And so our journey home begins. The rental car has been returned after Siri lead us around and around the maze that is the Malpensa airport. We are checked in, our luggage came in well under weight, which means not many presents or trinkets from Italy (hope that's not too disappointing), and now we wait. We've just had our last croissant, which was injected with chocolate right before my eyes (a truly glorious thing), freshly squeezed orange juice, and a cappuccino (I may get another before we board the flight).
We are not sad to be coming home. Italia has overwhelmed us with her beauty. I can never unsee Michelangelo's Doni Tondo, or Bernini's Rape of Proserpina, or the Siena Cathedral of Santa Maria. I am so grateful.
I love travel for the light it shines on previously hidden corners of my world. I loved the moon rise over Venice and again in Verona, taking comfort in knowing the same moon will be there when we get home. I love staying in a place long enough for the romance to be dulled a little. I love getting that people live everywhere... perhaps not an earth shattering realization to most, but to me, seeing laundry hanging out on people's terraces is so grounding. This (wherever this may be on any given trip) is home to people, not just a playground for tourists to tromp through, snap pictures of and consume.
I bump up against some pretty unattractive parts of myself, too. That's no fun, but it rounds me into a fuller human... Kind of like the transformation of art when perspective was introduced in the Renaissance.
Anyway, now I am getting philosophical. You don't need to come along for this part of the journey. Terry used to say, just because something is interesting to ME, doesn't mean it's interesting. :o)
There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home.
Friday, September 23, 2016
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
Northern Italy
So, I am sitting on our veranda in Vercana overlooking the stunning blue of Lake Como after an easy day of exploring the tiny town and strolling along the river and lakeside. Bill is doing laundry after an unfortuate incident with a poorly sealed jar of truffle cream in his suitcase. I just walked in on him using the bidet... to wash his socks. Ah, this popular European appliance has so many uses.
Our drive from Verona to Vercana over two days was spectacular. Driving here is not as scary as we had imagined, says I from the navigators seat with Bill behind the wheel.
We have travelled through so many different landscapes on this trip -- Rome with its big ancient things with big things on top, the west coast with its blue water and pastel clusters of buildings, the rolling hills of Tuscany, a patchwork of gold and green crops, the forested hills of Chianti lined with vineyards and cypress trees, the canals of Venice, flat Abbotsfordesque highway stretch of Brescia, and the dramatic looming majestic mountains of the north.
The bread has changed with the regions too -- hard and stale throughout Tuscan (peasant bread), soft focaccia in Chianti, crispy bread sticks in Veneto. Olive oil is served with bread everywhere, but we only got balsamic vinegar in Rome and then again in Veneto and the north.
I'm struggling with this particular post. How do I portray just how jaw dropping the Dolomites were. Or how unpleasant it was driving through one super long tunnel after the other along Lake Como -- Bill was especially unhappy with me for pointing out how awful it would be to be trapped in one of these tunnels during an earthquake. And how totally bizarre it was to arrive at our rental apartment to find only 100 year old nonnas to greet us before Maria finally answered the call and took us next door to our gorgeous two bedroom apartment on a hill overlooking the lake for miles in every direction.
We both feel full. There is nothing more Italy needs to provide for us. We are not coming home with a suitcase full of shoes or olive oil, just a few leaky truffle oil products and some vacuum packed porcini mushrooms and sundried tomatoes, and so many memories of a lifetime to cherish. And an extra 30 pounds between us!
Two more nights and then we begin the long flight home. I miss my dogs. I miss my little bean. It has been so gorgeous here and I am so grateful to have such a full life to come home to.
Caio!
Our drive from Verona to Vercana over two days was spectacular. Driving here is not as scary as we had imagined, says I from the navigators seat with Bill behind the wheel.
