Italy

My squeeze and I were in Italy this May. We visited Rome and then Venice. It was her trip really. She had always wanted to visit Italy whereas I, the neoclassicist I pretend to be, had heard that Italy was a disappointment for many eager American tourists. Indeed, a dear friend, married to an Italian-by-ancestry man, found the Italians rude, and the country wanting.

I don’t know where those other people visited, but it wasn’t the Italy I encountered. The people couldn’t have been nicer. The food was good (those folks really DO eat a lot of pizza - I thought that was a myth; but if you order pizza with olives be prepared for olives - whole unpitted olives that will roll off the slice you’re trying to put in your mouth, and onto your lap).

Rome, of course, is the most historically significant city in the West, perhaps the world. It was the seat of the greatest empire ever forged, a significant contributor to the Renaissance, and a powerful influence on religion even today. Its streets are filled with history, art, churches, and fountains. Lord, the fountains. They are everywhere. Beautiful, magnificent fountains.

But it is Venice that so totally took my breath away. A few days before we were to leave Rome for Venice, my squeeze and I were talking to the doorman at our hotel. We told him our next stop would be Venice. He replied “Yes, many of my countrymen go there for their honeymoons. It is a good place to go if you can’t afford to leave Italy.” I guess in his mind Venice would be a good second choice for a honeymoon behind... where? Dresden? Liverpool? Wichita Falls? We should have explored that with him.

The train ride from Rome to Venice is for another blog, as is the Venice experience. It’s funny, I wasn’t expecting much from the trip and I actually came away with one of the most moving experiences of my life. Ain’t that always the way?