Tag: bologna

Finding Our Joy Until We Can Travel Again

One of the habits I’ve adopted in this strange period we are living through is daily mediations through an app called Insight Timer.  I was perplexed a few days ago by a meditation about joy, led by teacher Carrie Suwal.  She kept repeating, “joy is not conditional,” but I’ve always felt the opposite, feeling joy triggered by something beautiful, like a flower. Or a work of art like a song steeped in memories, an incredible painting, or a play.  And in my favorite way: traveling in a special place.

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Our charming Roman Guy guide at the Colosseum in Rome.

I trust that teacher Carrie is correct, and that with a good amount of work, I could find myself achieving joy someday no matter where I am or what I’m doing.  But even though joy shouldn’t be conditional, it usually is. And so I’m having a good deal of trouble finding joy without being able to rely on the triggers that aren’t so accessible now and for the forseeable future.  And with rumors flying, like one I heard about international travel to Europe not being expected to return to normal levels until 2023, my personal need to build new joy triggers – and I imagine yours, too – is acute.
Luckily, joy slapped me in the face yesterday, in the best of ways, by a premiere performance by The Old Globe, which was only accessible for a short period due to contractual obligations. Which has inspired me to curate this list of ways for those of us that love travel – especially cultural travel, and traveling in Italy – to find joy until we become fluent in creating it for ourselves.  I’ve focused this list on people, places, and things that you might not have already been exposed to, imagining you’ve already heard about major cultural outlets’ offerings, like the much-referenced Uffizi virtual tour.

1. Teleport yourself to London in Shakespeare’s time by joining in on The Old Globe’s artistic director’s weekly celebration of Shakespearean sonnets on YouTube.  He’s a Shakespeare scholar and these weekly talks have been generating quite a buzz.

2. Take part in the Italian Renaissance with Renaissance art historian Paola Vojnovic’s talks, interviews, and master classes! I got to know Paola in the year I lived in Florence, and she is someone adept at inspiring joy.  Learn more about everything she has coming up here.  And if reading is something that gives you much joy, take a look at Paola’s book recommendations (scroll through the photos for titles) that will surely make you feel like you are in Italy.

3. Next, head over to Venice with travel writer and longtime Venice expert Monica Cesarato’s Instagram live series called #VeniceMeets, usually held on various days at 6pm CET, noon EST and 9am PST.  Learn more on Monica’s Instagram profile.

4. Travel throughout Italy via Italian cinema and the well-curated selections of the San Diego Italian Film Festival.  They are hosting regular virtual discussions, and give detailed direction on accessing a great selection of Italian film (all offering English subtitles) via various streaming services.

5. I’m new to the app, Steller, even though it has been around a while.  It is giving me much joy perusing the stories from faraway places, like the Netherlands, or places that feel a bit closer to some of us, like the Muir Woods. And finally, my first story about my favorite city, Bologna.

6. Finally, how about something as simple as finding a way to incorporate music into your life more regularly? I’ve decided to cut down on listening to news broadcasts, and instead, spend  more time enjoying my favorite music.  I’ve dug up old playlists and albums that I listened to during different periods of my life.  The songs transport me to nights in Bologna, long walks in New York, and parties in Pittsburgh.  I forget how much joy good music gives me until it becomes an important part of my life again.

While those are my current favorite outlets for finding joy, I’m so interested in what you’ve found that is making you happy these days.  Please do share in the comments section so we can continue to grow this list!  In the meantime, take care of yourself, and enjoy!

Bologna: the city of nighttime.

