Writing Venice

Once again I found myself killing time in an Airport, given that I can’t afford an overpriced and let’s face it gaudy Burberry or Louis Vuitton bag or a Bulgari necklace I, as I always do, retreated to the bookstore.  There amongst the airport editions of the latest bestseller (is it me or should 50 shades of grey always have been a softback?) were a good number and by no means comprehensive display of Venice books.  I began to wonder if Venice is the most written about place in the world.  Do the books on Rome, London, Paris or New York even compare to the Venetian cannon?     

As well as travel guides there are; history books, sumptuous art books, architecture books, the expat replanted or fish out of water books, the come to Venice and fall in love books (which I stay away from being a cynic when it comes to romance,) cookbooks and novels set in Venice.  Very few of these books, certainly of the ones available in English, are written by Venetians.  Obviously there are more books in Italian and I am beginning to get to the point where I can start to read parts of them but the amount of English speaking Venitophiles are astounding.  There has always been Anglo Venitophiles, Brits, Americans etc who came to Venice and added their jottings to the literary story of the city.  People like Byron and Shelly for whom the decay and faded glory of the once great republic provided ample inspiration.  Or the venerable John Ruskin whose work documenting the beauty and uniqueness of Venetian architecture kick started the endeavour to preserve the city that continues to this day.  Ruskin was one of those people (a bit like myself) who was captivated by the place and famously spent his honeymoon in the city largely abandoning his wife to spend his days drawing and documenting city’s buildings.  The resulting “Stones of Venice” has become one of the classics of Venetian writing and something I can’t get through it.  I’ve tried a couple of times but so dry and humourless does Ruskin seem that he just comes across as a bit of an insufferable bore.

Today the process of foreigners writing about Venice continues and I wonder if the likes of Byron and Ruskin began a process of intellectually taking Venice away from the Venetians and turning the place into a museum.  So much has been written about the place that I wonder if you really need to get on a plane, and pay inflated hotel rates to experience it.  When you do make it there will your romantic expectations leave you disappointed with the reality of crowded streets and tourist menus.  People who set pen to paper tend to do so out of love or curiosity so there is a tendency to over romanticise the city.  Maybe that is what the public wants – the fantasy of gondolas, glass and masks.  Perhaps that’s why there aren’t or we don’t read so many local voices. 

The reality of Venice is much more fascinating than the romanticised version and I find that the city has a host of delights and pleasures that no writer that I have as yet read has captured that.  I would love to read something that explores the mundane and even the sheer bloody annoyances of the place but maybe that’s not what we want maybe we need Venice to be our fantasy.

That August feeling

Living in Treviso if you weren’t possessed of a calendar or the kind of mobile phone that is increasingly organising your life you would still know when it was the first of August.  As soon as the date ticks over from July 31st into August a small army of dormant road workers rouse themselves from their hibernation and rip the hell out of the Treviso streets.   The usually peaceful city erupts in the noise of jack hammers and diggers and driving becomes an adventure as you wonder if you will ever make it past the endless detours and actually get out of the city.  August is the designated road work and general housekeeping month due to the fact that it also coincides with the annual mass exodus from Treviso.    

Unlike anything I have experienced in my non student life Italy has a very marked holiday day period.  The heat and the incredible humidity makes life in the city a bit of a trial meaning that residents take the opportunity to get out of town to more pleasant environments.  Over the last few weeks my students conversation has turned to their plans for August which either involves going to their house in the mountains, going to their place at the beach or going to Sardinia.   As soon as August hits the exodus starts the city begins to feel empty – this weekend the mass departure will happen leaving a ghost city behind.  Many of the businesses close as well, causing much consternation to those of us who are still here and are unused to businesses shutting their doors for one day at Christmas let alone a two or three week period.  With the stifling heat and the ghost like quality my over active imagination can’t help but think that in this period Treviso feels like a place where the some kind of nuclear disaster has cleansed it of its human population leaving the buildings as monuments to their former occupants.  Occasionally you may spot the odd post apocalypse survivor scuttling between shadows – well I did say I have an overactive imagination. 

For those of us without a holiday home in fresher climbs these few weeks are frustrating.  Your favourite bars are closed and there’s no one about to drink with anyway.  In Venice the problem is exacerbated with many of the good bars closed and the spike in tourist numbers resulting in a higher concentration of tourists in fewer venues.  Any relief from the heat and humidity that a museum visit would bring (although I do visit galleries and museums to see the exhibits one can’t deny that they often have awesome air conditioning) is negated by the sheer number of sweaty people disturbing your contemplation. 

