Whenever I introduce myself to someone, the immediate response is always, "Ooh, with a name like Bella, you must be Italian!" And to a certain extent, they are correct. Sometimes they'll even ask me if "Bella" is short for anything, and when I am eventually urged to tell them my full name, I am more often than not serenaded with a sing-song pronunciation of "Isabella Maria Bumbera," to which I politely smile and laugh at awkwardly while they have their fun.

In truth, my first name is actually of Spanish origin and my last name is Slovak, which is where my paternal grandfather's heritage lies. The only true Italian portion is my middle name, "Maria," which is my maternal grandmother's first name. She and my maternal grandfather are both Italian immigrants, making my mom and her siblings first generation Italian- Americans and me and my siblings second generation Italian-Americans. Since my paternal grandparents and my dad were born in the United States, I am roughly 50 percent Italian. (Although I should mention, with my fair skin and artificial reddish-brown hair, no one has ever assumed my Italian heritage just from my appearance. What can I say? I take after my dad.)

But nevertheless, while I may not be as pure-blooded Italian as my name might initially suggest, this summer my parents decided that this was going to be the year we embarked on the trip of a lifetime. (You already guessed it- Italia, baby!) So about a month after I completed my first year of college, I found myself stuffing my suitcase in preparation for two weeks abroad in the motherland. We planned to visit three different locations; Rome, Abruzzo and the Amalfi Coast, and after a 10-hour flight we began our Italian adventure.

Our first stop was Rome; a fast paced and vibrant city that reminded me a bit of NYC. Like us, people from all over the world had come to experience the historical metropolis for its beauty and cuisine. Our hotel was located within walking distance of the massive Roman Colosseum and down the street from the esteemed Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore, the largest and second oldest Catholic church in the city. Each of the three days we spent there were filled with lots of walking and taxi rides comparable to Grand Theft Auto through the cobblestone streets, and every night was completed by snacking on fresh gelato (a delectable ice cream-like dessert that the country is known for and one of the things I will miss most about Italy in the coming days). We visited holy Vatican City to marvel atMichelangelo's Sistine Chapel and attempt to catch a view of Pope Francis. (He wasn't in that day, so I took a photo with my plushie instead.)

We also visited the beautiful Trevi Fountain on an evening when it was especially crowded, but I threw my euro in to make a wish nonetheless and was actually lucky enough to witness a wedding proposal! When in Rome, right?

Abruzzo was where I learned about my Italian heritage. During a walk through the neighborhood, we came across the house that my grandmother was born and raised in. Throughout my life, she has told me countless stories about growing up in that house, so to be able to actually stand in front of it and accurately picture all of her stories for the first time was surreal.

In addition to adventuring through the local neighborhoods, we hiked through the mountainous Roccascalegna, which is a smaller province within Abruzzo that houses an ancient castle, now overtaken by vegetation and stray animals.

I must say, out of the three regions we visited, I will miss Abruzzo the most. Meeting my Zia Maria and my mom's cousins for the first time, and their unending hospitality to us was an experience that I will not soon forget. I can't lie, I didn't want to leave as we said our goodbyes to Zia with tears in her eyes. But, the last leg of our adventure was upon us and it was time to head to the Amalfi Coast.

(A word to the wise--if you are planning on driving to the Amalfi Coast and are susceptible to motion sickness like I am, proceed with extreme caution. Close your eyes and try to sleep until it's over. I found that listening to music through my earbuds and sucking on mint lifesavers got me through some rough patches.)

Our hotel was located in Praiano, which is actually in between the towns of Amalfi and Positano. It was a cute little Airbnb wedged into the side of a mountain, overlooking the sea. The view from our room was absolutely breathtaking; literally, because we had to climb exactly 220 steps to get there. There was even an old-fashioned rope and pulley system hanging over the hotel to bring up luggage. No elevators or escalators, just ropes and wheels, and an awful lot of stairs.

But despite this initial struggle, the Amalfi Coast offered us perhaps the most unique portion of our trip. It seemed that the main mode of transportation was not by land, but by sea. On our final full day in Italy, we decided to take a boat tour to visit the island of Capri. We climbed into a small boat at 9 a.m. and set off on the water.

(Another word to the wise--if you are prone to motion sickness, boats might also make you feel ill, especially if it's hot out. If this is the case, wear sunglasses and face towards the front of the boat so the wind is blowing in your face. This will cool you off and lessen your chances of feeling dizzy!)

It is on Capri that I swam in the bluest and clearest waters I have ever seen. Not only this, but it was as warm as a bath, but still refreshing in the sweltering summer heat and the high salt content allowed me to float with relative ease. (The only downside to this beach is that I now hold every other beach to this impossible standard of crystal waters. I guess I'll just have to settle for the Jersey Shore now...)

So what did I learn from this grand Italian adventure? Well, like the title suggests, I learned what it means for me to be Italian. I had always known that I was, but had never been able to put a face with the name, so to speak. I've grown up eating pasta with homemade tomato sauce and seeing the striped green, white, and red flag fly in my grandfather's garden, but what's the use in all that if I've never experienced Italy for what it authentically is? True, I do not speak the language, but I can still understand if I listen closely enough. I was not born there, but I still feel at home. Now I truly know where half of my family is from--where half of me is from. I can comfortably say that I am a proud Italian-American. And one day I will return.

So grazie, Italia. Until we meet again. Baci.