Thursday, February 7, 2008


Journal entry from Venice...
Monday night around 3 a.m. Just walked home from alone from a bar in Venice. Scary and exhilarating. I had no idea where I was going, but I made it. It's amazing how safe this city is. People out at all times, walking, drinking, playing guitar on bridge steps. This city is amazing. Very inspiring. Beautiful. Etc. There is nothing like it anywhere. I can guarantee that. We could stay here for the rest of the trip and I'd be fine with that. With the proper amount of layers, the cold is not an issue. We were supposed to meet our new friends for dinner at 8, but they flaked. Too bad. I got my own room. I haven't got good rest since we've been gone. Missing home gets further from my mind as each moment passes, yet I can't help but think of how much Kelly would love this city. I'd love to find a way to return, maybe for a summer job. I can't get enough. That's the sentiment echoed by most. Truly wonderful. Most people speak English and are friendly. But I have encountered many who want nothing to do with me. That's fine. Maybe they're scared because I'm an American. Being out of place is a truly humbling experience. Frightening, wonderful, scary, exciting. I was alone for an hour today trying to use a phone. I failed but found an internet cafe. My toll was .80 cents and I had no cash. I looked for a bank, but couldn't find one, asked for help from a woman who spoke no English -- who asked her friend who spoke no English for help -- and found it on my own. The bank gave me 50 Euro bills. The cafe had no change, so I got the call for free. The young guy behind the counter wasn't thrilled. I apologized and felt like shit for being an ignorant American. But there was nothing I could do. People say visiting Europe for the first time changes a person. I agree. We are not yet half over and already I am opening my eyes and my mind to new thoughts and ideas. I have an idea for a novel about Venice that I will write one day, hopefully sooner than later. I want to come here to write. I want to live here and eat amazing pasta and drink delicious red wine. I'm told it's not always this busy. Carnival is the reason, but it doesn't matter. At night there is no one out and the city tugs at my heart, begs me to stay. I walk slow to take it all in, but there is no way to do that. I get what I can, which is somehow enough and not nearly enough. I've found my muse. Her name is Venice.

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