Yesterday was the 10th wedding anniversary of our friends Gina and Dave. I can't believe it's been 10 years since I travelled to Italy for their beautiful Venetian wedding. That was really the trip of a lifetime for me. I was 32, and I had never been on a trip like that. Apart from a family vacation in Switzerland when I was 16, I'd never even been on the continent; trips to Europe from San Francisco were just to Ireland. So flying to Venice by myself was all so new and exciting.
Jason and me at the hotel the night before (or maybe after) the wedding. (Jason, Gina, and I were fast friends in Berkeley. And 10 years after this photo, i.e., tomorrow, we are having a party to celebrate Jason's recent engagement to the lovely Adrianne!)
On the gondola ride to the wedding, with Sabina, Anne, and Zem.
Dave, Gina, me, and Kim the night before (or possibly after) the wedding:
Zem, Kim, and me in the 17th Century palazzo on the Grand Canal where the wedding took place:
After three wonderful days in Venice, I met up with best friend Brenda in Verona, and we traveled for a week to Florence, Montecatini, and Siena, and then she came to Ireland with me. We were perfect traveling companions, with matching desires to explore, see art, and shop (which was cheap with a strong dollar in 1998).
I just unearthed my journal from that summer, and here are some choice excerpts. The writing is typically self-aware and flowery for that time in my life (having just graduated with my English lit degree from UC Berkeley.)
I'm in Verona and I can't sleep. I miss this weekend so much. Venice answers something in me. I never knew such a place existed. I never knew how much I needed it to exist. How can the rest of Italy not pale beside Venezia? I know there is a danger that I am confusing the magic of this weekend with the city itself. I miss everything: the beautiful Europa and Regina Hotel, black and white tile floors, handsome Italian men in green coats. I miss the gondola ride in evening gowns. I miss the palazzo and the people, and the exquisite food. But Venice itself most of all. I hope it feels the same next time I am there. And I will be back - every year until I die - to restore my soul.
...
Wasn't there a grace Kelly movie called "Grand Hotel"? There should have been, and right now I am Grace Kelly, sitting on our private balcony of the Grand Hotel & La Pace, Montecatini. It costs a lot for us to stay here: $275 a night between us, but I think it looks like it costs 10 times that. It is a sprawling old building with Naples yellow walls and emerald green shutters, terracotta and white marble tiles on the balconies. I am facing out over a stone ballustrade into a tree-filled courtyard. Brenda could tell me what the trees are, but she's napping.
As Grace Kelly, I am on holiday with a female companion. As I crossed the lobby earlier, Cary Grant caught my eye, and he has bribed the concierge to tell him my room number. Shortly, he will knock at my door in dinner attire with a fresh gardinia, and insist I join him for dinner. I will wear a gown of ice blue and match him drink for drink. Cool banter, hot glances, and later - one movie kiss: eyes closed, head tilted, mouth pressed firmly and softly against mouth. He will say he should die if he doesn't see me again, but I'll be gone in the morning, leaving him with a ghost of perfume on his collar and nothing but a bruised gardinia in my empty hotel room.
...
Needless to say, I haven't been back to Venice every year to "restore my soul" (sheesh!) and Cary Grant never showed up. Three weeks after I wrote that, however, I met Eric.
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