What to do in this period given that your work has dried up and there’s not much to do in the city and there aren’t people to do it with?  Well make like the locals and get out of town is a good bet.  While I’d love to go down south to Sicily or Puglia the fact that they will be packed and I resent paying high season prices puts me off.  There is also the not so small matter of me having to find a job and a home meaning that relaxing on a beach is a bit of an unaffordable luxury at the moment.  In a couple of weeks the holiday period will be over Treviso will start to populate again and thoughts will turn to the end of summer and the coming Autumn – I hope that I’ll have worked out a few things by then.       

Goodbye casa del mago

When locals ask me where I live and I explain that I’m in that cute little palazzo near the university the standard response is – “La casa del mago?”  My little building is famous in Treviso for once being home to a TV magician and no one can quite believe that the mago has given way to this little hobo. As well as being the former abode of a minor celebrity the little palazzo is also the most picturesque residence in Treviso – the downside of which is regularly opening your front door to find tourists photographing your building (not the best of surprises on a Sunday morning when you’re just nipping out for milk.)   Small as my apartment is it has a bucket load of character but tonight my apartment doesn’t feel like home – more like an empty shell.  My clothes are packed, the fridge almost empty and I’ve donated the contents of my lovingly collected spice cupboard to T and E.  After 16 months I’ve come to the end of my time in this little place.  

   

When I took the apartment last year I really didn’t give much thought to how long I would be here – I just needed to get out of where I was staying and took the cheapest central place I could find. It was also a bit of a bonus to find the other apartments in the building empty – I really had the place to myself.  I’d never lived alone before and was curious to try it in what was a new and exciting place.  Prior to this place I’d been moving pretty constantly for a few years so I really didn’t imagine staying in one spot so long.  There have been so many delights to solo living; setting up the kitchen just the way I like it, not having to worry about disturbing other people, knowing that when I come home and shut the door the place is mine and of course not having to worry about my state of dress. 

Naturally there have been times when I’ve missed having a flatmate – someone to make you a cup of tea when you come home tired, to watch a movie with, to talk you down from a frustrating day and to nurse you when you’re sick (have a hangover.) But these things aside living alone has much to recommend it. 

Despite my best efforts over the year I seem to have amassed a crap load of stuff.  When I arrived in Italy I came with two suitcases (admittedly they were heavy enough to blow the Qantas baggage allowance.)  During these last few days of packing I seem to find endless things to pack.  More than once I’ve cursed my book habit and now vow to go digital in the near future.  Looking at the stuff I have to move tires me and I almost convince myself to stay out of sheer laziness.  In the immediate future I’m going to couch surf with friends and then – well who knows.

Farewell my little home

When I look back and peaceful nights at home, the meals I’ve cooked and the friends I’ve hosted I realise that I’ve been really happy here.  For a time it really was a home and I'm going to miss this place.  I'm not however going to miss nearly getting killed by a car speeding round the blind corner every time I walk out of the gate.  My only regret is that I never got round to having that aperitivo in the front yard that I was always planning.   I’m going to miss the soothing sound of the canals on either side of the building, having a kitchen to myself, and not having to worry about my state of dress.  As I write this I have no idea of where I’m ultimately going I only hope it will be as good to me as this place has been.   

Night thoughts on coffee

This week I seem to be going through one of my intermittent bouts of insomnia.  It’s something that I get from time to time for no discernible reason and after having it for a few days I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.  Many friends and acquaintances on hearing of my sleep deprivation are quick to offer impromptu counselling sessions – what’s on your mind, any problems, changes in diet- in an attempt to get to the bottom of the problem.  I prefer to not worry about it figuring that I have to sleep at some point and you know I can use the extra hours to do something useful like write an overdue blog entry.    My only worry about these little episodes is just how much coffee I am going to get through and what is this going to do for my already significant addiction?

I’ve been a coffee drinker since I was a child – family have reminded me countless times of me ordering a coffee as a five year old when all my siblings were drinking hot chocolate.  For as long as I can remember my morning ritual has been to wake up drag myself out of bed, make a moka (a stove top coffee maker) of coffee before attending to anything else.  So great is my love for the buzzy black liquid that I would give up every other beverage (yes including all alcohol) before I would give up coffee.  After so many years of consumption I have to admit that I’m am addict.  If I don’t get my hit in the morning I become listless, get a raging headache and was once horrified to note an employee warning others that it’s evil Raji on a day that I had failed to get my morning shot.

