The view from the Rialto bridge in Venice is – in a word – indescribable. Yes, you are submerged in tourists. But if you can just face forward and take a deep breath and let the beauty of Venice pour in, you will never forget the moment. The curve of the Grand Canal teeming with activity just below your feet, the pastel painted buildings lining the water with bobbing boats parked steps away. Yesterday was a warm, sunny day, and the canal was gleaming with energy. Even the birds seemed to know this was the place to be.
Living far away from home isn’t always easy. But this sunset view of St. Peter’s Basilica just off of the Piazza dei Cavalieri di Malta in Rome has a way of melting away all of my homesickness. Just one gentle sweep of my eyes across the Roman rooftops and all my worries are gone…
A country as beloved by Americans as Italy means there are a lot of tourists here. And while there’s technically nothing wrong with lots of tourists, the general consensus would be that high ratios of tourists greatly diminish the potential for experiencing a country as we dream of, stepping out of the predictability of our lives into a temporary, magical world where everything is different and fascinating. I’ll never forget the American woman who unknowingly cut into all of our “magical” experiences when she loudly announced at a restaurant in Venice, “Hey, y’all got somethin’ ta eat ’round here?”
I can’t tell you how many times I have been to Florence or Venice or Cinque Terre and felt sorry for some of the tourists. Now, don’t get me wrong – a trip to Florence is amazing no matter what. But an Italian vacation hitting only the most famous cities means never truly touching the spirit of the Italian lifestyle, which, technically, is what brings us here to begin with, right? Instead, I recommend with gusto – even if your next vacation outside of your country is short – scheduling in some time in a city off the beaten path, no matter how small and insignificant that city may seem. These are the places that incubate those travelling moments you’ll never forget.
Take Treviso for instance. With a mere 20 minute time investment on a train leaving from Venice every half hour or so, you’ll be so far from the crowds of tourists that you’ll think your train crossed you into some sort of other dimension instead of just transporting you 25 miles away. Impeccably maintained with remains of frescos adorning many buildings,
and lazy art-filled canals cutting through the center of town, dotted by chic cafes and high quality osterias,
surprisingly even many other Italians don’t give this beautiful city its due credit.
My conversation announcing my trip to Treviso to my Bolognese English students went something like this:
“I’m going to Treviso Sunday!”
“Treviso? Why??”
“Because I want to go someplace new!”
“There’s nothing in Treviso. Don’t go there.”
But still itching to get out of Bologna and not wanting to spend a lot of money, I went anyway, inspired by the advice I found in the blog, Around and About Treviso. But because of my friends’ bad advice, I was so disillusioned about Treviso’s potential before I even arrived that I only scheduled about five hours of time to explore the city, thinking that would be more than enough time. Fortunately, I was quite mistaken.
Instead, what I found in Treviso was an afternoon of nothing but pleasure. The center of the relaxed city is mostly closed to traffic. I let out a sigh of relief as I slowed my normal pace to stroll Treviso’s clean streets under the mini porticos, enjoying the beautiful architectural touches of the thoughtfully updated medieval buildings.
And most of my day continued like that. I followed all the instructions on the blog except taking advantage of the nature trail because I ran out of time. I went by the three beautiful churches. I had the best tiramisu I’ve ever eaten at Antica Pasticceria Nascimben, which is only fitting, being that Treviso is considered to be the home of tiramisu.
I checked out the exhibit at Ca’ dei Carraresi, beautifully positioned with picture windows along one of the main canals. But the most important “attraction” in Treviso is that the city shines so much with the beauty of the unmistakable care that it has been given over the years, and I was content just to spend the day walking the streets and people watching.
No travel guide would ever put this on the list of “must-dos” in a city, but in Treviso there’s nothing better than an afternoon of petting happy dogs (and children dressed as dogs!) on walks with their families,
resting a moment on a park bench to enjoy an outdoor sculpture bathed in nature, or buying a two euro glass of local prosecco to sit and enjoy the beautiful canal view for just a bit longer.
