Sorellone

I have a little sister.  I have never thought of her as a little sister, probably because she has always been cooler than me. She is also talented, funny, smart, snarky, adventurous, brave, intuitive, and all the other adjectives you want to be when you grow up.  She's also a badass, and a roustabout.  Oh and she's really, really pretty.  Except for her fat neck.

Because the story of my adventures and misadventures wouldn't be complete without properly introducing her, my next post will backtrack a few weeks along my Italian adventure.

For anyone who was ever in their early twenties, traveling abroad held a great deal of meaning- a chance to renew, to learn about the world, to find yourself, to find anything.  For those of us lucky enough to do it, we were determined to come back somehow more whole.  At the very least, we were determined to come back with a great story to show for it.

Lara had funded her grand european adventure to take place as a backpacking trip with her best friend, a golden hearted, shaggy haired nomad who had an uncle living in Switzerland. As per usual, his very getting to the airport involved shenanigans of the highest decree- a carpool of perambulatory hippies, a flat tire, lost baggage, found baggage, etc.  The die had been cast.

The two of them separated for two weeks while he joined his sister in Scotland, and Lara joined me in Venice.  With very limited knowledge of Italian betwixt the two of us, short on funding, and high on hopes- our grand adventure was a two- week whirlwind of delicious food, museums, bodegas, alleys, haggling for stamps, and trying to figure out the train system.



Did I mention my sister is very pretty?  The kind of all-american, apple pie pretty you only see in music videos and tv shows from the early 80s when righteous hair and daisy dukes were whats up.  The kind of pretty European men go ga ga over.

We were sitting on the edge of a canal, eating a pizza from our favorite stand when a dashingly handsome blonde sailor pulled up to the shore in a gondola. 

"Ciao, bella.  Sei Americana?"

Blushingly... "Si...si."

"Oh, good! Mi chiamo Alejandro.  Come with me, I will give you a ride."

"Oh, thank you so much, but we can't afford it."  (Gondola rides in Venice cost upwards of $90 for a 1/2 hour)

"No, there is no charge for you.  You are too pretty for a charge."

Blushingly..."You are very kind, but we really have no money.  We can't pay you anything."

"I tell you this.  I will give you a ride in exchange for one kiss from you."

SOLD

Alejandro helps us down off the embankment and into his gondola, sweeping us under bridges and through the canals of Venice.  He stops a few times along the way to brag to his friends, all the while charming us with stories of Italy, and how he became a Gondolier. He speaks five languages, has lived all over Europe, and Lara and I are giddy with excitement. 

Our chauffer stops at one point and exclaims, "Alright.  It is time for my kiss now."  So seester follows his lead as he takes her hand and leads her up to his perch on the back.

It was like a movie star kiss. You know that famous picture of the sailor kissing the nurse in Times Square?   He brushed her hair back and almost doubled her over, planting one right on her mouth.

He tasted like cigarettes. (Forrest Gump...eh? eh?  No one actually said that on this afternoon.)

I believe he actually tasted like roses and a little bit of sweat.  So maybe just as gross. 

A few minutes later, he dropped us off where we began, a million thank yous spewing from both our mouths and his.

As I've said before, it helps to travel with other vagabonds.  It is even more fun if your traveling partner has brass balls and the insane confidence of Crazy Horse.