I sometimes think that my leaving the UK really was just a journey to find good coffee – the English really can’t do coffee (I say English as from my experience the coffee in Scotland is pretty darn good.)  My youth was a nightmare of freeze dried instant horror that whatever it is cannot be called coffee.  More recently the country has exploded in Starbucks and the like which is uniformly horrid, over roasted, bitter and watery.  

My adopted home prides itself on its coffee but when I mention Aussie coffee culture to the Italians they look at me as if I’ve been sipping flat whites on the Moon.  The difference as I see it is this:  like Australia coffee in Italy is a lifestyle.  It seems as if everyone begins and punctuates the day with one but what it isn’t is a status symbol.  Aussie cities are renowned for the types of coffee they drink – Melbourne is a flat white town, Sydney the latte while Brisbane is the frivolous cappuccino – oh you drink a tall espresso? Well you’re an inner Melbourne hipster then – and heaven forbid you order the wrong type in the more effete urban centres.  The only coffee faux pas you could make here is to ask for a cappuccino past breakfast.  Baristas have been elevated to a status once reserved for celebrity chefs with anger management issues.  The modern trend has been for the increasing scientification (yes made up word but I can’t think of the real one) of coffee – the Italians go nuts when I describe cold filter or syphon coffee and they really lose it when I tell them about places in Melbourne who will analyse your palate and recommend a single source coffee that matches your taste profile – yes that’s you sensory lab – no wonder Starbucks was a dismal failure.

Here, as the Italians tell me coffee is just coffee, like everything else the Italians consume the emphasis is on quality but it’s not over thought.  You may always buy your favourite brand at the supermarket but on the street you’re not going to avoid a bar because it serves Lavazza and not Illy.  What I’m enjoying about Italian coffee culture is the whole new array of ways to mainline caffeine.  In addition to all the regular cappuccinos (served without chocolate of course,) espressos, macchiatos, etc the Italians have a host of other serving methods – of late given the temperatures I’ve been enjoying cafe freddo (iced espresso,) coffee granitas, coffee gelato but my current discovery and obsession is cafe affogatto – a shot of espresso serves over a ball of vanilla ice cream – it sounds so very wrong but trust me it’s a winner.  The only coffee item I have turned my nose up at is coffee yogurt which really is foul.    

When I came to Italy I had got my addiction down to one a day (admittedly that one was a pint) but over the course of the year my consumption has steadily increased.  There’s my morning coffee, the mid morning between lessons one, the meeting a friend one, the it’s six o’clock and I’ve another three hours of lessons to go one and now there’s the I’m really tired but need to stay awake ones.  If I mentioned my coffee consumption to a doctor in Australia I’m sure the reaction would be – are you crazy? But here six or seven shots a day don’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary – makes you wonder if health advice has more to do with national characteristics than scientific research.  As I write this in my fourth night of interrupted sleep I hope it’s not too long before sleep reasserts itself and I can get my coffee consumption back under control.

Ironically this is being written on tea – made in a pot of course.

Moving on and pastures new

I’ve been resident in Treviso for well over a year now and lately I’ve been having one of those looking back and assessing periods.  After a year I can now say that I’ve become regular face (I don’t think a blow in can ever consider themselves local.)  I’ve got a wonderful bunch of friends and many of the locals greet me on my way around the town (by locals read bar owners.)  I’ve managed to make a living and enjoy the delights of life in Italy.  While it happens so often that it shouldn’t be a surprise but once again it is the urge to bolt has hit and I’m now thinking about leaving my little piece of Northern Italy for pastures new.

Treviso is a wonderful place to live and I do wonder if I am making the right decision but of late the place has begun to seem a bit small.  I’ve begun to miss many of the things that city life brings – a mix of cultures, late night events, exhibitions, live music etc.  One of my colleges, T always says that Treviso is a great place to live but that you need a reason to be here – and I don’t really have one. 

