(The following is a work of fiction written by the blog creator for a creative travel-writing project.)
As I looked out the window of my flight to Europe, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of excited anticipation. Somehow Peter, my best friend, convinced me to take an unexpected trip to Italy for a few weeks, and since I have a tendency to over plan, I hadn’t expected my first trip out of the states to be so haphazardly strewn together. When we finally landed in Venice, we were met by a young woman calling out for Peter and he ran to greet her, Marcella, a foreign student from some of our university classes during our last year. It finally became apparent to me why Peter had chosen to visit Italy; it was her native country and I was officially the third wheel on this bicycle built for two.
We decided to avoid the touristy parts of the city for our first day, so we took a bus to Dorsoduro, one of the six districts of Venice, to enjoy a stroll around Campo Santa Margherita. The sun had begun to dip behind the old facades of the square as lights from within make-shift taverns began to illuminate the streets and canals. The hustle and bustle of university students brought laughter, music, and excitement to us as Peter and Marcella stopped at a bar while I continued on my way to find a quiet place to relax. After an hour of wandering through narrow corridors, I stumbled upon a gelato shop that was still open. As I glanced inside to see the flavors, my eyes fell upon the sight of a young Italian man sitting at a table reading a book and paying no attention to his spoon, dipping it into his cup of gelato and placing it into his mouth. Every so often, he’d repeat this movement, making sure not to lift his gaze from the transfixing fiction he held onto with his other hand. His soft features were calming and inviting even though he was a stranger and as I passed his table, I crouched down to pick up his bookmark that had fallen to the ground. “Ciao, tu segnalibro?,” I asked as I placed it on the table. “Grazie mille,” he responded. After a few pleasantries, I discovered that his name was Giovanni and he suggested that I try his favorite gelato flavor, crema di grom, which had pastry cream with corn biscuits and chocolate chips. It was a brief encounter; no need to make it into more than that, but in those 10 minutes of conversation, it felt as though we had known each other for years. Peter and Marcella interrupted the evening and we headed to our hotel to rest for the next day.
Our last day in Venice began with a water taxi to the Riva Degli Schiavone that continued to the Bridge of Sighs at sunrise. While I was enjoying the view of the warm hues meeting the colors of the chill waters, a face I recognized could be seen peeking over an easel of acrylic paints on canvas. I was shocked! Giovanni waved me over to where he was painting and we talked while I admired the exact replica of the sunset that was before us. I didn’t want to seem too eager, so I stayed calm and collected until he suggested we enjoy the day together. My friends paid no mind to my decision, and Giovanni escorted me through the Piazza San Marco, the Rialto Bridge, and many other tourist spots I had yet to visit. While weaving through the streets and canals of Venice, we talked about every topic imaginable; what our aspirations were, our favorite books, and which part of the city was our favorite. I only had a few hours left in Venice, so at dusk, he took me to a spot off of the Grand Canal and surprised me with a gondola ride. The views were breath-taking and since our gondolier wasn’t a singer, I decided to sing an Italian aria I had learned in college; “Ah cielo, di piu non chiedo! Si puo morir d’amore!” which translated, “oh heavens, I could ask for nothing more! Yes, I could die of love!”
The Wayfaring Texan 