Can a person be happy because they will be a few kilometers closer to their homeland?

YES! Next week I’m setting out for Europe. I typically do not preannounce on the blog activities that are about to happen, but this time, my head is already over there.

When I was slightly younger I could not have enough of Italy. Before I even finished my senior college thesis, I packed my bags and moved to Italy for a while, renting an apartment in the Dolomite mountains. It was a bittersweet period. I invited lots of people to come join me – but in the end, only my sister did. People think of a million reasons why they can’t just pack their bags and GO. I can never really fully appreciate those reasons, but I understand that others do have them.

Still, during my time there, I grew restless in the mountains. I soon discovered that if I took a long (vomit-inducing – I swear, one time I watched a nun vomit all three hours of the ride) bus ride, followed by a long (but much more pleasant) train ride, I could get to Venice within a day. Thus, during my winter hiatus in the Dolomites, I made the trip to Venice 13 times. I was in love with the incongruity of it all, of life, of building a city on the lagoon, of me being there alone in March, wandering the dark dank drizzly allies, I was mesmerized.

Since then, I’ve gone back to Italy in saner frames of mind. But each time, I feel the pull of the place in ways that defy description. And in spite of everyone’s grunting about Venice these days (Too crowded! Too many tourists! Too few Venitians!”) I am undaunted. Listen, the city was build on a fantasy, the grandest one of them all. How could I not take note of that?
[I’m not just going to Venice. But I am also going to Venice. Oh, I can hardly believe it!]