Given that I’ve decided to move on – just where to?  Do I return to Aus now, do I pursue one of the endless teaching positions in China or do I find somewhere else in Italy?  Italy seems the illogical choice given that the place hardly seems a long term prospect and the logical step would be to return to Australia where the sun shines and the people are warm and friendly.  As tempting (and lucrative) as heading to Asia is I’m not sure I should complicate my life further by adding another country to the mix.  But I can’t quite get this country out of my system (as much as I try.)  Living here has been so much fun even with the everyday hardships and the at times loneliness.  So I’ve decided to give life in a city a go and see if I can get the crazy idea of Italy out of my system. 

On announcing my decision to friends a whole host of places where suggested – and not simply for the fact that it  would suit me.  J is lobbing for Rome, T loves to visit Lecce in the south and the shopping is good in Bologna according to L.  Many of my Venetian friends have advised me not to go no further south than Tuscany, warning me of the perils below!  I’ve begun to call it the Tuscan line below which according to many of my friends the country is filled with laziness, inefficiency and corruption.  I’ve never explored the south having only visited Naples a very long time ago and I like the idea of seeing the southern part of the country.  Looking at pictures of Lecce deep in the heel of the country I feel the need to see it but I’m not sure I’m brave enough to go to the scary south alone at least not without knowing a bit about it first.  Rome is ideally located in the middle meaning that I can get to most places in the country in a couple of hours – great for weekends in the south.  After a year in sleepy Treviso will Rome be too big, fast and chaotic? Not to mention expensive.  Bologna has a reputation for good nightlife.  Then there’s always Florence – oh the list is seemingly endless.   

When I think about leaving my comfort zone and my familiar surrounds I wonder if I’ll find such a wonderful group of friends in another place.  In Treviso and Venice I have made friendships with many great people that the thought of our relationships changing to visits rather than weekly or daily meet ups saddens me.  I love meeting J for a daily coffee and chinwag and then there’s T for whom, like me the muppets are not only much loved friends but also a moral compass – who else will I be able to quote muppets too!  Who else can I have long conversations about just who was the best muppet show guest?

I also wonder if I can leave Venice.  My whole reason for heading to Treviso was too be near Venice and after so many visits I’m still in love with the place.  Of late on every visit and every time I watch the light play on the water I think to myself how can I leave this.  There is still the dream of living in Venice but sadly the practicalities defeat me.

So the feelers are out for a job and notice has been given to my landlord – all I need is a job and a place to live.  I feel a mixture of excitement and trepidation about the move.  I’m excited by the thought of exploring new streets and seeing new and wonderful things and trepid about leaving friends and finding my way in a new place.  A student recently asked me how many times I’d moved house and counting it all up it’s been 20!  A place to call home seems as far away as ever.  While the thought of packing up my life, saying goodbye and doing all the hard stuff again in a new place tires me I can’t seem to do any different – perhaps one day I’ll be able to settle somewhere but to be honest I’m not counting on it.

The Footie - Italy v Germany 28/06/12

Good evening,

I'm sitting in one of our usual bars (colonnetta) in readiness for one of the most important events of the  year.  While Messrs Monti and Merkal are nutting out the economic future of the continent the Italians are more concerned with the important stuff - the footie.  As Germany and go up against the Azzuri in the European Championship semi final I'm going to attempt to blog my way through the next 90 (give or take stoppages and extra time) minutes.  Apologies in advance but I'm no football expert.  Joining me are JH, and a bar full of nervous looking Italians.

8.40 and the teams come out, the bar is filling up.  Anthem time – lights out in bar.  Unlike the English players the Italians seem to know the words to their anthem.  First impression the striking difference there is remarkably little alcohol on the tables.

8.50 and we off.- Am wondering how long it is before the commentators use the words efficiency and German in the same sentence.  Germany have possession and have already looked like they are going to score - Raji has already uttered whooooo

A free kick to Germany outside the box.  Good save from Buffon, interesting point the time is not on screen - how long do I have to sit here? No friggin idea.  

note from JH "Germany are on them like flies on shit" - Anglo language just what I'm used to.

Italians have possession for about two minutes a bit of excitement in the bar Germany retake and it's back to business as usual.

10.42 mins and my attention wavering.

11.57 and Germany nearly score in the bar they're complaining about the goalkeeper - the hero of the last game - how fickle.

15.53 - did I really just see one of the Italian coaching staff smoking in the dug out?

16.57 Italy shot on goal - brief piece of excitement and a round of applause.  Starting to look two sided for the first time according to JH and another great shot.

