"In relation to my blog, I suppose I've had a bit of an identity crisis. My vision of stories included visiting exotic cities, meeting strangers, strolling world markets, sleeping in shabby hostels, and cultivating a fearless spirit. This can't exist anymore. Is there nothing to say? Have the rhythms of domesticity killed all wonder? Should I put my laptop on the shelf and hide my notebooks?"
Travel by gondola: a centuries-old tradition that is in no way vital to the city's operations...but surely vital to its heart.
Venezia is a city composed of tiny islands. 120 of them, spanned by 400 bridges. Wooden or stone, humble or showy, everywhere bridges. Every time you cross a bridge you step onto a new island. Long ago, these borders determined micro-communities, islands like tribes. People didn't know their neighbors across the water. The communities were …
I am charmed by this sad, solid, nameless woman in the same color as the sea.
My quietly spontaneous trip to Èze would morph into a fun, frenzied journey to three different cities (one of them a country, if we're being specific). We would be climbing up a hill to a pink mansion, running to catch trains, eating gelato in Monaco, and falling asleep over a late dinner of pizza. I wouldn't get home until after midnight. But of course, I didn't know any of that yet.