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As the host of the oldest university in the western world, Bologna has been a second home for young people from across Europe for centuries. And with the saturation of young people comes the inevitable nightlife of those who don’t have morning meetings and people depending on them to make breakfast.
I’m one of those students that made my pilgrimage to Bologna, only to be charmed by the nighttime energy of this city. Only in Bologna does coming home at 3am on a Saturday night feel early.  After five years of this, I’ve finally learned to prioritize my favorite places, and cut my nights short so I actually come home before sunrise.  Sometimes.
The energy of the city is visceral, and therefore photographable.  Instead of always wasting my nights away in laughter and Italian wine, I’ve started shooting instead.  Or at least, taking a few minutes to shoot on my way home, ha!  My new lens is a f/1.8, and the results have been fantastic.  I hope you enjoy my meanderings through the streets of Bologna, seen below.  And stay tuned for a vlog coming soon, featuring interviews with Bologna’s best bartenders!
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Italian Liberation Day in Bologna


Today is a special day in Italy. A holiday from work, a day spent relaxing with family and friends, enjoying the new season of warmer weather, and remembering the close of a dark period in Italian history.

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The Cineteca’s Instagram account from this week posted historical photos of these days 71 years ago, including this huge crowd on the streets in the center of Bologna.


April 25 is known in Italy as the Anniversario della Liberazione d’Italia, or the Anniversario della Resistenza. It was during these last weeks of April, 71 years ago, that one by one the cities of Northern Italy successfully renounced 20 years of fascist dictatorship, and five years of war. A friend of mine equated it to the 4th of July in the United States, as what was happening 71 years ago in Italy created the momentum for what would officially become Italy as we know it today, the Italian Republic, when the constitution was signed in 1948.

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A day of sunshine in Piazza Maggiore, Bologna. This is where some of today’s festivities take place, and where they took place the very first time.


As an ex-patriot living in Italy, these holidays always catch me by surprise. Growing up in your own culture, holidays are tied to so many memories and anticipating them is second nature. But when you are living outside of your culture, none of these triggers exist and life from one day to the next is just one huge learning lesson.

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Late afternoon sun in Piazza Maggiore.


Even though I’ve lived in Bologna for several years already, I’m still learning. I just found out from a friend that Bologna is an important destination for Italians celebrating this holiday. The city is full today – it is very exciting.



As an American, it is hard for me to understand the impact of a war happening in someone’s own backyard, and therefore, the significance of a holiday dedicated to the end of such a war.

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Another historical shot from Cineteca’s collection: A happy group celebrating 71 years ago in Piazza Maggiore.


I’ll never forget the afternoon that my English student, a Bologna police officer and a lover of history, showed me something in Bologna’s central square, Piazza Maggiore, that changed the way I look at this hub of activity and concentration of precious architecture in the center of the city.

We took a familiar path toward the piazza, one that I had walked hundreds of times, and he stopped me just as we were stepping up onto the center walkway.

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Piazza Maggiore during a night spring rain.


“See here? Where the stone is missing? Do you know why it looks like this?”

I looked around. Strange, he was totally right. There were chunks of stone missing along this shallow curb that I had never noticed. But it wasn’t like that around the whole walkway, as far as I could see.

“Weird, I never notice,” I responded. “Why is it like that?”

“The tanks,” he responded. “From the war. They would damage the stone when they were rolling up onto the curb to go to the center of the piazza.”

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From this photo posted by the Cineteca, you can see one of the tanks he must be referencing.


I was flabbergasted. The war seemed so long ago, but this visible damage to the piazza in front of me made it so tangible. “Why didn’t they ever fix it? It has been so long!”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Maybe they want to remember…”

In honor of today, I paid a visit to that curb, and took this picture. Turns out I wasn’t the only one with this idea. The gentlemen on the left side of the photo were doing the same thing. You can see the same clock tower in the background here as is pictured above the tank in the historical shot.

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Visiting the broken curb in Piazza Maggiore today.


I’m discovering a little bit more every day how rich our pasts are, and how much there is to be found just below our footsteps.  And most of all, I’m grateful to be included in today’s important festivities on this day of liberation in Italy. Here’s to many more to come!

Saint Faustino’s Day: Celebrating Singledom the Italian Way

After spending most of the last five years of my life in Bologna, Italy, the day after Valentine’s Day will never be the same.  With the same pioneering, rule-breaking spirit that the Italians have brought to art, fashion, engineering, architecture, and crime, they’ve also brought to Valentine’s Day by creating their own holiday celebrating singles everywhere (everywhere meaning: the more the merrier) called Saint Faustino’s Day.  Happening annually on February 15th, the holiday would more appropriately be described as “clandestine lovers day.”  Since today is Saint Faustino’s Day, and you might not find yourself anywhere near Italy, here’s a little story to get you inspired for next year’s party planning.

