on viking heritage and speaking english slowly.

Saying you have a quarter Italian heritage is laughable.  I mean, then I should probably mention that, from long ago, I probably have about a millionth Scandinavian from an old Viking conquest not to mention my old Anglo-Saxon ancestry.  So yes, I do ask for my coffee in slightly louder English and I totally have to shoot panicked expressions at my Nonna every time someone talks to me in the hope she will translate, but I still don't feel like a tourist in Bevagne in the same way I do in other towns and cities, even in England.

I think it has something to do with the way Nonna prepares the town for our arrival.  As she gleefully informed me, she has told everyone about becoming a great-grandmother (or Bisnonna).  I realised last week, she hadn't been exaggerating.  
Everywhere we walked, someone stopped to talk to Faelen.  Whilst waiting outside of a shop for Nonna to buy bread for lunch, two women I have never seen before approached me, talking at me (my inability to speak Italian is seen as no barrier to holding a conversation) and stroked Faelen's hair and squished his cheeks.  They clearly knew us.  At the restaurant at lunchtime, not only did the waitresses coo over him but the head chef left her post to come and visit Faelen; waking him up to ruffle his hair and talk Italian at him until he beamed.

So I may not be Italian, and Faelen's heritage is even further diluted, but we were certainly welcomed into the small town of Bevagne. 
And that is it, I promise I am now done on over sharing pictures from my holiday last week!