A recent discussion on the local community page in Bagni di Lucca caught my attention. A newly arrived couple introduced themselves and said they were looking to meet other expatriates in the area and make friends. It was a perfectly reasonable request, warmly meant and politely expressed.

Yet the discussion that followed touched on a much larger question: when we choose to live in another country, what exactly is our responsibility towards that country and its people?

There is, of course, nothing wrong with wanting to meet people who share your language, culture or experience. Moving abroad can be lonely. It can be confusing. There are bureaucratic obstacles, practical difficulties and moments when hearing a familiar accent feels reassuring.

But there is another side to the story.

If we choose to live in another country, should we not also make some effort to become part of that country? Should we not try to learn the language, understand the culture and engage with the people around us?

This is where I find a certain contradiction.

In Britain, many people complain about immigrant communities that appear reluctant to integrate into wider society. They criticise the creation of parallel communities, where people live, work, socialise and educate their children largely within their own cultural group.

Yet some of those same people arrive in Spain, Portugal, France or Italy and proceed to do exactly the same thing.

They seek out English-speaking communities, English-speaking clubs, English-speaking services and English-speaking friends. Some spend years abroad without learning more than a handful of words in the local language.

The principle cannot change according to nationality. If integration matters in Britain, then surely it matters everywhere.

Perhaps part of the explanation lies in the way many people now approach life abroad.

For a significant number of British buyers, places such as Tuscany, Umbria or Abruzzo are not primarily cultural destinations. They are economic alternatives. Property prices in Britain have become so extraordinary that a modest holiday cottage in parts of Devon, Cornwall or Suffolk can cost as much as, or even more than, a beautiful rural property in Italy.

Faced with that reality, many people understandably look elsewhere. They discover picturesque villages, rolling hills, ancient stone houses and television programmes selling the dream of La Dolce Vita.

Some fall genuinely in love with the country.

Others fall in love with the dream.

The difference becomes apparent after a few years.

Many people buy, renovate and then leave, discovering that the reality of rural Italy involves more than sunshine and vineyards. It involves language, paperwork, patience, customs and ways of thinking that may be very different from their own.

For me, however, Italy was never simply a holiday destination.

For many years it was a holiday home. Eventually it became a place to live and work.

I taught, wrote, joined choirs, took part in local theatre, became involved in cultural activities and made friends. I never had to submit endless job applications because one recommendation led naturally to another. I found kindness, friendship and acceptance.

In short, I became part of a community.

Ironically, some of the most unpleasant experiences I encountered in Italy did not come from Italians at all. They came from fellow Britons.

I experienced hostility, aggression and even legal disputes that ultimately proved entirely unfounded. Those experiences were deeply unpleasant and lasted for years. Yet they taught me something important.

The problem was never nationality.

The problem was attitude.

The people I admired most were not necessarily Italian, British or American. They were simply people who approached life with curiosity, humility and respect.

One British woman I met had no interest whatsoever in recreating Britain abroad. She wanted to engage with Italy and Italians. An American resident expressed similar views. Both understood that living in another country means participating in that country’s life rather than merely observing it from behind a linguistic and cultural barrier.

At the same time, I have met people who owned magnificent properties yet could not hold the simplest conversation in Italian after years of living here.

That saddens me.

Not because language ability is a measure of intelligence or worth, but because language is the key that unlocks human connection. Without it, so much of life remains inaccessible.

Perhaps I see this differently because of my own background.

My mother was Italian. My wife is of Italian heritage. Between us, English and Italian flow so naturally that we often switch from one language to another without noticing. We have spent our lives moving between cultures rather than choosing one over the other.

That experience has taught me something else.

Identity is rarely as simple as the labels we use.

“Expat”, “immigrant”, “foreigner”, “local”—these words often conceal more than they reveal.

What matters is not what we call ourselves but how we behave.

Do we make an effort?

Do we show respect?

Do we try to understand the society around us?

Do we approach people with openness rather than assumptions?

These are the questions that truly matter.

Today, after many years in Italy, my wife and I live quietly in the countryside. We are fortunate. We have our home, our work, our interests and each other. We are close enough to town to participate in community life whenever we wish, yet far enough away to enjoy peace, solitude and the occasional visit from wild boar or deer rather than troublesome neighbours.

After nearly fifty years of marriage, we still enjoy one another’s company. In many ways, that feels like the greatest blessing of all.

Looking back, I regret nothing.

Italy has given me friendship, opportunity, culture and a sense of belonging. It has reinforced my belief that while countries, languages and traditions matter deeply, they are not the whole story.

Beyond nationality, beyond politics, beyond arguments about integration and identity, there remains a simpler truth.

We all belong to the same human family.

We may speak different languages. We may come from different countries. We may carry different histories.

But wherever we live, and whatever passport we carry, the challenge remains the same: to approach one another with curiosity, kindness and respect.

If we can do that, then perhaps we are already more integrated than we realise.

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