It was a quiet afternoon in January and my tranquil afternoon was rudely interrupted by my telephone.

“Riiiiiiing!”

“Hello?” I answered from my apartment in Bologna, Italy.

“Yo Peg!  What’s up?  Can I use your place the day after Valentine’s Day?” comes the voice of my high school friend, also an American living in Bologna, and herein referred to as GF to protect his identity.

“What?! Why?”

“Why do you think? I want to meet girls!”

Sigh.  Of course.

“I don’t understand how your constant interest in the opposite sex has anything to do with my place or the day after Valentine’s Day,” I responded with the typical bit of annoyance creeping into my voice, a common occurrence in conversations with GF.

“Peg, what’s your problem?  Everyone knows the day after Valentine’s Day is singles day in Italy. I can’t have a party at my place!  I’d have to do the cleaning up!”

Obviously my friend GF has a lot of redeeming qualities that outweigh – or at least balance – the less than ideal ones.  And, as usual, I fell prey to his obscure charm and agreed to host a February 15th singles party at my apartment, much to the chagrin of my three roommates. I mean, hey, I was single.  Why not get into the spirit, right?  No sense in languishing in feelings of inadequacy on Valentine’s Day when I can be busy party planning for Saint Faustino’s Day.

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Party planning in Bologna.

Party-planning immediately got underway, meaning I created what turned out to be a fairly robust Facebook invite.  GF constantly monitored it to check out how attractive the girls were that had RSVPed “yes.”

But as the big day approached, I got sick.  Strep throat.  It wasn’t pretty. And I had no insurance to get antibiotics, as my “permission to stay” application had not been finalized yet by the Italian authorities, which meant that I was living in a crack within Italian bureaucracy and had no legitimate access to healthcare (although, to their credit, I could always go to the hospital and would be well taken care of).  On February 12th I found myself sitting and crying on the couch in our dining room because my fever was so high. I didn’t know what to do, and things really weren’t looking good for Saint Faustino. My Turkish roommate Zey, who is possibly the nicest person on earth, walked by on the way to the kitchen.  She assessed the situation (me) and quickly produced the travel antibiotic she always gets before leaving Istanbul and returning to Bologna.

I started taking them right away.  I stayed in bed constantly, abstaining from all social invites and even cancelling teaching English lessons.  I was determined: I had to get well for the Saint Faustino party.

Valentine’s Day came and went quickly.  Forgettable.  And I quickly found myself waking up on Saint Faustino’s Day.  I was still really sick.  So what did I do?  I got out of bed, took a shower, and put on my best pink cocktail dress and a whole lotta makeup.  I figured if I wasn’t going to heal the old-fashioned way, I may as well just give it the good old college try.

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We decorated our dining-room-with-a-couch with a random assortment of accessories from the 99 cent store (actually, multiple 99 cent stores, since they are practically on every corner in Bologna).  Friends started arriving, mostly from my graduate program at the University of Bologna and our extended circle.  GF arrived fashionably late with his sidekick and enough liquor for an army.  He immediately started complaining about my playlist and anxiously awaiting enough guests to make the party not embarrassingly empty.

And came they did.  Very fashionably late. But what would a party be in Italy if the guests arrived before 11pm?  Boring, that’s what! 😉  Friends came in groups and trickles of singles that we knew from all over town.  People tossed their coats in my room.
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Was everyone single?  Not even close.  But we all had at least one thing in common – we were all indisputably fun-loving.  Somebody brought a guitar.  Others starting noting my Valentine’s accessories and playing games.  People paired up and then mingled again. A couple found my room suitable for making out, which didn’t stop people from grabbing their coats and enjoying the entertainment.
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I noticed my project partner in my statistics class was spending a long time in my kitchen talking with the roommate of one of our classmates, a beautiful Italian woman.  GF noticed too and wasted no time in swooping in as soon as my statistics partner left early.  Hallelujah!  The party was officially a success.  GF met a beautiful woman that he wouldn’t have met otherwise.

