud to call my home.

Christy Steffen is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Ruthven. She is studying abroad in Florence, Italy for the semester.