I feel like a Gondola.

Everything is a picture in Venice. Not just any picture, but one you want to frame and admire for the rest of your life. Of course, you wouldn’t have enough room on your walls to do this, so you somehow need to muster the sensory energy to take everything in and make it a memory.

All that you’ve seen and conceptualized about Venice (be it from books, movies, or stories) is absolutely accurate. There are people all around you who aren’t in a rush to do anything but sip Prosecco, or Chardonnay, or Merlot on their lunch breaks while awaiting a primo prepared pizza complete with stringy, soft mozzarella, fresh tomato sauce, and crunchy, sweet bell peppers. Oh, and while you wait, you get chips. This isn’t unique to Venice, and it happens all over Italy. Waiters bring you little bowls of chips while you wait for your food, or are having a drink. For me, this is becoming a custom that will surely be hard to kick once I return to Canada. But I digress, these people not only get the best drinks and food imaginable, but they get to sit right next to the aquatic streets of Venice, probably with fresh flowers and tiny birds landing about to chirp the merriest little hellos, and just watch Venice “happen” all around them. There are fancy gondolas full of interested tourists, water taxis and personal watercrafts moving effortlessly through the waters, under bridges, and toward their destinations. Sometimes, a passing gondola will seat an obviously Italian couple, and you can hear the Gondoliers’ sweet Italian melodies travel into your adorning ears as they pass. You could close your eyes, but you wouldn’t want to.

If you walk up the main streets leading away from the busy St. Lucia train station, you are immediately met by markets and street venders, the tiniest shops with the most original commodities, and friendly waiters who will use their floral Italian accents and copious amounts of compliments to try and coax you into their restaurants for a pasta or pizza lunch.  Keep walking and the streets will become remarkably narrower, but with the same amount of shops. People pass, tourists grip their bags and purses, and everyone is smushed together into another element of Venetian life. Scarcely will you hear a “scusi” from one of the Italians, unless they’ve knocked you to the ground or really given you a good shake as they’ve passed. This is their life, why would they apologize for it?

When I enter into a busy morning coffee shop, I’m surprised at how easily I’ve mastered the skill of getting the attention of the baristas and ordering my drinks like the Italians do. If I flaw on a detail of my drink, or a pronunciation, it just means that I will end up with a new delicious creation that I haven’t tried before, and I have yet to be disappointed by any Italian surprises, coffee related or otherwise, thus far.

Yesterday, we were in Venice for a European Union address which gave us a basic history of how the EU is formed, the details of its purpose, the Venetian region’s place and influence in the EU, and finally the requirements that must be met for a country to become part of the EU (Croatia is expected to remain snubbed until 2014). After this address, we had “class” while enjoying lunch (right next to a Venice canal) at a small, corner restaurant. We learned about Italy’s reputation on the human rights front (which is unfortunately not as shiny or admired as the country’s immaculate treasures), as well as the unexpected results of a local election which found Silvio Berlusconi’s candidate at a loss. We did this over  cool mineral water, toasted ham and cheese sandwiches, a varied selection of cheeses and breads, and of course, pizza. Life is stressful when you’re an International student in Italy.

Our first trip to Venice (last Tuesday) was a race of finding and appreciating St. Mark’s square. Several times along the way, someone would ask “When will we be in St. Mark’s square?” and David’s answer each time was “You’ll know when you’re there.” Truer words were never spoken! As soon as you break out of the maze of streets and turns, you subsequently break IN to a square of an unimaginable proportion with the most astonishing basilica full of golden glazed religious artworks, the tallest peaks and steeples, and thousands of people adoring what they’re smack in the middle of. You can hear four piece bands play sylvan Italian numbers to the tourists who’ve accepted the pricey consequences of eating in the square. Pigeons fly liberally about, people buy tourist souvenirs or line up to enter the basilica or its tower, and everything is as it should be. When we return to the square to meet for supper at six, we are captured by the beauty of a setting Italian sun as its last rays of warmth and glow strike the golden peaks and artworks of the basilica and everything around you erupts into an ocean of golden treasure.

Yesterday in Venice, myself, Candice, and Meghan decided to spend our second day in Venice as any fashion loving ladies would; diving in and out of every store and shop looking for things we won’t find when we get back home- another easy task. Some shop folk are nice and helpful, some very forward, and some very cautious about you even touching their products. It is a taboo that we’re not aware of in Canada. Some shop owners may take great pride in their products, some simply have no time for browsers, and others are just plain obsessive compulsive over what they’re offering you. Being able to negotiate price is a skill that comes easily and I’ve successfully bartered prices with a few vendors during my time here. The Italian people who walk around you do an enormous amount of unconscious marketing for the stores here, just by being themselves. It is remarkable how well dressed and fashion forward everyone seems to be when you come from a place that markets a trend about eighteen months after it is first spotted. Everything I see I imagine being a big trend in Newfoundland almost two years from now, and I’m patiently waiting to see how correct this theory will be. Any price is possible in Venice, from stores selling everything at ten Euros a piece, to ones that will run you over four hundred for a shirt or coordinating accessory. It’s an expensive city by nature, but if you’re willing to spend five hours turning each tiny corner, and walking down every alley way (as we did), you’ll find that unimaginable treasures await you. My genuine leather, lilac (NOT faded purple-thanks Candice) clutch (twenty Euros), for example. ;)

After gelato (that we swore was the best we’ve found so far) at GNOM, we decided to try to navigate our way BACK to the train station based on instinct on whether or not to go left or right at every corner we encountered. As we walked, I marvelled at the taste of fresh strawberry and vanilla bean gelato that tasted as though it had been just churned using milk from some sort of magical cow hiding in the back of the gelato shop. I know, it’s a stretch, but that’s how I felt about it.

From the absolute center of the Venice shopping district we began our series of lefts and rights, stopping occasionally to ask a “smiling mother” or “silver fox number seven” (who guided us through our last turns) for encouraging directions. We were actually spectacular at this whole navigation thing, not surprisingly of course, and made it to the station just in time to get on board the 6 o’clock train. 

I sat to collect my thoughts while the scenery of Venice and the surrounding towns blurred and vanished into the background of our day. Every day is a dream, every experience a lesson learned, and every thought an appreciation. I still can't believe I'm here, even while our train races toward our home in Conegliano. 

I feel like a Gondola. I never know who I'll experience, how the weather might be, or where the canal will take me, but no day is ever the same, and even the familiar is something new.