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I don’t remember when GF and his Saint Faustino’s Day interest left.  But I remember quite distinctly that my last party guests didn’t leave till 4am.  And they insisted I join them wherever they were going next.  I declined, out of character for me.

I didn’t want to push my luck.  It was 4am, I was feeling better than I had in over a week, GF was happy, and I had just thrown a memorably enjoyable party.  Life was good.

So I went to bed, and woke up feeling awesome.  GF called.  No fireworks with his Saint Faustino’s Day catch, but he was happy nonetheless.  My statistics partner messaged me.  He wanted me to help him get to know this girl better.  The same girl.

Never a dull moment.

And now, they are married.  My statistics partner and the beautiful Italian girl that made such a splash at my first Saint Faustino’s Day party.  I can barely wait to tell their kids the story of how their parents met in my kitchen.  And it is all thanks to GF, and the fierce spirit of the Italians in their quest for love.  There is no occasion not worthy of pursuing potentially life-changing love, especially the day after Valentine’s Day.  Here’s to making the most of every day, especially today.  Happy Saint Faustino’s Day!!!

Illustrious Instants: An Afternoon Stroll in Bologna

This photo is perhaps the most “illustrious” of my “instants” so far. The photo isn’t meant to demonstrate fabulous composition, color, movement, etc. The photo taking is normal, but the subjects are wonderful. 
  
I took this photo because this relationship – daughter and mother taking a simple afternoon stroll -represents Italy for me in a special way. The unconditional love and family ties that still run deep in this country are a joy to witness. 
I am always grateful for the perspective that witnessing moments like these in countries other than my own have given me, and I hope for the same opportunities for you as well!

Anniversaries 

 

The center of Bologna’s historic center

It snuck up on me…exactly one year ago today I left Bologna to return to family, friends, and career in the US. It hasn’t been an easy year, but I don’t regret it, especially the moments spent with loved ones.
First selfie stateside with my host and wonderful friend Janet at her work in New York, MOMA, last May 19
 
I really had no idea of the level of challenge that would accompany returning to my own country after 3.5 years abroad.  I just remember sitting in my ex-boyfriend’s car as we sped to Malpensa airport near Milan, looking out the window at the bright Italian sunlight and the green countryside, wondering what would lie ahead. One year ago to the hour. 
Celebrating the beautiful climate on a beach adventure near my home in San Diego with visiting Swedish friends
  
In retrospect, my naïveté supported me, as if I had known in advance, I don’t think I would have had the guts to do it.  But I am still trying to understand why returning “home” can be such a challenge! 
The support from both sides of the pond, including the blogging community, has been a blessing…extending a big, heartfelt thanks.
 
Some graffiti of my name a mysterious admirer wrote on the side of the building where I lived in Bologna is still there, just faded.
   

Illustrious Instants: Celebrating spring in Bologna’s beautiful colli (hills)

It was almost exactly one year ago today that this moment was captured, on one of those blissful Sunday afternoons with friends and nothing else on your mind to distract you and keep you from enjoying every second of now. I had nothing on the agenda other than relaxing, eating, and catching up with/getting to know the gals.

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One of the many gorgeous views from Fienile Fluo

It is one of those memories that is still as vibrant as the colors in these photos, and will not soon fade. The restaurant, Fienile Fluo, is in the perfect location, but unfortunately the food isn’t perfect, and the service is even worse.  It is the place to go for a day like this: when you have a lot of time, you have great company so you don’t demand a lot of attention, and you aren’t so concerned with the quality of your meal.  In the perfect storm when most of these conditions are met, you can’t ask for a better place to be.

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My friend Ana proudly displaying her lunch

Meat and cheese plates are great choices at places like this where food quality is inconsistent.