We have travelled through so many different landscapes on this trip -- Rome with its big ancient things with big things on top, the west coast with its blue water and pastel clusters of buildings, the rolling hills of Tuscany, a patchwork of gold and green crops, the forested hills of Chianti lined with vineyards and cypress trees, the canals of Venice, flat Abbotsfordesque highway stretch of Brescia, and the dramatic looming majestic mountains of the north.
The bread has changed with the regions too -- hard and stale throughout Tuscan (peasant bread), soft focaccia in Chianti, crispy bread sticks in Veneto. Olive oil is served with bread everywhere, but we only got balsamic vinegar in Rome and then again in Veneto and the north.
I'm struggling with this particular post. How do I portray just how jaw dropping the Dolomites were. Or how unpleasant it was driving through one super long tunnel after the other along Lake Como -- Bill was especially unhappy with me for pointing out how awful it would be to be trapped in one of these tunnels during an earthquake. And how totally bizarre it was to arrive at our rental apartment to find only 100 year old nonnas to greet us before Maria finally answered the call and took us next door to our gorgeous two bedroom apartment on a hill overlooking the lake for miles in every direction.
We both feel full. There is nothing more Italy needs to provide for us. We are not coming home with a suitcase full of shoes or olive oil, just a few leaky truffle oil products and some vacuum packed porcini mushrooms and sundried tomatoes, and so many memories of a lifetime to cherish. And an extra 30 pounds between us!
Two more nights and then we begin the long flight home. I miss my dogs. I miss my little bean. It has been so gorgeous here and I am so grateful to have such a full life to come home to.
Caio!
Catching up -- Soave and Borghetto
We left Salo this morning after an uninspired stay at a very serviceable inexpensive hotel in the centre of this small lakeside resort town.
After throwing ourselves on Donatella and Corrado for one last night in their lovely B&B, they recommended we check out the Soave Harvest Festival and perhaps il Parco del Sugato (the loveliest park in Italy and the second best in all of Europe, so they say) and the tiny village of Borgetto.
The festival in Soave was like any other Community event in any small town, except that it took place in the streets surrounding a medieval palace. It was strange and lovely. There was a line of carnival rides, mostly empty on this last day of a three day event following an intense thunderstorm the night before. The street was lined with vendors selling penny candy, tiny doughnuts, and cotton candy. One street was devoted to antiques (aka flea market junk) with an oddly abundant selection of creepy dolls; the second street featured tables teeming with arts and crafts in all their their homemade and awesome ridiculousness. There were food booths featuring risotto, truffles, and cheese (you could get a CONE of cheese for 5 E -- I resisted, but marvelled at the glory of such a magnificent idea!). The main attraction at the festival was a fountain out of which local white wine flowed freely all day. For three euro you got a little pouch to carry your wine glass and could fill up at the fountain as often as you wished all day. Once was enough for us... the wine was a little, young, as one might imagine free wine to be.
We spent an hour or so wandering past all the stalls, enjoying watching families do what they do and then hopped in the car for the 40 minute drive to Borghetto. As promised by Donatella, this little village nestled in the bend of a winding river was picture perfect. It was a busy Sunday with Weddings and a tour bus, so it was looking like we might be eating off the food truck after being turned away from the three lovely restaurants along the river. We tried one last cafe and were led to the hidden patio at the back right on the river. So lovely. And so nice to have a big green salad! After lunch, we climbed the 500 million steps up to another medieval castle with stunning views and then on to the park where we rented bikes and peddled around for an hour or so... The park was beautiful, though we missed the floral goodness that it must be earlier in the season.
We topped off the lovely day back at the little restaurant on the hill from the other evening. When we left in the morning...
Gotta help Bill navigate. Still catching up on the blog, but will get there. Enjoying every last minute.
Sunday, September 18, 2016
Please sir, can I have some more
As I started so reluctantly to pack, I asked Bill if it would be weird if I asked to stay one more night. Go for it... They said yes :o). It is too lovely to leave, so we are here for a third night.