I hope to go back soon, this time for a weekend. And in the meantime Treviso stands tall and proud among my memories of my Italian adventures. In my opinion, we spend too much time focusing on seeing “the sights.” We are determined to have the best vacations, and I guess that’s the simplest strategy to achieve this. But to have the opportunity to be a quiet guest in a foreign, beautiful world and just to watch, and to learn, those people’s lives…that, I think, is the best. I hope you can someday make it to Treviso, and if not, that you find your own Treviso soon. There’s probably one closer than you think.
I live in Bologna, Italy, a mere five and a half-hour drive from Basel, Switzerland, which hosts one of the most important annual modern and contemporary art shows in the world, Art Basel. In my two years of living in Bologna, did it ever occur to me to make a trip to Basel? No. Why not? Good question. Laziness…money…ignorance perhaps…I guess it gets the best of us sometimes. Our own backyards are sometimes the last place we explore. In this case, I was lucky enough that my friend Zong rescued me from my remiss by inviting me to meet him at his gallery’s exhibition this year at Art Basel.
Having virtually no visual arts education and not being a fan of fairs and trade shows in general, my decision to go was in the spirit of adventure, friendship, and trust in Art Basel’s excellent reputation. And, well, why not? The exhibition spanned a full week in Basel, with about 300 galleries exhibiting, strictly chosen from a group of 2,000 applicants. It sounded promising.
Simply put, Art Basel wholly lived up to its reputation and in scale, was truly the most impressive collection of modern and contemporary art I have seen in my life. And I really can’t stress this enough – you don’t need to know anything about art to enjoy an exhibition like this. From all-star artists like Picasso and Warhol, furniture and design displays, photography, and installation art, there is something for everyone. And don’t even try looking at everything – there’s no time. Just stop and look at what really gets you.
Statistically speaking, there is something for everyone, and because this is not your average art show, that something is likely to be, well, amazing. I will never forget the moment I walked into one of the exhibit halls at Art Basel, roughly the size of a football field, and realized the entire hall was dedicated to installation art. This is not the sort of thing you find every day. I suddenly felt like an eight-year-old that just walked into Disneyland. I spent the afternoon weaving my way between larger than life paintings with their own soundtracks (think Moby Dick dressed in costume complete with whale sounds and a recorded reading), huge sculptures, through installed walls of fictional deserted businesses on an urban street, and into countless dark rooms with video projects, each one like a treasure waiting to be pulled out of a grab bag. By the end of the day, my mind was soaring from all the stimulation from so many visual delights. I was thrilled. I even managed to convince my athletic and left-brained travel companion, David, to come. He found solace in the visual mind tricks from architecturally inspired installations.
And the cherry on top of the fabulousness that was Art Basel was the beautiful, accessible, and relaxed city of Basel. While the city was packed with people attending the exhibition, there was plenty of room for everyone (aside from the steep hotel prices – book in advance). I spent a relaxing evening enjoying a stroll along the River Rhine, soaking in the beautiful architecture and the wonderfully relaxed vibe. My friend David spent the day hiking along the river, which he filled me in on with his iPhone photos when we met later for dinner at a local favorite for beer, The Fischerstube.
Reuniting with Zong in what really did turn out to be a mecca of modern and contemporary art, I really started kicking myself for not being more proactive with my travel adventure research and coming to Art Basel sooner. How many other amazing places are there to explore and things to do in the world am I missing because, well, no one has invited me? I’ve really got to get on this…Next year, Venice Biennale, here I come!
Here’s a slide show of my favorite photos from Basel:
Art Basel 2013, a set on Flickr.
Monique is a great friend of mine from San Diego, and also one of the most adventurous people I know. Every time I talk with her she is on another adventure, whether it be giving up everything she has and moving to Canada, breaking into the theatre scene in Portland, Oregon, or giving screenwriting a try. When I asked her what her favorite travel memory was for her contribution to our traveler page, this is the memory that she included. She was so specific with everything she loved about Santos, that I asked her to write a post about it. Thanks Monique!
This is a story about one of my favorite trips to Santos, Brazil. Several years ago I played capoeira and my teacher took a few of us to his home town in Santos. We stayed at a cute little hotel run by one of his friends. We got breakfast every morning complete with fresh fruit and juices. It was right around the corner from an arboretom, Orquidário de Santos and a short walk to the beach.
