Diary of a Gen Z Student: An Aperol-fuelled girlhood pilgrimage to Italy is as close to Knock as I’ll get

Being on a girls’ holiday is one of those things that makes me so glad I’m not a lad. I’m no expert, but in my nightmares I would imagine a lads’ holiday as a haze of kebab shops, pints and running into each other at speed or something

Jane Cowan: "Girl psychotherapy may not be medically recognised, but it does have healing powers." Picture: Jane Cowan.

One of the first things you’ll be told when you’re travelling to Italy is that it’s sacrilegious to order a cappuccino after 11am. A cappuccino contains too much milk for consumption in the afternoon.

The Italians are obsessed with their digestion. No, no, instead you must eat cheese-stuffed pasta, multiple scoops of gelato and a ‘digestiv’ shot of limoncello after your dinner. Now, this is an approach to health I can get behind. And for the past week, while I’ve been on a girls’ trip to Italy, I have been embracing the local lifestyle.

Since finishing college, I am a lady of leisure. And few cultures do leisure quite like the Italians. Naturally, when the girls and I decided to book a trip away as a graduation gift to ourselves, we landed on the land of pasta and day drinking.

It is significant that this is specifically a girls’ trip. Because a holiday with the girls is a pilgrimage. Wandering around looking for the bar with the most scenic view; that’s as close to Knock as I’ll ever get. I don’t know if I’m undergoing much cleansing, or whatever pilgrimages are supposed to do for me. But I’m enjoying it all the same.

Jane Cowan: 'On our first evening as a girls’ holiday unit, we went to dinner. As we giggled with delight over glasses of wine and bowls of pasta, in a tiny restaurant run by women, the staff shared in our excitement.'

Once we stepped off the plane in Pisa, the girls became one. We develop a hive mindset where everything is a collective activity. If one needs to pee, we all do. It’s like the women’s nightclub bathroom on steroids.

Inside our accommodation, we live like a commune. Toiletries are shared. Clothes are swapped. And the nicest bed is rotated. In the mornings, we will organise the shower schedule in order of hair length, drying time, and conditioning needs. This would only sound nuts to someone who doesn’t understand the dynamics of the girls’ trip.

Our small commune has certain rules that we intuitively understand to be necessary for the smooth running of our holiday. These include: Never walking anywhere alone, always being happy to take pictures for your friend’s Instagram, and taking the utmost care when you are asked to apply suncream to your friend’s back.

In our commune, no concern is too small to discuss. We will conduct girl psychotherapy at any time of day. Girl psychotherapy may not be medically recognised, but it does have healing powers. 

There’s nothing that a good rant and being told that you’ve never been wrong in your life can’t solve, in my experience. Sharing our darkest secrets over a spritz and being met with such phrases as: ‘You were always too good for him’, ‘No, you’re totally in the right’, and ‘hmm… maybe bring that to a doctor’ — now that’s what life is all about.

Jane Cowan: 'An Aperol-fuelled girlhood pilgrimage is what dreams are made of (only the Gen Z girls will get that reference). It’s a peaceful experience. Picture: Moya Nolan.

The best part is, our alliance is recognised everywhere we go. On our first evening as a girls’ holiday unit, we went to dinner. As we giggled with delight over glasses of wine and bowls of pasta, in a tiny restaurant run by women, the staff shared in our excitement.

They knew we were on a girls’ holiday (the pasty legs and butchered Italian phrases would make it hard to miss). And they shared in our excitement, coming down to our table to chat and bringing us free desserts.

After dinner, they even waved us off down the street. Cynics will say that the restaurant was just trying to ensure our return. But they don’t understand the bonds that are forged on a girls’ trip. I’d name my firstborn after that chef.

After a few days of this kind of living, I really do feel like I’m in Barbie’s dream house. An Aperol-fuelled girlhood pilgrimage is what dreams are made of (only the Gen Z girls will get that reference). It’s a peaceful experience. So peaceful, in fact, that any man who threatens that peace while we are out enjoying cocktail time is liable to have a tampon chucked at him. How dare he try to mess up our harmony?

Being on a girls’ holiday is one of those things that makes me so glad I’m not a lad. I imagine a lads’ holiday as a haze of kebab shops, pints, and running into each other at speed or something. My idea of hell.

I guess I’m a bit like an Italian when it comes to my view of the sanctity of a girls’ trip. Even a suggestion of a kebab shop or renting mopeds, and it would be like asking an Italian for a cappuccino at 5pm. My brain can’t process that request. And honestly, it would be kind of insulting to even ask.