Yesterday we explored the lovely city of Verona. It was busy, for sure, but it felt more like a local bustle than the frenzy of the tourist hubs of Rome, Florence, Venice, and Pisa. There were children and families with dogs everywhere and we just wandered in the sunshine looking up at big, beautiful things. We saw at least four weddings being photographed on picturesque bridges, and medieval walls overlooking the winding river. Verona is said to be the real life setting for the fictional tale of Romeo and Juliet. We did not visit Juliet's balcony as my mission at all times is to avoid crowds, but the city does have an inherent romance about it.
The rest of the day was like any other... More food... More wine... More loveliness.
Now that we are here for another day, I think we will truly take it easy. Maybe go for a wander in the countryside, maybe visit a winery or olive farm, maybe just nap and sip cappuccino.
Yesterday we explored the lovely city of Verona. It was busy, for sure, but it felt more like a local bustle than the frenzy of the tourist hubs of Rome, Florence, Venice, and Pisa. There were children and families with dogs everywhere and we just wandered in the sunshine looking up at big, beautiful things. We saw at least four weddings being photographed on picturesque bridges, and medieval walls overlooking the winding river. Verona is said to be the real life setting for the fictional tale of Romeo and Juliet. We did not visit Juliet's balcony as my mission at all times is to avoid crowds, but the city does have an inherent romance about it.
The rest of the day was like any other... More food... More wine... More loveliness.
Now that we are here for another day, I think we will truly take it easy. Maybe go for a wander in the countryside, maybe visit a winery or olive farm, maybe just nap and sip cappuccino.
Verona, il pozzo dell' amore
Sitting in bed after another delicious breakfast and a shower, looking out over hillsides of vineyards, the sound of church bells in the distance; trying to squeeze every last minute of bliss out of this place before we pack up and point our car in the direction of Lake Garda for the next leg of our journey.
If you had asked me what my perfect Italian experience would be, I wouldn't have been able to come up with anything nearly as beautiful as this. After a quick internet search at a cafe under an umbrella in Verona trying to hide from the rain, we found this place on booking.com and crossed our fingers. We drove the 30 minutes out of town and turned off on a country road, I said to Bill that this was what I was hoping for. We pulled in to where the GPS pointed us and thought it was strange that there was no sign, but we both got out in the torrential rain and scurried under our one tiny umbrella to the open front door where we were met with a very large, angry looking man with his shirt off. This seemed odd, for sure, but maybe they do things differently in the country. "Um," I started smiling, "are we in the right place?" He scowled and shook his head very slowly. "Oh, sorry, does this happen all the time," I said, still smiling. More scowling and Bill and I got it. Back in the car, out the narrow driveway, grateful he didn't do more than scowl at us, we followed the road less than a minute more and found the sign pointing up another long, narrow driveway. As soon as we pulled in, we knew this was perfect. Our hosts, Donatella and Corrado met us with warm smiles and showed us to our charming, spacious room.
We had a rest and a shower and then took Donatella's advice and went for a late dinner at a local place up in the hills that she recommended. We drove in the dark up a tiny winding road and, again, found it odd that there was no sign, but maybe that's how these country folk do things... A very nice lady came out of her gate and walked us next door to the restaurant (with a sign) and wished us well in Italian. The restaurant was on the ground floor of what appeared to be a private home. There were two other couples dining in the restaurant and two little girls playing in the front room. Everything was draped in red and green, and hearts were hanging in the archways as if there were a Valentine's celebration or maybe a Christmas wedding. I was in heaven. Our host was charming and we managed to order by pointing and smiling and enjoyed a perfect evening of the best hand made pasta we have tried yet (pumpkin ravioli, radicchio tortellini, and beet stuffed in something delicious), dripping in olive oil or butter, we couldn't tell. Oh my god, so good. We had intended on sharing one plate, but that got lost in translation, so we each ate a full plate of pasta, followed by scaloppine al fungi and the richest, smoothest house red. Full and happy, we made our way back to what I like to call home. And asked Corrado if we could please stay another night.
