I know that Valentine’s Day has plenty of haters. It sucks if you’re single and don’t have a date, and it sucks if you’re in a relationship and your date is out of town. And it seems almost everyone agrees that Valentine’s Day was created by Hallmark to get people to buy cards and candy and stupid pink bears holding hearts. I hear you.

But though I married a hardened cynic, I am a cheerleader for love. At the risk of being fired from the Telegraph, I’ll go on record as saying that I basically love Valentine’s Day – at the very least, it’s an excuse for a great meal and plenty of wine. And last month, I was lucky enough to be with my man in what might be the world’s most romantic city: Verona, Italy.

 

It’s an authentic version of Valentine’s Day year-round in the “fair Verona” immortalized by Shakespeare in “Romeo and Juliet.” Verona is so old and culturally rich that the entire city is a World Heritage site. Couples can ice skate in an open-air rink next to a pink Roman arena dating back to the first century – which still hosts opera concerts each summer – or visit a castle, climb to the top of a watchtower for sunset views over the river, and dine in candlelit restaurants with the world’s best pasta.

 

These all turned out to be worthwhile activities, but as soon as we arrived in Verona, I forced my wonderfully indulgent spouse to beeline for the Casa di Guilietta. Yes, haters: I know Juliet is a fictional character, but I still wanted to see her alleged house.

 

I was not alone: the 13th century courtyard under “her” balcony is a magnet for couples. The tunnel leading to the courtyard is coated with lover’s graffiti – it’s forbidden to write on the walls, but love has no rules, after all. Once inside, the romantic vibe was overwhelming (read: lots of kissing). It was also hard to miss the crowd of people waiting for their turn to pose for a photo with the bronze statue of Juliet – with their hand on her right boob for luck. Couples would rush to the statue, grinning as they each copped a feel, and little boys laughed gleefully as they jumped up to try to swat her breast while their mothers encouraged them to reach a little higher for the photo.

 

After taking lots of goofy pictures of hands on brass boobs, we noticed metal locks clamped over a gate. Each lock had personalized sweet nothings on it – I recognized Japanese, Italian and Spanish in the mix. Maybe I’m a sucker, but I shelled out 5 euros to buy a lock on which I wrote “J+B – 19 years and still going strong!” Even though it was cheesy, Bryan still posed for a photo with me while I locked it to the gate for “eternity” (or until the lock shop goes through with a bolt cutter to make room for new locks) and I even got a bacca (kiss). I felt grateful that there was no need for me to write a letter to Juliet asking for help with my love life, like some of the girls tying them to a tree in the center of the courtyard.

 

Having done his duty, Bryan was ready to hit the streets in search of places with legitimate historical significance. I wanted to linger – it was amazing to witness the power of love and hope in that courtyard, taking a tourist trap and turning it into something real. But it finally occurred to me that if my beloved cynic was willing to take me to Juliet’s house, I should return the favor and climb the Teatro Romano from 1 BC. After all, I was still hoping he’d take a photo of me hanging off the balcony at the hotel I’d picked: Hotel Guilietta e Romeo.

– Jen Reeder