Flooded Footpaths

In Venice, no path is straight, or even flat, as streets abruptly swell up into charming bridges an the image of every street scape bordering a canal is repeated, upside down, in a water reflection. The irresistible charm of the city, whose architecture suggests nothing less than fantasy in stone, seemed to inspire an unreal perception of time, or rather the lack of time. The peculiar realities of a pedestrian life on a floating world, the absence of cars and traffic, were odd enough to create something like a twilight zone. I could wander the streets with no recollection of where I've been, lost in the beauty of the canals and the intricate architecture surrounding them. And in the canals gondola's quietly glided around the bends. I read that there are eight different kinds of wood in a gondola-among them elm for the ribs, oak for the bottom, and walnut for the oar holder. 

The craftsmen spend about 3 months to piece together the 280 different parts and sell their works for 15 to 30 thousand euros. 

~ Verona ~


“Two households, both alike in dignity
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. 
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life 
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.” 
~Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

The city of love. The city of Romeo and Juliet. Despite being fictional characters, they have brought a romance to the small town. There is even a balcony that has been constructed as a shrine to honor the lovebirds and a statue of Juliet that might bring good luck in your own love-life.

Bonjour Merci Auvoir

~A friend's photo

I made my way to the very first establishment I could find that appeared to be selling coffee- it was a kiosk in the airport's train station- and produced one very tiny Parisian coffee. It's not that I wanted tiny coffees, you know, it's just that the coffees in Paris are tiny, the way women are impossibly chic.
My weekend in Paris ruffled up most of my preconceived ideas of the city that I weaved together through movies, stereotypes, and stories. And though it seemed that all I ate was baguettes and cheese (like the afternoon I ate a whole wheel of cheese in one sitting) and I was hesitant to get too close to anyone on the metro unless I had a clothespin on my nose, I was caught off guard by other things.  
The French that I encountered were not rude at all and I didn't feel like I was disrespecting them because I don't speak French. Everyone I met was so helpful and encouraging. They were delighted to hear that I am a Californian studying in Europe and that I came to their city. The most memorable encounter was when I was talked to a man who explained why the French are so romantic in comparison to Americans. Well, not only do they live in this beautiful city and speak the language of love, but they are raised to cultivate all their relationships from a young age. He said that the first time a young boy/girl brings home a girl/boyfriend (and he only does so if he/she really likes her/him) it is a huge celebration for the family. There is a feast and everyone is invited. There is a huge importance placed on fostering relationships and respecting them too. I think its interesting how imbedded this is into their culture.

"Paris is always a good idea" ~Audrey Hepburn

Should I be running through the halls of the metro too? I kinda liked strolling along and hearing the guitar player's tunes bouncing around the walls, not knowing which direction it was coming from. 

Then again, maybe I should let myself be swept away by the crowds of briefcases and clicking heels. Am I in a race and just don't know it? Man, I hope I'm not loosing! Better pick up the pace.

As I sat on the metro, one man barely made it through the doors as they were closing, his jacket almost getting caught as the beeping ceased, a small smirk on his lips as if to say, "Yes! I made it, and no one slowed me down!" His small feat of the day. 

As the metro sped under the city, all was silent except the hum of the lines, the rocking. I could see it in the man's eyes that he was preparing for his next stop, squeezing to get closer to the door and wishing he'd worn his running shoes to get maximum speed. 

Chelsea's photo collage