More on Verona and food later, I've got to pack and accept that we cannot live here forever.
If you had asked me what my perfect Italian experience would be, I wouldn't have been able to come up with anything nearly as beautiful as this. After a quick internet search at a cafe under an umbrella in Verona trying to hide from the rain, we found this place on booking.com and crossed our fingers. We drove the 30 minutes out of town and turned off on a country road, I said to Bill that this was what I was hoping for. We pulled in to where the GPS pointed us and thought it was strange that there was no sign, but we both got out in the torrential rain and scurried under our one tiny umbrella to the open front door where we were met with a very large, angry looking man with his shirt off. This seemed odd, for sure, but maybe they do things differently in the country. "Um," I started smiling, "are we in the right place?" He scowled and shook his head very slowly. "Oh, sorry, does this happen all the time," I said, still smiling. More scowling and Bill and I got it. Back in the car, out the narrow driveway, grateful he didn't do more than scowl at us, we followed the road less than a minute more and found the sign pointing up another long, narrow driveway. As soon as we pulled in, we knew this was perfect. Our hosts, Donatella and Corrado met us with warm smiles and showed us to our charming, spacious room.
We had a rest and a shower and then took Donatella's advice and went for a late dinner at a local place up in the hills that she recommended. We drove in the dark up a tiny winding road and, again, found it odd that there was no sign, but maybe that's how these country folk do things... A very nice lady came out of her gate and walked us next door to the restaurant (with a sign) and wished us well in Italian. The restaurant was on the ground floor of what appeared to be a private home. There were two other couples dining in the restaurant and two little girls playing in the front room. Everything was draped in red and green, and hearts were hanging in the archways as if there were a Valentine's celebration or maybe a Christmas wedding. I was in heaven. Our host was charming and we managed to order by pointing and smiling and enjoyed a perfect evening of the best hand made pasta we have tried yet (pumpkin ravioli, radicchio tortellini, and beet stuffed in something delicious), dripping in olive oil or butter, we couldn't tell. Oh my god, so good. We had intended on sharing one plate, but that got lost in translation, so we each ate a full plate of pasta, followed by scaloppine al fungi and the richest, smoothest house red. Full and happy, we made our way back to what I like to call home. And asked Corrado if we could please stay another night.
More on Verona and food later, I've got to pack and accept that we cannot live here forever.
Friday, September 16, 2016
On the road on our own
After our secret nights of Venice and gondola tour, which was fine, not spectacular (I think we are toured out, and our guide was no Figgy), but interesting and pretty to be wandering in the quieter district of Venice, we found a restaurant a little off the Venetian Robson Street and settled down for a late, serviceable, but mediocre meal.
This trip continues to be exactly like life, full of wonder and disappointment and surprise and introspection and shiny things and mundane and tired and fed up and glee. I'm not sure why I choose to blog my travel experiences as opposed to write them in a private journal... part of me thinks that the one or two readers that are following our journey might be disappointed that it is not all Disneyland, but I like it like that. It is real. And I like sharing all of me as I go because it will be impossible to answer the question, "So how was your trip?," when we get home. Anyway, dear reader (Vicki and mom ;o), I'm just going to continue to lay it all out there and capture it the best way I know how so that when I look back in years to come these few weeks can hopefully come alive again as a full experience.
Over dinner tonight Bill and I were trying to sum up Venice; to me Venice is like a beautiful young girl who has been snapped up and sold into prostitution. If you could just wash all the make up off and keep her safely away from the ones who want to exploit her, her beauty could shine through. There is no denying the uniqueness and charm of Venice. AND, as has been our experience in all of the destination spots so far, there is no escaping the commercialism and tourist traps. It's kind of like shopping at Winners, you've got to weed through a lot of crap to get to the gems.
