Venice was the first city that I backpacked to on my own. I stayed at a pension in a courtyard that still conjures great images. I remember most the changing of lights, the diffusion of just-after dawn and the settling of dusk, after the crowds. Three matrons on a bench, their socks pulled up to their calves, spinning music with their lilting chatter; the squid risotto under red-white umbrellas, inky and rich; the serpentine canal beneath my window that carried unabashedly cliched gondolas encasing unabashed couples in romance ; the sounds of wine glasses and high heels behind aging palazzos, the tinkling of a dinner party under the moon —
Venezia was a precursor to the rest of my travels. Oh yes, and the dog shit. There was a lot of dog shit in that beautiful city.