Holy cannoli. I have not been giving Italy enough credit.
I was here two years ago, skipping around Florence and Rome and eating nothing but pizza and gelato for a few days. I left feeling like, "Italy....do I like it? Yes. Is it one of my favorite places ever? No"
But being in England, and only a 1 hour plane ride away from Italia, I started to crave the bridges of Venice.
And now that I have walked them - I have realized the error of my ways.
I'm older and wiser, and Italy is incredible.
First I must tell you, the rumors are not true: Venice does not stink, and it is not crowded.
At least not in September.
It was a lovely 75, breezy and perfect and there were several times we were the only people walking down one of the multi-colored stucco streets. Once you leave the Rilato, the touristy restaurants become candlelit holes in the wall, and the porcelain mask shops disappear. The sound of Italian waiters shouting "Bellissima!" as you pass fades away and the streets become peaceful and quiet. No cars, no bikes, no vespas, just the sounds of the city. The water of the canals softly swishing up against the bank, the soft chit chat coming from the gondolas gliding past, an occasional, soft "buona sera" from a passer-byer, sighs of "mmmmmm" as someone takes a bite of their homemade carbonara.
A Venetian street never goes straight for more than a couple meters before feeding you into an understated piazza, or over a tiny bridge with steps worn away from the many, many shoes that have crossed it. We walked around all day after we arrived Friday morning, just wandering the streets with no real agenda but to take it all in.
At the Piazza St. Marco, we ducked into the Basilica, the most elaborate cathedral in Europe, where we looked up in awe of the 4000 square meters of gold mosaic on the ceiling.
Around the Castello, our quickly growing pasta-bellies traveled in and out of every gelato shop we passed, salivating over the flavors: pistachio, amarina, chocolati, menti...
At the market around the Rilato, we were wide eyed the colorful food for sale by the even more colorful vendors.
When we finally took a seat to give our limbs a rest, we sat facing the piazza at the Florian, the oldest cafe from the 1700s, sipping a Spritz and enjoying the live classical music while watching the Italian men pass by in their pointed leather shoes and perfectly tailored suits.
Venice is not what I expected. It's peaceful, tranquil, and painfully beautiful. It doesn't feel like a real place, but rather something someone dreamed up one night, or read about it in a fairytale. It's magical.
I'm here with my sister, who has never been to Europe aside from London - which I personally don't believe counts as Europe. Like France has always been the object of my affection, Italy has always been hers. A lover of red wine, pasta, and pizza that puffs up like a blowfish when cooked - she is the perfect companion in Italia.
I have gotten so used to Europe and become so comfortable here, that I sometimes forget what it's like for a first timer to be in a new place.
For example, at the coffee shop our first morning, I order a Cappuccino, even though I'm more of a latte person. I know Cappuccino is what they drink here, so I go with it, and after a painless exchange of basic english and one euro fifty I'm sipping my foamy beverage in bliss.
Alison, orders hers with a bit of difficulty... in the following scenario, Ali will be "A" and the Italian behind the counter is "I"
I: "Preggo"
A: "Hello, a latte please"
I: "Latte - with coffee?"
A: Uhhh, (glance at me) yes? Latte. Latte, please.
I: With milk?
A: Yes?!?
I: Una Latte, 2 euros miss
A: Um, do you have milk choices?
I: (confused face)
A: Milk choices? Milk? Do you have Soy?
I: No, just one milk
A: Oh, shoot. Okay. Normal milk then.... Gratzi!
Alison then proceeds to get out her Splenda and empty the contents of 2 packets into the paper cup.
A: Damn! I forgot to ask for a straw...
But my sister, who is totally out of her element and in a new and foreign place, has done just fine since that first awkward encounter. It's inspiring, how quickly someone can adapt to change.
Attraverssimo is the only word in Italian that I know. Like most, I learned it from reading "Eat, Pray, Love." It means, "let's crossover." It is said if you're one side of the street and want to get to the other.
Like Elizabeth Gilbert, I think it's one of the most beautiful words in the Italian language. Both in how it sounds and what it means.
Crossing over occurs in many situations in life. We leave where we are or what we know, and enter uncharted territory.
Crossing over is not always easy. In fact I've come to learn that I both crave and fear the familiar and the unknown. But I don't think I'm alone in that. We crave change, but at the same time we crave routine. And when either comes upon us unexpectedly, we are shaken to the core.
No one really likes being trapped in the inbetween; not sure where they’re going, and likely hurt by where they’ve been.
But deep down we all know that it's when we are shaken to our core that we grow. We arrive at our greatest insights, gain awareness, perspective, and understanding. At least I believe that, and when I go through something difficult, in the back of my mind somewhere I know that I'll come out of it a better and wiser version of myself - and it helps me get through.
Crossing over is moving forward into the unknown. It's scary, but in doing it we discover new things, new aspects of who we are. So, attraverssimo! Let's crossover.