19.23 ITALYYYYYYYYYYYY!  photos, screams, and one nil to the azzuri!  Lots of goal celebration and hugging amongst the Italian team.  Word in the bar is if Italy win then Merkal will make sure the country pays.

24.55 and JH has gone to get me another prosecco

26.00 2nd prosecco for me and the 1st for JH who is ignoring the fact he is on antibiotics - have told him on his head be it.

28.26 nothing worth writing about according to JH

31.50 - shirt pulling on Balotelli causes some consternation amongst the Italians -  the fact that Mario Balotelli seems to have gone to the barber and asked for a Brazilian is troubling me more.

33.56 Italy endanger the German goal but player falls down in box - third whooooo from me.

35 ish another good safe from Buffon - now a hero again

ITALYYYYYYYYYY! Balotelli again looks like it's bad news for Italy and the Euro - bet Monti will have a smile on his face as he greets Angela tomorrow. In the bar the Italians are laughing at a weeping German fan on the screen.

The only German in the bar just asked JH and me if we are supporting Germany.

JH just did a mock German accent - hoping it's the only one of the night.

OK 40th minute only another five until half time apparently

JH just asked if he looks German - not sure why

Italian player on the ground cry of AMBULANCE in the bar - looks like patrons know the whole simulation thing - Note to fellow English teachers am using the technical term simulation which I learnt  in New English File intermediate lesson 1B, narrative tenses.

One minute of extra time - this is not fair

46 minutes and the half time whistle blows - mass exodus for a smoke.  We think that the Germans are not playing as well as they should - note we is JH here.

HALF TIME - Bar staff wondering just what the hell I'm doing.  JH thinking the Germans will make a comeback in the second half - can they do it?  are Italy in the final?  how many proseccos will I get through?  lets see

Players emerging,nicotined up fans returning to tables - my drink getting low

Germany has made a substitution apparently

and the second half is off!

Still no mention of German and efficiency - The germans have brought on Klose - Raji wants him to get a near miss on goal so she can type it's close from Klose.

Near miss from the Germans - not Klose unfortunately

47.50 - Italian with a face full of ball - looks painful

48.59 Germans look like they've come back with a bit of purpose - yes we may be single handedly keeping the Euro afloat but this is serious.

50.52 two empty glasses on the table - time to send JH to the bar

51.40 shouting in the bar - not sure why JH and I debating who pays for the next drink.

52.50 - if anyone's interested it was me

Note from JH "Germany are just falling to pieces" - not looking good for the efficiency quote that I'm after.

56.53 close up of Italian player and I notice what a terrible stripe effect the Italian shirts have - looks a bit 80 woman's office casual - not sure it's the look the Italians are going for.

58.40 Mario that really is a stupid haircut

60.00 and yellow card for an Italian defender - Bonucci - he looks suitably pained.

62.18 - all the players are sporting black armbands - it's an anti racism thing according to JH.  Raji is wondering if the Italian cartoonist who portrayed Balotelli as King Kong got the message.

63.50 - Italian player just easily gave possession away and Raji just felt affronted

67.56  Balotelli down - cramp JH informs me - time for the magic sponge.  Di Natale ("of Christmas" which makes me like him all the more) on for Balotelli

70.12 all those proseccos are beginning to hit, thinking of food.

70.52 from JH "Germany are out of this match"

71.32 JH informs me that the Poms say two world wars, one world cup when the English play Germany - and I'm remined why I don't barrack for any team.

74.54 - what's wrong with just passing it!  two Italians in the box German defender trips over his feet and they don't score - should have passed instead of going for glory for yourself - teamwork people!

77.29 - lost concentration and am laughing at funny posts on facebook

79.27 "the Germans are playing rugby"  JH 10.25 28/06/12

80.00 brief bit of excitement undermined by about 30 players slipping, tripping and generally falling down -yes it's keystone football

82.15 - Raji surprises herself by knowing and understanding the offside rule - where did that come from?

84.00 need to pee, can I hold out for 6 minutes plus extra time?

85.47 - JH off on another prosecco mission

87.27 camera cuts to fans dressed as super Mario - nice way to break the stereotype!

89th minute don't see the Germans coming back from this - Monti can start getting his gloating face on

90th passed 4 mins of extra time - seriously need to pee

Penalty to Germany - Handball in the box apparently.  Germany score! suddenly game is on again

Balotelli with hoodie on and head in hands - yes I would too if I had that hair

20 seconds victory in the air, this bar is about to errupt - YESSSSSSSSSSS!

