The streets were quiet. I mean really quiet. No cars, no traffic, no animals, not really even many people to speak of. A few children ran around outside the tiny but busy restaurants that lined the streets - their light and smells spilling out into the cold February night. Music could be faintly heard in the distance, mixed with those sounds closer by. I remember stopping for just a moment, and looking up, between the tightly lined vertical rows of apartments and silent shops, to what little night sky there was visible, and seeing the stars - faintly flickering, as silent as the streets we were walking. I wish I could put into words the feeling of that night, the calm, the lights, the laughter.
The streets were in fact as quiet as they look.
They were stone streets. No pavement, no concrete. No yellow lines or stop signs. No traffic lights or pedestrian fights. Nothing even that particularly well planned out it seemed. Just a winding line of stones, held up by an invisible foundation of timber and water below. The loudest sound we could hear was that of our breath as we walked home from what could only be described as an evening and a meal from heaven. The calm and peace was so tangible that I remember it just as vividly today as I did on that trip 12 years ago.
It’s often been said that the true measure of a place, a trip, an event, is not what you see or eat or enjoy, but what you feel in your heart. Long after the memories start to fade of the details and the itinerary, the feelings you experience will be locked in your memory for years to come. The emotion you take home with you - the moments you remember that led you to a sense of awe, wonder, excitement, joy, etc., that is the stuff that we treasure when we travel. Walking those streets after dinner in Venice one night was a moment, an emotion, that I will never forget. So peaceful, so calm, so…quiet.
Quiet is not something we get much anymore in our lives. Between Facebook and television and the busy rush of life around us, truly being quiet in a moment is an all but lost state of being. But one we should try hard to recapture and enjoy it any time we can. It is in the moments of quiet around us that ideas are born, reflections are made and a sense of calm and peace can be attained.
There is something special about Venice. It’s often been called the most beautiful city in the world, although I would have to say Paris runs as a close contender for that title. It was the first international trip I had taken anywhere. The first time I had experienced a new language, a new culture, a new country. Jet lag. So many firsts.
We landed in the afternoon one cold February day, and took a “water taxi” - (essentially a taxi on the water…if you couldn’t figure that out) over straight from the airport, to St. Marks. Square - a bustling tourist center that served as the easiest place to spend your entire vacation budget if you weren’t careful, on probably no more than a cup of espresso and some pastries.
Speaking of pastries. That may be what really made me fall in love with Italy. That and the cappuccino. The streets were also quiet at 5:30 AM, but once again flooded with pockets of light and voices from locals starting their day off chatting around the bar with a steaming hot cup of frothy milk and espresso, reading the newspaper, picking out their favorite chocolate laden, gluten-filled breakfast item. And if one cafe was too busy, no problem, just walk a few more feet, you’ll find another. More fresh pastries, more energetic baristas. The sound of the steam pressing into the fresh coffee beans as they poured out shot after shot of dark liquid magic, the laughter of the early morning patrons, the smells - all summed up into one fantastic experience. All around were men with their hands waving as they chatted over the daily newspaper, speaking much more rapidly than my brain could begin to translate their words. And then, just as quickly as they had come, they were off. Perhaps to work, perhaps back home, perhaps to the next cafe. What a way to start the day!
That first trip to Italy taught me so much. My cousin and his family had graciously invited us to come with them, to enjoy the experience and travel with them, at virtually no expense to us. I learned the power of giving, the power of gratitude, the power of generosity, the magic of family. I was plunged first hand into a world I never knew existed, and never knew I’d be able to experience. I tasted more flavor in both the food and the culture than I thought possible to experience, and left that place with such rich memories that it forever altered the course of my life and how I viewed travel, family and giving.
Those quiet, beautiful night streets might have been what I remember most about that trip, but I took home so much more when I left that little city.
The next time you travel, or plan a trip, or look at what you have been blessed with - ask yourself, is this just a trip, or is this an opportunity for learning. For learning how to give, how to receive, how to enjoy, how to be grateful. For how to fall in love all over again.
More to come.
-Ben