La Dolce Vita

I have spent most of today wandering over the narrow, winding canals of Venice and through the mice maze that is this mythical city. Venice is not just a place; it is a holy experience. It is a journey through all things beautiful and strange that somehow culminates in a euphoric symphony of the senses. Like a dirvish, one goes in circles until a state of transcendence and surrender is acheived. Being lost every five minutes is all part of the experience, while one is endlessly inundated with a cocophany of stimuli. Perfume, cigarettes, and salty air from the Adriatic sea converge with never ending narrow passages, wisteria-draped balconies, and crumbling brick buildings as one wanders lost through the labyrinth. Around every corner is yet another narrow passage, with tiny stone bridges that lead over the endlesss waterways. Closer to the heart of Saint Marcs Basilica are countless shops selling everything from cream-filled pastries, olive oil, gelato, and Venician masks to Fendi, Valentino, and Gucci fashionwear. Even the people are compelling to watch: Venetian men stride confidently through the streets with upturned collars and buffed black leather shoes, often escorting tiny, short-haired dogs that resemble shaved rodents. The young women glide by like movie stars in red heels and silk dresses, looking at the world aloofly like seasoned celebrities. It is grand indeed.

I feel so meek and out of place here, as I stumble along wide-eyed in my sandals and bland cotton clothes. Yet I am so at home. And for some reason the Italian language is easily within grasp. Unlike french, which I struggled with over my two days in Paris. I cannot for the life of me understand french, or even french accents. Just this morning while checking out from our Paris hotel, the fellow at reception asks me if we had anything from the mini-bar.

"Just two waters", I said.

"You did not have any sheeps?", I thought I heard him say. (In my defense, it was 4:30 a.m.)

"Uh...no, I didnt have any of those", I replied. I definately did not have any sheeps from the minibar.

It was an hour later that I realized he was asking me if I had had any chips.

For some reason I just dont have that problem with Italian language. Just today, while getting on the water taxi from the Venice airport, the driver asked me where we were headed, and I replied. Ken said he had no idea what the driver had asked me. I dont know why I knew. I just did.

Well it is getting late, and I retire from the sweet life, la dolce vita, that Venice has opened to me. I am stuffed on perfected creamy sauces and pasta, cappuccinos, and chocolatey cakes that would have brought the saints to their knees. I am literally intoxicated with pleasure, and look forward to another day tomorrow where I will do it all over again.

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