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More lunch goodness

I broke away from lunch for a  bit to take a few pictures.  There was lots of action to capture…like the family dog…

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The family dog at Fienile Fluo was also enjoying the weather

A tractor…;)

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Everyone is getting ready for spring.

I couldn’t take a bad shot. Bologna, while unfortunately stuck in a valley that traps bad weather, also reaps the advantages of being surrounded by these gorgeous hills (called “colli” in Italian).  After a long winter of bearing the brunt of the cold, emerging into the hills was the perfect way to celebrate the spring. A life full of afternoons like these is certainly a happy life…I wish for more of them for you and me. 🙂

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Here’s our group…we all hail from different cities (and some of us even different countries!), but we got along great. 🙂

Celebrating the Italian Summer at the Seaside in Cesenatico

Italians find themselves at the sea nearly every summer weekend, whether they smartly rent or own a whole beach house, or just a few feet of sand under an umbrella.  Having lived in Bologna for years and living as any honorable Italian would do, I joined in the weekend beach-side adventures, fleeing as far as Ancona, but mostly sticking directly East of Bologna in Rimini, Riccione and Ravenna.  But mostly Rimini, because it was familiar.  As soon as the fan came down off the top shelf of my closet and propped up by my bed, the early Saturday morning train rides to Rimini commenced. So it was fitting that I spent my last weekend in Italy before my big return to the United States relaxing at the Italian seaside lifestyle that had defined my summers there.  But this time I didn’t have to wake up early and take the train.  Instead, my boyfriend at the time preferred to drive.  And he was a different sort of character.  He didn’t do things the same way everyone else did.  Instead, he suggested we go to the tiny town of Cesenatico.  I didn’t have the slightest idea what to expect, but as always, I was up for the adventure.

The canal leading to the sea in Cesenatico, Italy
The canal leading to the sea in Cesenatico, Italy

The non-eventful drive and the parking process played out like all of my other beach adventures.  The drive east toward the Adriatic Sea is flat with huge green fields broken up by an occasional ancient structure.  As you approach the sea, there are lots of trees shading the streets and houses.  I was unsuspecting as we parked in an ugly supermarket parking lot until we emerged onto the main walkway of the village.  Stretching before me was a long canal that ran to the sea, flanked by colorful buildings and sporting a long line of cleverly named boats.  But these weren’t recreational boats, they were fishing boats.  And the canal, apparently, is famous because it was once surveyed by Leonardo da Vinci.  Only in Italy.

Fishing boats in Cesenatico, Italy
Fishing boats in Cesenatico, Italy

I was surprised by my surroundings.  “Where are we again?” I asked him.  I’m bad with proper nouns. “Cesenatico,” he replied. “But this place is so cool – why doesn’t everyone come here?” “I don’t know,” he said. “But that’s why I like it.  Not everyone comes here.”

 A boy playing on the beach in Cesenatico, Italy
A boy playing on the beach in Cesenatico, Italy

He was right.  There were definitely other Italian tourists, but they were mostly families.  Instead of walking into a tourist trap, it felt instead like we were stepping into the seaside life of these lucky Italians that call Cesenatico home.

A girl taking a stroll along the beach on her own in Cesenatico, Italy
A girl taking a stroll along the beach on her own in Cesenatico, Italy

We walked down the crowded main stretch along the canal, toward the sea.  I almost felt like a voyeur, watching all the families and the family dogs enjoying their Saturday.  There was even a funky shaped boat that cost one euro that would take you to the other side of the canal if you so desired.

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We drifted until we couldn’t walk anymore, to the point at the end of the boardwalk.  Fishermen and teens and couples like us trickled around, but nothing overwhelming.  Near the boardwalk was a sprawling restaurant with whitewashed walls and tables.  We were led to a table in the sand.  A family with a toddler playing in the sand sat at the next table.  We sat a bit with our drinks, the sight and sounds of the sea releasing our stress, much of which stemmed from my impending departure.   “It seems impossible to believe that in a week you will be in New York.  From Cesenatico to New York – I can’t imagine a bigger change,” said my traveling companion.  I sat and munched my olive and took a sip of prosecco.  He was right.  At that moment, New York was absolutely worlds away from Cesenatico.