And what better place to crossover - than in Venice?
I was here two years ago, skipping around Florence and Rome and eating nothing but pizza and gelato for a few days. I left feeling like, "Italy....do I like it? Yes. Is it one of my favorite places ever? No"
But being in England, and only a 1 hour plane ride away from Italia, I started to crave the bridges of Venice.
And now that I have walked them - I have realized the error of my ways.
I'm older and wiser, and Italy is incredible.
First I must tell you, the rumors are not true: Venice does not stink, and it is not crowded.
At least not in September.
It was a lovely 75, breezy and perfect and there were several times we were the only people walking down one of the multi-colored stucco streets. Once you leave the Rilato, the touristy restaurants become candlelit holes in the wall, and the porcelain mask shops disappear. The sound of Italian waiters shouting "Bellissima!" as you pass fades away and the streets become peaceful and quiet. No cars, no bikes, no vespas, just the sounds of the city. The water of the canals softly swishing up against the bank, the soft chit chat coming from the gondolas gliding past, an occasional, soft "buona sera" from a passer-byer, sighs of "mmmmmm" as someone takes a bite of their homemade carbonara.
A Venetian street never goes straight for more than a couple meters before feeding you into an understated piazza, or over a tiny bridge with steps worn away from the many, many shoes that have crossed it. We walked around all day after we arrived Friday morning, just wandering the streets with no real agenda but to take it all in.
At the Piazza St. Marco, we ducked into the Basilica, the most elaborate cathedral in Europe, where we looked up in awe of the 4000 square meters of gold mosaic on the ceiling.
Around the Castello, our quickly growing pasta-bellies traveled in and out of every gelato shop we passed, salivating over the flavors: pistachio, amarina, chocolati, menti...
At the market around the Rilato, we were wide eyed the colorful food for sale by the even more colorful vendors.
When we finally took a seat to give our limbs a rest, we sat facing the piazza at the Florian, the oldest cafe from the 1700s, sipping a Spritz and enjoying the live classical music while watching the Italian men pass by in their pointed leather shoes and perfectly tailored suits.
Venice is not what I expected. It's peaceful, tranquil, and painfully beautiful. It doesn't feel like a real place, but rather something someone dreamed up one night, or read about it in a fairytale. It's magical.
I'm here with my sister, who has never been to Europe aside from London - which I personally don't believe counts as Europe. Like France has always been the object of my affection, Italy has always been hers. A lover of red wine, pasta, and pizza that puffs up like a blowfish when cooked - she is the perfect companion in Italia.
I have gotten so used to Europe and become so comfortable here, that I sometimes forget what it's like for a first timer to be in a new place.
For example, at the coffee shop our first morning, I order a Cappuccino, even though I'm more of a latte person. I know Cappuccino is what they drink here, so I go with it, and after a painless exchange of basic english and one euro fifty I'm sipping my foamy beverage in bliss.
Alison, orders hers with a bit of difficulty... in the following scenario, Ali will be "A" and the Italian behind the counter is "I"
I: "Preggo"
A: "Hello, a latte please"
I: "Latte - with coffee?"
A: Uhhh, (glance at me) yes? Latte. Latte, please.
I: With milk?
A: Yes?!?
I: Una Latte, 2 euros miss
A: Um, do you have milk choices?
I: (confused face)
A: Milk choices? Milk? Do you have Soy?
I: No, just one milk
A: Oh, shoot. Okay. Normal milk then.... Gratzi!
Alison then proceeds to get out her Splenda and empty the contents of 2 packets into the paper cup.
A: Damn! I forgot to ask for a straw...
But my sister, who is totally out of her element and in a new and foreign place, has done just fine since that first awkward encounter. It's inspiring, how quickly someone can adapt to change.
Attraverssimo is the only word in Italian that I know. Like most, I learned it from reading "Eat, Pray, Love." It means, "let's crossover." It is said if you're one side of the street and want to get to the other.
Like Elizabeth Gilbert, I think it's one of the most beautiful words in the Italian language. Both in how it sounds and what it means.
Crossing over occurs in many situations in life. We leave where we are or what we know, and enter uncharted territory.
Crossing over is not always easy. In fact I've come to learn that I both crave and fear the familiar and the unknown. But I don't think I'm alone in that. We crave change, but at the same time we crave routine. And when either comes upon us unexpectedly, we are shaken to the core.
No one really likes being trapped in the inbetween; not sure where they’re going, and likely hurt by where they’ve been.
But deep down we all know that it's when we are shaken to our core that we grow. We arrive at our greatest insights, gain awareness, perspective, and understanding. At least I believe that, and when I go through something difficult, in the back of my mind somewhere I know that I'll come out of it a better and wiser version of myself - and it helps me get through.
Crossing over is moving forward into the unknown. It's scary, but in doing it we discover new things, new aspects of who we are. So, attraverssimo! Let's crossover.
And what better place to crossover - than in Venice?
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