One thing we learned on our tour was that the women back in the day (somewhere between the 13th and 19th century, I can't exactly remember when), strived to achieve the ideal beauty image of the time -- blond hair and skin as white as pearls. When you look at the Venetian skyline, you see lovely rooftop verandas on some of the homes. Women would sit in the sun on these verandas wearing a sombrero type hat that would shade their face so their skin would not darken. The top of the hat was cut out to expose their hair, which they had soaked in a lightening agent (camel urine) to bleach it. Arrrrgggggh! Even then, women striving for unrealistic ideals of beauty. Sigh.
Anyway... Lots of lovely, lots of not. And today!
We tromped through town with our suitcases in tow, got our four door, manual transmission, rental Fiat with our GPS that is only in Italian it turns out, and pointed toward Treviso. The sky was gloomy, gray and rainy, and the scenery was pretty boring, we could have been driving down the island highway, but we were both pretty excited to be on our own heading into this new solo leg of our adventure.
We found our way without too much trouble and decided to point to a restaurant that came recommended in an article we had read about why to stay in Treviso over Venice (Vicki, we should have read this article that you sent us before we booked Venice!).
Just so you know, right now, we are in our perfect room (I'll get to that soon), so full from another perfect meal (more on that later), and I have just taken a bite of biscotti made by our lovely B&B host Donatella, dipped into local Valpolicello Superiore from the neighbouring vineyard... Bill is groaning because he is so full, but just demanded that I hand him the entire bowl of biscotti because... Yes. And. Fuck it! Oh. So good.
Where was I... Treviso. The Trattoria, TONIdelSPIN was perfect in every way. We asked the waiter to recommend something for us to share, so we settled on a lovely pasta dish with shaved truffle, fried cheese with porcini mushrooms, and a mixed salad, and tiramisu for desert. We soaked up the ambiance, Bill's nose present in all of the tables around us (some families with small children, some people our age dining with elderly companions, maybe some business people), and Bill tried to wrap his head around being in this place where his family had come from so long ago. It was so beautiful.
After lunch we did our best to muscle up against the rain and poke around the town, but the rain was relentless and we had arrived during siesta -- all the shops and attractions were closed between noon and 3:30pm (the first time we have come across this, which indicates that this is the first non touristy place we have been) -- so we accepted the moment as complete and headed to our next stop, Verona, about 90 minutes drive away.
To make a long story short, we found the first bar with wifi (coffee shops are called bars here) and sat under an umbrella and searched for a place to stay for the night. Verona seems like a lovely town with lots to offer, but it's still raining, so after a quick internet search we settled on a place about 10km outside of town that seemed like it would be lovely (but I never quite trust the Internet). Ca dei Coci B&B is perfect in every way.
This trip continues to be exactly like life, full of wonder and disappointment and surprise and introspection and shiny things and mundane and tired and fed up and glee. I'm not sure why I choose to blog my travel experiences as opposed to write them in a private journal... part of me thinks that the one or two readers that are following our journey might be disappointed that it is not all Disneyland, but I like it like that. It is real. And I like sharing all of me as I go because it will be impossible to answer the question, "So how was your trip?," when we get home. Anyway, dear reader (Vicki and mom ;o), I'm just going to continue to lay it all out there and capture it the best way I know how so that when I look back in years to come these few weeks can hopefully come alive again as a full experience.
Over dinner tonight Bill and I were trying to sum up Venice; to me Venice is like a beautiful young girl who has been snapped up and sold into prostitution. If you could just wash all the make up off and keep her safely away from the ones who want to exploit her, her beauty could shine through. There is no denying the uniqueness and charm of Venice. AND, as has been our experience in all of the destination spots so far, there is no escaping the commercialism and tourist traps. It's kind of like shopping at Winners, you've got to weed through a lot of crap to get to the gems.