We went to the beach nearly ever day. I’d always have to stop for fresh squeezed sugar cane juice from a vendor parked next to the beach bike path. We felt spoiled laying out in the sun, with vendors getting us anything we needed: food, drinks (alcohol included), umbrellas, and chairs. One of my teacher’s friends was a pro surfer that started the first surf school in Santos. People would donate old equipment so kids could have something to learn on. He also made surf boards at the school. We had a couple of lessons and I learned how to surf for the first time!
The main purpose of the trip was to visit his teacher’s studio as well as a couple of other studios, but we hardly spent any time playing. Instead we were at the beach, shopping, sightseeing and just enjoying the people. My teacher is well-known in his city and we couldn’t go anywhere without someone calling out to say hi to him. That also meant we met a lot of fun people who took care of us and showed us around. I started getting recognized and people would wave hello to me. I was becoming a local.
One Saturday night we went to an amazing fish dinner. We crossed the water in little ferry boats to favelas on an island. It took place in this large backyard of a family. They sold tickets which included the meal, as well as live music and dancing. In the back were a few vendors selling jewelry. I bought one of my favorite bracelets from a nice lady that made it by hand. The next week I saw her as we came out of a little shopping center in Gonzaga. She greeted me as if I was an old friend she hadn’t seen for a while.
We did quite a bit of sight-seeing, including visiting São Vicente. We got in an ample amount of dancing, videoke, and live music. On my last night there, we danced the night away at a club on this small island just off the coast. The view was amazing!
The trip was just so much fun. I could easily see myself staying there. Did I mention how beautiful it was and the abundance of fresh fruit? Needless to say I cried when I boarded the bus to come home.
An intense love of travel has inspired me to start this blog, so I can think of nothing more appropriate as the subject of my first blog post than a simple question: why in the world do we love to travel so much?
Let’s face it. Our beds at home are pretty comfortable and time zones are pretty significant. And who really likes airports anyway?
I get sick within thirty seconds of smelling jet-fuel. I always forget my perfume. And every day on vacation is a bad hair day because I never have enough space to pack all my curly hair products.
But somehow, I magically forget all of these complications, not just once in a while, but every time I travel. Because if I didn’t forget these things, if I am any semblance of a rational person, I would probably never travel again.
Ok, maybe this is an exaggeration. But definitely don’t ask me about my future travel plans the next time I am on a bus at 6am to the Ryanair airport in the middle of nowhere with two hour’s sleep and a paper due at noon.
Being that you are reading this post, I can only assume that we share a passion for travel in common. And being that we are both human, I am also assuming that you have your fair share of gripes with your own travel experiences. I would love to hear some of them in the comments of this blog, so please share.
So, then this brings us back to my original question – why? Why do we travel? Why do we give up our nice, warm, comfy beds in exchange for potential disaster, or at the very least some scratchy sheets?
I can only speak for myself. And honestly, it has taken me a really really long time to figure this out. I travel because I want to connect with people. This may sound a little strange. I will try to explain.
I don’t mean “connect” in a literal sense, like I am going on singles tours to meet my future husband. I mean, I travel to satisfy an ever-clamoring (sometimes annoying) voice deep down that wants to understand people, everywhere. Where they live, how they live. What they do for fun, what they do for work. I want to understand everything, from their routines to their extremes, to their history. I am fascinated.
When I come home from my latest exploration, I see home differently, every time. I’m exhausted, my washing machine is never happy to see me, but I’m happy because I’m sporting this new-found perspective about the people who have welcomed me into their city. While I probably never absorb much in my brief visits, it is enough to whet my appetite for more. And the memories of this place fly all the way home with me, and simmer for a while as a little hop in my step for the next few days. And ultimately, they make the world a little smaller for me. Which somehow, is a good thing. 🙂
(The above photo was taken of my friend Lizbeth, struggling with her suitcase on the umpteenth staircase of our trip to the south of Italy last September, with no elevator in site.)