A Venetian Romance

I am greeted by my Italian girlfriend wearing her khaki skirt over a pair of black leather boots, matched by a silky black top and her lovely curls. Nearly mute with astonishment I follow her lead across the manifold little bridges of Venice, where uniformed men wait to sniff out tourists and demand a new tax from them. I remain silent as she puts on her best Veneto accent, and as one of the suits moves towards us, she fools him with ease and we pass through the net without any trouble.

Yesterday I passed my last Japanese exam of this semester, and barely sixteen hours later I stand among the canals of Venice. I have four days to enjoy this break before Korean demands my full attention, and Indi knows how to spend this time well. As she has lived in this city for some years, all I have to do is hold her hand and never let go, as she leads me through narrow streets in the labyrinthine heart of Venice.

At night, she would know her way almost blindly from bacaro to bacaro, local bars where drinks and snacks are both affordable and delicious. Between sips we sing along to familiar songs or converse with interesting locals at the next table. I try my best Italian, which gets me a lesson in Veneto slang and curse words. Apparently I am no real Italian, but still they have to agree with all the filth I spew.

With the baking radiation of the sun on our backs we also explore the city during daytime. Now I pause at the magnificent facades of intricate churches, as Indi yawns and waits for us to continue our way to the market. Vintage items at unfathomable prices get ignored, as are the rows of second hand clothing sold by Venetian nuns. However, some of the most stylish pieces in Indi’s commode find their origin here. 

It is the fish market where real business is to be done, where the opportunistic seagulls gawk from upon high rooflines and sometimes waggle to snatch away a discarded fish head or forgotten shellfish. She guides me by every stall, commenting on the fatty salmon, some magnificent pieces of tuna, a stack of flatfish with bulging eyes and any other sea creature that lives in the waters surrounding Venice. After careful consideration she returns to her best observations to fill her blue backpack. 

Four days later I sit in the same bus that brought me from the airport to my loving girlfriend. It all seems to have been a moment of fantasy, passing by in no more than a flash of the eye. We have spent these days busy from dawn till dusk, in the most beautiful city on this planet. In more ways than one it was a dreamlike experience. In more ways than one I am living this dream.