One thing we learned on our tour was that the women back in the day (somewhere between the 13th and 19th century, I can't exactly remember when), strived to achieve the ideal beauty image of the time -- blond hair and skin as white as pearls. When you look at the Venetian skyline, you see lovely rooftop verandas on some of the homes. Women would sit in the sun on these verandas wearing a sombrero type hat that would shade their face so their skin would not darken. The top of the hat was cut out to expose their hair, which they had soaked in a lightening agent (camel urine) to bleach it. Arrrrgggggh! Even then, women striving for unrealistic ideals of beauty. Sigh.
Anyway... Lots of lovely, lots of not. And today!
We tromped through town with our suitcases in tow, got our four door, manual transmission, rental Fiat with our GPS that is only in Italian it turns out, and pointed toward Treviso. The sky was gloomy, gray and rainy, and the scenery was pretty boring, we could have been driving down the island highway, but we were both pretty excited to be on our own heading into this new solo leg of our adventure.
We found our way without too much trouble and decided to point to a restaurant that came recommended in an article we had read about why to stay in Treviso over Venice (Vicki, we should have read this article that you sent us before we booked Venice!).
Just so you know, right now, we are in our perfect room (I'll get to that soon), so full from another perfect meal (more on that later), and I have just taken a bite of biscotti made by our lovely B&B host Donatella, dipped into local Valpolicello Superiore from the neighbouring vineyard... Bill is groaning because he is so full, but just demanded that I hand him the entire bowl of biscotti because... Yes. And. Fuck it! Oh. So good.
Where was I... Treviso. The Trattoria, TONIdelSPIN was perfect in every way. We asked the waiter to recommend something for us to share, so we settled on a lovely pasta dish with shaved truffle, fried cheese with porcini mushrooms, and a mixed salad, and tiramisu for desert. We soaked up the ambiance, Bill's nose present in all of the tables around us (some families with small children, some people our age dining with elderly companions, maybe some business people), and Bill tried to wrap his head around being in this place where his family had come from so long ago. It was so beautiful.
After lunch we did our best to muscle up against the rain and poke around the town, but the rain was relentless and we had arrived during siesta -- all the shops and attractions were closed between noon and 3:30pm (the first time we have come across this, which indicates that this is the first non touristy place we have been) -- so we accepted the moment as complete and headed to our next stop, Verona, about 90 minutes drive away.
To make a long story short, we found the first bar with wifi (coffee shops are called bars here) and sat under an umbrella and searched for a place to stay for the night. Verona seems like a lovely town with lots to offer, but it's still raining, so after a quick internet search we settled on a place about 10km outside of town that seemed like it would be lovely (but I never quite trust the Internet). Ca dei Coci B&B is perfect in every way.
Thursday, September 15, 2016
Venice
We hopped off the train in Venice, feeling quite pleased with ourselves for making it on our own without the safety of the group and the direction of our guide. Venice was not at all what I expected. I thought there were no cars in Venice. And the directions to the hotel said to keep the canal on our right. Hmmm. We stopped in front of the African/Asian Restaurant to check the directions on Bill's phone since what I copied from the website didn't seem to be working. No matter how many times we turned the data on and off, the GPS still said that our location was a 4 hour walk to the hotel. God damned thing isn't working.
Oh.
We finally sorted out that we had gotten off at the wrong station. So we tromped back through the streets with our luggage and waited in line for customer service. I got to the counter after a 10 minute wait or so and the lady said that I needed a number. Damn it. So I walked the 10 feet back to the number machine, got my ticket and walked back to the counter, my number was up. Way to stick to the rules grumpy Italian customer service rep. Anyway she told us just to hop on the next train in platform one. So we did and after a minute or two of uncertainty whether we were going in the right direction, we were relieved to see water all around us and the stunning domes in the skyline ahead of us.
We followed the walking directions from Bill's gps down winding narrow corridors with a slight pee smell in the air and did find our hotel quit quickly. Our green and red and gold and pink room in all it's Venetian gaudy gorgeousness is perfect.
