When I dated The Count, back in 2003-2004, which is another whole story, I went to visit him in Switzerland and we drove to Venice for Carnivale. This is my story, after the jump. And pictures, too!
The Count did not believe me when I told him that I do not function when awakened at 7:30AM by an alarm clock. We drove cross the Swiss-Italian border blasting Frank Sinatra at the Sands with Count Basie and he avoided me until I became a functioning human being, and then we arrived in Venice. After a fine lunch outside in the sun, I expertly led him to Piazza San Marco, with the map of Venice that was burned into my soul during my first visit, in January of last year with my cousin Louis.
It was when Louis had come to keep me company during my first Christmas out of the States. I was still living in Lavinio, and we were bored out of our skulls in a town where not only were the majority of businesses closed for the winter; those remaining were closed for the holidays.
We went into Rome, bought cheap tickets to Venice, and went for a couple days. I remember getting off the traghetto, or public transport boat, and coming into Piazza San Marco. You make that left and the whole piazza unfolds before you. You’re freaking out but then you look to your right and HOLY CRAP it’s the basilica OH MY GOD. It was that moment when I realized that Venice might be the coolest place on earth, and I proceeded to memorize it so as to keep it with me at all times.
And now here I was, a little over a year later, at Carnivale with The Count! It’s a mix of Phladelphia’s Mummer’s Parade and Eyes Wide Shut. Fabulous. FABULOUS!
We walked around and purposely got lost a bit, and he kissed me on tiny empty streets. We made our way back to Piazza San Marco and watched the doings of so, so many people. He listens better than I thought he does, because although I had only mentioned Harry’s Bar and Hemingway and bellinis once when he picked me up in Milan, I suddenly found myself at a table in said bar with said drink placed in front of me, The Count laughing at my bliss.
Then we returned to the car and drove back to Switzerland, listening to the radio, talking again about anything and everything. We were starving when we got back to Lugano, but it was late on a Sunday night and nothing was open. I bet not many people can say this: I ate dinner with an Italian count at a Burger King in Switzerland.
There is little greater feeling than that of being on the Eurostar, pulling into Rome, and having it feel like home. Near tears again from the sheer happiness of living here, of having this city be the place to which I return from all these amazing experiences. Can I ever love anyone again, when this place so clearly has seduced me, addicting me to it?