I, as I have discovered over the years that I have been travelling, am a very happy wanderer. Actually it wasn’t until my second visit to Venice, Italy last summer that I realised quite how happy I am to travel alone, and not have a single plan in my head, to just allow my gut impulse to lead the way.
I stayed in an old Monastery come University halls of residence during the week I was there. They lease out the rooms during the summer months when all students are on vacation by way of extra funding for the university body I would imagine. It’s a great idea, a cheap alternative at peak season, and it was a great place to stay, despite the over excited residents partying in the courtyard well into the small hours, but hey, we were all on holiday!
I love Venice passionately and would return every year if I could. It stole my heart when I was just fourteen, so I taught myself Italian and waited patiently for the day when flights to my treasured destination would become more affordable. Unfortunately that took almost twenty-four years to happen, but finally in 2012 I went, and it made a very profound impression on me as I knew it would. I knew I would not want to return, and that was certainly true the second time around. However, the pull of family urged me through the automatic doors of the Departures hall at Marco Polo Airport, and reluctantly I bade farewell to my rediscovered home, having been reunited upon a bridge along the north of the island city because I had followed that internal impulse to jump on a boat that morning and island hop. Ever grateful to my gut, and my trusty little camera for capturing such a special moment I dream of the day when I shall return to my lost love and go wandering along her streets again letting her rhythms and colours guide me and entice me to new experiences and memories.
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