sybarites

Limoncello is a liqueur tasting like lemon meringue pie, but at 30% alcohol, it’s more potent than the average liquor. The first I heard of it was from two friends who had returned from Italy with a gift and a disturbing story.

Renée was studying drama in a small hill town, near where they make limoncello. Michel had gone to visit her before returning to Canada. One night they went out for dinner and drank a bottle of the local specialty. The next day they awoke to find him covered with cuts and bruises, without any recollection of events after the restaurant. While wandering around town they met a fellow who, in a very concerned tone, inquired into his health. It turned out Michel had fallen down a flight of stairs and this fellow had carried him to their hotel. They recalled none of this.

A bottle of limoncello was then gifted to our mutual friend, Danny, along with this story. It sat on top of his fridge for many months. I would frequently look up at the tall tapering bottle with fear and curiosity. Danny said he was saving it for a special occasion, but I think he may have been afraid of it too. It may sit there to this day.

After weeks of trying to book a romantic hotel using my Visa points, we gave up and booked one of the cheapest places we could find on HostelWorld—twin beds with a shared bathroom. It turned out quite well. Although the room is a little institutional, twin beds can be cosy and we were given a room with a small balcony overlooking a busy canal intersection.

We spend a lot of time in our hotel room, but we don’t feel like we are missing anything. At any moment we can look out and see three small bridges. One is continuously covered with tourists on their way to or from Piazza San Marco. They take pictures of us from several different vantage points. It reminds me of the Chinese tourists, who took many pictures of us, albeit for different reasons. In the intersection is a continuous stream of gondolas leaning to pass under one of the lowest bridges, water taxi pilots shouting at gondoliers to move to the side, and delivery boats waiting for a lull in the traffic. Isn’t that what Venice is really about?

Well, it’s romantic too—despite the hordes of tourists, the atrocious prices and arguing about grammar. It’s nice to wander and resist the temptation to check the map. We’ve wandered down a couple of dead-end alleyways to find isolated docks which look onto the larger canals. The tourists tend to congregate on the bridges while on their way from one tourist mecca to another, but there are still a few spots with a good view that provide a few moments of privacy.