Ah, Venice!

The best part about the Ducal Palace in St. Mark’s square is the secret tour. Several small, boxed rooms hide in the top floor of the Ducal. Inquisition rooms, and a few prison cells. Our tour guide, Elizabeth, brought the old rooms to life by the telling of Casanova’s great escape. I stood in his cell, and thought about the people through all the years. They lived their lives just as natural as we do, many of them never knowing how we of the future poke and prod and awe as we do.

How does one not poke and prod and awe? Everything in Venice appeared as eye candy. Mozart’s home. Marco Polo’s home. The Academia. Even the thirteenth century villa we occupied filled me with wonder. Whenever the bells of St. Mark chimed I felt perfectly happy. I could gaze hours at frescos, and gain a ridiculous amount of weight devouring Gilato.

I loved Milan. Torino was nice. Venice became a part of me.