Italy are in the final = bar playing we are the champions and a guy I don't know just kissed me.

Post game - you would not believe the queue for the bathroom - cazzo

Ah Tuscany!

Morning view

Sunday and once again I found myself on a freccia heading back to Treviso.  I didn’t expect to be on one of Italy’s rather efficient (yes I did just use the words Italy and efficient in the same sentence) trains this weekend.  Little did I think on Friday as I was making the weekly trip to the armpit of the Veneto that I would be spending the evening having dinner with Melbourne friends in a restaurant garden in the Tuscan countryside. 

My friend R and her husband B have been in Italy since May, they come to Italy every year for the warmer months – escaping the Melbourne winter and call the town of Lucignano home for this period.  Between lessons at the mineral powder company R called and suggested that I come down to their little town in Tuscany for the weekend and I couldn’t think of any reason not to.  After lessons T rushed us back to Treviso (J couldn’t face any more trips to Werhnam Hogg so Fridays are now on the road with T and Raj.)  I ran home threw a few things in a bag and jumped on a train.  By early evening I’d made it to Arezzo where there was a grand reunion with R and B before a drive to their small piece of Tuscay. 

Contrada colours

Driving through the Tuscan landscape I felt a world away from the Veneto.  Seemingly endless hills filled with olive groves or vinyards.  Tall, feather like cypress trees that act as absurdly picturesque exclamation marks to the beauty of the place.  Lucignano sits on top of a hill overlooking a valley; the town is tiny (perhaps 200 inhabitants) and like every other medieval Italian town utterly charming.  Being so small the place takes about 10 minutes to walk around, physically that is.  R has been coming here for many years now and is a quasi local which means any walk around the town involves stopping and chatting with everyone you meet.  Lucignano like all of the towns I visited over the weekend was festooned with flags in the contrada colours.  The town is divided into different quarters called contradas.  In times gone (not too sure what the situation is now) the contradas would have their own church, take care of the young and sick in their quarter etc.  This period sees many festivities culminating in a contrada dinner where each quarter hosts a street party.  Wandering around the towns of Tuscany covered in a multitude of flags I began to think about the loyalty people must have not just for their region, country or town but for their neighbourhood.  With this fierce loyalty is it really a surprise that national unity is so often questioned in such a young country? 

The first evening and I was introduced to the small yet established expat community of the town – Americans and Brits who have somehow found this little town and either make annual visits or live here permanently.  It seems to me that there are two kinds of expat: those like R and B who engage with the locals and become part of the community and those who don’t learn the language and live in a sort of bubble only socialising with other English speakers.  R is certain that the bar where they drink makes its entire year’s profit in those three months when the expats are in town!      

Saturday morning and after coffee overlooking the valley we headed out to visit some of the other gorgeous towns in the area.  Cortona, our first stop, sits prettily atop another high promontory over looking yet more rolling hills.  Cortona itself is a beautifully preserved medieval town with winding streets and steep gradients.  It was this town that an American woman bought a rundown old villa, restored it and wrote a book called “Under the Tuscan sun.”  Evidence of the book’s success can be seen in the number of tour buses pulling up, the real estate prices and the new American University in the town.  Next on our little tour was Montepulciano – another picture postcard hill top medieval town.  Walking its steep streets I couldn’t help but think of the feet of engineering and labour it must have taken to build these towns.  Although of the same era Tuscan medieval architecture is a world away from the Venetian.  With its large windows and half Middle Eastern half Romanesque arches Venetian buildings feel light and delicate as opposed to the solidity of the Tuscan buildings.  The fact that almost every town had its own imposing tower and heavy walls is an indication to the uncertain times that people were living in. 

Tower and Cypress trees, where else but Tuscany?

That evening after yet more glorious food with B watching 22 grown men kick a ball around a field R and I sat on the terrazzo drinking beautiful Tuscan wine and watching the light over the valley fade into night we both talked of our Italian adventures and ruminated on just how ridiculously enjoyable our Italian experiences are.  Often while going about my day to day activities I have a moment when I think to myself how nice life is and it’s good to know I’m not the only one who finds it so.  Sunday came around all too soon and after a lazy morning coffee with the expats, a couple more ridiculously scenic towns and lunch it was time to say our goodbyes and for me to head back up north.  Getting back to Treviso I felt like I’d been away for days.