We tromped around for a bit and stopped to have an antipasto and apertivo to get our bearings straight. I looked across the table to see Bill looking mesmerized with a tear in his eye, "Holy shit, does that ever look like my dad." We watched this man wait with his adorable grandson for at least a half and hour while we ate bruschetta and olives and felt like we had just now landed in Italy. We watched locals walk home with their dogs and have seen more Italians here than any of the other regions we have visited so far.
More wandering over little bridges down tiny streets, peeking in shop windows with Murano glass, carnival masks, patisseries, and other delights. I was getting hot and sticky and a bit fussy, ready for dinner. We settled on a little outdoor bar with wine barrels for tables and a perfect waiter that told us exactly what to order. I looked to my right and saw the nearly full yellow moon perfectly placed in the centre of stunning architecture, over a bridge in the warm night sky. An exquisite evening.
--------------------------
This morning as Bill was getting dressed he pulled out his plaid short sleeved shirt. Exactly the shirt that the man with the boy was wearing yesterday. A sign? Who knows, but we took a picture to show the resemblence. It is so clear in the features of the locals that Bill's roots are here. That man with his grandson has made the trip that much more special.
We headed out for our day of more wandering through more little alleyways and bridges to St. Mark's Square, which is jaw dropping. The wind and clouds of the quickly approaching storm added to the drama of it all and also helped to clear some of the crowds as they fled for cover. We walked slowly back home in the rain to our hotel where we are relaxing until our "Secret Nights of Venice and gondola ride" Tour tonight. Not sure that it will go because of the storm, but fingers crossed.
Oh.
We finally sorted out that we had gotten off at the wrong station. So we tromped back through the streets with our luggage and waited in line for customer service. I got to the counter after a 10 minute wait or so and the lady said that I needed a number. Damn it. So I walked the 10 feet back to the number machine, got my ticket and walked back to the counter, my number was up. Way to stick to the rules grumpy Italian customer service rep. Anyway she told us just to hop on the next train in platform one. So we did and after a minute or two of uncertainty whether we were going in the right direction, we were relieved to see water all around us and the stunning domes in the skyline ahead of us.
We followed the walking directions from Bill's gps down winding narrow corridors with a slight pee smell in the air and did find our hotel quit quickly. Our green and red and gold and pink room in all it's Venetian gaudy gorgeousness is perfect.
We tromped around for a bit and stopped to have an antipasto and apertivo to get our bearings straight. I looked across the table to see Bill looking mesmerized with a tear in his eye, "Holy shit, does that ever look like my dad." We watched this man wait with his adorable grandson for at least a half and hour while we ate bruschetta and olives and felt like we had just now landed in Italy. We watched locals walk home with their dogs and have seen more Italians here than any of the other regions we have visited so far.
More wandering over little bridges down tiny streets, peeking in shop windows with Murano glass, carnival masks, patisseries, and other delights. I was getting hot and sticky and a bit fussy, ready for dinner. We settled on a little outdoor bar with wine barrels for tables and a perfect waiter that told us exactly what to order. I looked to my right and saw the nearly full yellow moon perfectly placed in the centre of stunning architecture, over a bridge in the warm night sky. An exquisite evening.
--------------------------
This morning as Bill was getting dressed he pulled out his plaid short sleeved shirt. Exactly the shirt that the man with the boy was wearing yesterday. A sign? Who knows, but we took a picture to show the resemblence. It is so clear in the features of the locals that Bill's roots are here. That man with his grandson has made the trip that much more special.
We headed out for our day of more wandering through more little alleyways and bridges to St. Mark's Square, which is jaw dropping. The wind and clouds of the quickly approaching storm added to the drama of it all and also helped to clear some of the crowds as they fled for cover. We walked slowly back home in the rain to our hotel where we are relaxing until our "Secret Nights of Venice and gondola ride" Tour tonight. Not sure that it will go because of the storm, but fingers crossed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)