The scene of a small town that looks after itself in Cesenatico, Italy
The scene of a small town that looks after itself in Cesenatico, Italy

We eventually found ourselves making our way back up the canal.  A pair of sunglasses caught his eye, and as he tried them on I wandered a few steps and discovered a little fair on a tiny side street, so characteristic of Italy.  Everywhere I turned this little street was dripping with charm – a candy-cane striped awning and a retro bike, a gelato shop that tempted my traveling companion, and knitted jellyfish hanging from a string tied to streetlights.

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I followed the jellyfish hanging from the sky, one by one, to a small, quiet piazza, full of families and a few curious adults, officially stepping over any remaining line between tourist and resident.  To my delight, there were nautical-inspired knittings livening up the ancient stone fountain, church, and doorways of the building facing the piazza, to match the hanging jellyfish.

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Children played under trees decorated with diamonds and more jellyfish.

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With a bit of internet research, I realized I had stumbled upon Cesenatico’s Urban Knitting Group “Il Mare in Conserva,” an installation art exhibit in the Piazzetta delle Conserve.

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I was utterly charmed to so unexpectedly wander into this peaceful, simple world.  I participated as an outsider, snapping photos of the happy children and cats, until realizing my travel companion had probably finished his gelato by now.

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I reluctantly followed the jellyfish back, and found him happy as a clam (no pun intended), taking advantage of his phone’s data plan as the celebrations went on around him.

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We made our way back to the car slowly, our departure marking a transition into a much more complicated world, void of knitted jellyfish and children playing jump-rope on the street.  It had not been just another beach adventure.  It was the end of an era of a naive American girl marveling in the oddities and delights of a beach life so different from my Southern California home.  And the beginning of a mysterious something else.

Kite flying at midnight, Notte Bianca, and how I fell in love with Bologna again

I guess it is pretty much a given that living far away from home is never easy.  And living in a different country is equally challenging.  So at my three-year anniversary of living both of these realities, I’ve been feeling a bit tired. And ready to go home.  But after the night before last, thanks to Bologna’s annual Notte Bianca, a.k.a. Art City White Night, I am comforted knowing I can leave Italy on a happy note.  The infatuation for Italy that I arrived here with has been substituted with a real, sincere love based on a foundation of its awesomeness: the tangible, ever-present appreciation for enjoying the best things in life – food, people, traveling, and culture.

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Similar events in the US (on a smaller scale) include Ray at Night in San Diego and the monthly Pittsburgh gallery crawl, but due to the infrequency of Art City White Night and the given respect for its sister event, Arte Fiera, Notte Bianca is truly an opportunity to see the beautiful nooks and crannies of Bologna’s heritage that are rarely open to the public. Really, it is kind of tourist’s dream.

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My first year in Bologna, Art City White Night was struck by bitter cold and it was all I could do to make it out of the house. Subsequent years I have made the fatal mistake of taking Art City White Night as an opportunity to eat and drink in good company. But I was overwhelmingly mistaken, because bars and restaurants are open every night, and during Art City White Night, they are an overcrowded nightmare.

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So, third time’s a charm. This year, my final year, I happened to be on photo assignment for a local contemporary art magazine, Droste Effect Magazine, and I was determined to visit as many participating locations as possible. Alone, and lugging a lot of equipment, I was not anticipating a great evening. But, as what you expect always seems to end up completely opposite, the evening was absolutely marvelous. I was continually floored by what I discovered…a constant grab bag of delights and possibly my best night ever in Bologna. I am no expert on visual art. But I love these events because you don’t have to know anything about art.  The city was bursting with people discovering their city and having fun.  Not bad.

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And, I tell ya, I will not soon forget the beauty I witnessed on Saturday. I stumbled into places I’ve been countless times, like the historic grocery market, that I will never see the same way after following the beautiful sound of an accordion only to discover a man passionately playing amongst the quiet stalls of vegetable merchants.

