Summertime

A friend once told me that travel is all about the journey and not the destination.  This is advice I have taken to heart in my recent travels.  My preparation for my trips brings me almost as much joy as the actual destination.   I pour over travel DVDs, books and blogs trying to glean every available piece of information about my destination.

This year I branched out  combing  You Tube for every Venice video that was uploaded.. some by professionals, but, many more by amateur travelers. I derived a lot of pleasure watching hours upon hours of Venice scenery. My excitement grew with each turn on the Grand Canal. When I eventually watched all the videos in English I dove into those in foreign languages.  I found it interesting that the beauty of Venice transcends all languages and I enjoyed these videos almost as much.

I was then inspired to search for movies filmed in Venice.  Surprisingly, there were very few that I was familiar with.  After a short elimination process I finally settled on two movies:  "The Wings of the Dove" and "Summertime."

"Summertime" is a 1955 movie filmed entirely on location in Venice. What made it an even better choice was that it starred the amazing Katharine Hepburn and Rossano Brazzi. So this past Sunday night, tucked in my bed with all the lights off, I began to watch 'Summertime".

The scenery was once again mesmerizing. But, what really struck a chord with me was Hepburn's character, Jane Hudson.  Ironically, Jane was an unmarried middle -aged woman who had saved for years to be able to take this trip of a lifetime... not unlike myself. Watching Jane you could actually feel her excitement and her yearning as she approached the Santa Lucia train station in Venice.  All of a sudden I was transformed and it was me on that boat approaching the Grand Canal with all the years of built up anticipation.

In a scene on Hudson's canal-side balcony,  Jane paces with tiger-like agility and restlessness to and fro... as if ready to jump out of her skin.  She is yearning for something that she herself can't put a finger on. Later, as she wanders the narrow Venetian alleyways, she searches and searches and yet does not seem to know what she is looking for.  She absorbs all the beauty and energy of Venice yet still feels  restless and uneasy... always looking for more.

In just 100 minutes a 58 year old movie brought clarity to every fiber of my being. In my travels, I, too, have lived those exact same feelings.... loving the experience, but, feeling like something was missing,  looking for more.. not feeling quite complete... feeling lonely, unsettled, restless and yearning for something I could not find.

Jane Hudson eventually found what she was looking for...  Will I?

My Shadow is the Only Thing that Walks Beside Me

Exactly three months from today I arrive in Venice. I will take the Alilaguna boat from the Marco Polo airport to the Fondamenta Nova vaporetto stop and there I will begin my second solo European adventure.

It is always a little intimidating finding your way around a foreign city; and it is especially daunting in the beginning until you get your bearings. In most cities you can take a taxi from the airport that will drop you right in front of your accommodations.  Venice is unlike any city on earth and especially in this regard.   Since Venice is a auto free zone, the only means of getting around are by boat or the original means of transportation... feet.  

So, I will be searching the warren-like alleys for my canal-side apartment on foot; dragging suitcases carrying all I need to live like a Venetian for two glorious weeks.  All the tour books and travel blogs indicate that maps are useless in Venice since there is no rhyme or reason to the addresses, and, many of the tiny alleys have no street name at all.

There is no way to really research my journey from the vaporetto stop to my home away from home in advance. My trusty old friend, Google, doesn't have the street view for this mysterious collection of ancient islands.  I, alone, will need to navigate the confusing and cryptic directions provided in broken English from my Venetian landlord.

So far, this is the only thing that is causing any anxiety, the only thing that makes my solo trip a little scary. For those first nerve-wracking moments of my journey... my shadow and I will search alone.

Non Parlo l'italiano... Ancora

Unless you are a linguist, the biggest challenge when traveling to a foreign country is trying to make yourself understood. Unlike most Europeans, Americans generally just speak one language fluently... English.  Unfortunately, I am your typical American traveler.

I speak English... and English only.  Two years of intense Spanish verb conjugation with Sister  Veronica resulted in absolutely no understanding of verb conjugation and a very pronounced Catalan accent (Sister was from the Catalan area of Spain) which makes any Spanish I do manage to remember, virtually unrecognizable to your average Spanish speaking individual. 

 My two years with Mrs. Ratajczak, another Spaniard but, with a  Polish name, produced only my ability to recite a riveting dialogue between Juan and Maria about meatballs and the library.  I do not even  remember my year in college. Apparently it was so unproductive I have completely blocked it from my mind.   So as one can tell, clearly, a linguist I am not!

When I went to Paris, I prepped by learning to  say "Do you speak English?" and "I do not speak French."  But, my pronunciation was embarrassingly bad.  it was so bad, that I was laughed at regularly when trying to order meals anywhere in Paris.  I was laughed at so often that I took to buying a baguette, cheese and a bottle of wine and dining in most nights.  I don't think that if I live to be 100 I will ever get the hang of swallowing all the consonants that are required to speak French fluently.

I fared much better in Portugal. Since almost everyone speaks English I was saved the humiliation of trying to speak Portuguese. Portuguese is surprisingly hard to speak with lots of "zwah" sounds in it.  While I abandoned hope of learning ANY Portuguese, I was happy that my research provided an answer to a question dating back to when I visited my father's relatives 45 years ago.  My father's aunt called him something that sounded like "Zwon- zing" which I learned was actually "Little John" in Portuguese... I think!

So, here I am prepping for another trip to yet another foreign country. Ah Italian... seriously, how hard can it be?  I bought some audio tapes for the car, and Deidre bought me the Italian Rosetta Stone.  Girded with all the linguistic resources available,  I have vowed to master the language before I leave on August 29. This time I am doing much, much better than my previous attempts to become multilingual.   For example,  I have already learned the following:  "Piachere" .. pleased to meet you.  "Vorrei un bicchiere di vino blanco, per favore" ... I'd like a glass of white wine, please.  And my favorite: "Vedo cinque verde bicicletta"  ... I see five green bicycles. Now the only question is: How can I bring up five green bicycles in a city where bicycles are prohibited?