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Or the main piazza, Piazza Maggiore, which I walked through on my way to another gallery, only to find myself surrounded by people flying kites at midnight.  I was dumfounded for a moment…kites?  Midnight?  Winter? Only in Italy… 🙂  It will be forever burned into my memory.

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But really, the opportunity to go behind closed doors was the most memorable, from a famously transformed historical church boasting a contemporary art installation on the altar, which was an amazing juxtaposition of contemporary and historical art,

Flavio Favelli at Oratorio San Filippo Neri, Bologna

to skipping an art exhibit in favor of just enjoying the staircase leading to the show, which was hidden within city’s administration buildings. This is the most dramatic staircase I have ever encountered, and unfortunately, my photo doesn’t do it justice.

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Another highlight was being invited into the city’s more exclusive locations, like The Grand Hotel Majestic, where the likes of Elton John and Princess Diana have stayed while visiting Bologna,

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and marveling at the frescos on the ceilings of the beautiful buildings in the city center.

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I am trying to compare this evening to a similar evening in my life, but I really can’t think of anything that can compare.  I felt like Alice in Wonderland, wandering through Bologna with no idea what marvel or magical character I would find next. And in the end, a powerful reminder of what a gift it has been to live in this beautiful place.

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And why oh why didn’t I take more advantage of it? I guess every regret is just a lesson learned, and hopefully a lesson passed on. Put yourself out there and…you will be rewarded. 🙂

The sound of vacation.

What is it about the sound of the beach…the breeze, the drone of the ocean and the occasional squawk of a seagull that is powerful enough to make (almost) all of your worries melt away?  And certainly powerful enough to motivate you to look slightly absurd holding a seashell to your ear once in a while, searching for that sound that can teleport you back to that beach where you can relax worry-less once again…at least for a few seconds.

Venice, Italy
Venice, Italy (photo by me)

I mean, certainly we don’t choose our vacations based on sound.  But these sounds  are rather powerful.  Or a least more powerful than I had ever given them credit for.

Cinque Terre. Italy
Cinque Terre, Italy (photo by me)


It was an on an afternoon stroll on a quiet winter day in Venice’s Dorsoduro district on the last day of the Biennale, with not a soul in sight, that the unmistakable sound of small waves lapping against the sides of the canal and the repetitive thud of the boats shifting with the water that it finally hit me: I’m in Venice.


You would think this obvious fact would have hit me when I was walking through Piazza San Marco, watching the pigeons and the tourists (or more precisely, the pigeons playfully attacking the tourists), and perhaps some pretty notable architecture.  Or at the very least when I was schlepping across the Grand Canal with motorboats whizzing by and gondolas drifting peacefully along.


Instead, it was on this nondescript canal, alone, that the reality of my environment hit me.  And as I was walking along this canal in Venice, listening to these sounds of the boats and the waves, I thought of my second most unmistakable city sound.  Waking up in Brooklyn, New York, to the echo of a car driving down narrow 4th St. and the familiar bump of the manhole lid as the tire rolled over it, voices shouting in the distance, and an inevitable car alarm sounding.

New York, NY
New York, NY (photo by me)

And then I thought of Bologna, Italy, and the sound of the rolling suitcases of the students bumping along the cobblestone streets on their way to and from their family homes in villages outside Bologna every weekend.

Bologna, Italy
Bologna, Italy (photo by me)

And then Florence, and the overwhelming sound of American English speakers.

Florence, Italy
Florence, Italy (photo by me)

The indescribable and almost soundless sound of fresh snow falling in mass in the Italian Dolomites…

The echoing rolling wheels and clattering fall of a skateboard in San Diego…

San Diego, CA
San Diego, CA (photo by me)

And last but not least, in my hometown of El Centro, California, the peaceful receptive chirp of crickets follows you for months during the never-ending summers.

El Centro, CA
El Centro, CA (photo by me)

The more I think of these sounds, the more I am transported to these places.  More than my usual memories of people or moments on vacations.  The memories of these sounds have a way of attaching themselves to all the nuances of these places that you only really observe when you are alone.  What are your favorite sounds?  I’m curious…