Post Script - The Duck and The Ship

Affixed on a cupboard door in my kitchen were the fronts of two “bon voyage” cards given to me as I was leaving on sabbatical.  Both pictures spoke to me – about my sabbatical, myself, and the adventure that was about to unfold. I looked at these cards every day I was in Firenze. 

Card #1: The black and white photo shows a young duckling on the edge of a small wooden board.  His webbed feet are at the edge, and his small chest and head are leaning forward. He is peering straight down a few inches towards an old white metal pan filled with water. The pan is sitting on a small patch of grass.  The duckling is curious about the water.  His curiosity is instinctive, natural; part of who he is.  You know the next photo would have been of the duck hesitantly falling – wings and feet spread wide open to brace his fall; the next photo would have been the duck contently sitting in the water, having survived what probably felt like jumping off a very high cliff – the longest three inches of its nascent life.

The duck was me before I left.  The duck is me, returning home.

Card #2: The other photo is of a dual-mast schooner, much like the famed Bluenose, framed front and back by large florescent green-white icebergs floating on a calm sea.  Four sails are hoisted and the schooner is travelling towards the sun which illuminates the icebergs and the clouds and the front part of the ship’s spinnaker. Underneath this image is a caption: “RISK: A ship in the harbour is safe…but that’s not what ships were made for.”  The ship is clearly at risk with icebergs in close proximity, but she sails past the danger and journeys forward to oceans yet un-sailed by her. 

When I started thinking about setting sail on my sabbatical, I did not think it was risky in any way. I am a calculated risk-taker by nature.  If risk is defined mostly as the chance of losing something or being in harm’s way, then there were easy ways to mitigate the variety of perceived risks to my finances, career, and relationships with friends and family.  What was unexpected in taking a sabbatical and coming to Italy was the unseen risk to “self.”   My friend Gwen C, who has been following my adventure through my blog, quite unexpectedly wrote me one day way back in March 2012. She said my sabbatical would change me forever.  Naively, I wrote her back and asked, How? How do you think this time away will change me?  This was her response:

“I suspect this experience will make you love more – love life, love the people who mean the most to you.  Things will be totally in perspective.  And while work will be important – so will a balanced lifestyle – one where, every day, you make the time to smell the roses – where you are more observant of the things around you – the things (and perhaps people?) you’ve taken for granted from time to time, the tastes, the smells.  Your heart will be bigger. Your mind open to new possibilities and “what ifs.”  Your life will be enriched forever.  Yes, a changed man.  And with it will come an ache.  A longing.  A longing for Italy and the people you’ve come to know.  And you’re gonna miss Europe!”

 Change is risky because change involves both loss and gain. Changing oneself is also risky because you have to lose a part of who you are to gain new aspects for, and to, yourself.  While I had some goals for my sabbatical – learning Italian, for example, and slowing down and not doing much, I wasn’t quite expecting to lose my “self.” But lose some of my old self I did.  The loss of self was gradual and subtle and took many forms.  Mostly, though, it was about changing, as Gwen so adeptly pointed out to me, and change I did.

I learned to “let go” of a lot of things.  I had to let go of my job and career (at least for a while) and the people I worked with on a daily basis.  I had to let go of my close friends and family, and my apartment, as I moved out of the country to live abroad. I had to let go of my daily schedule, of working out in the morning, of eating lunch at noon, and dinner at 6:30pm. I let go of the structure of my life in Toronto and create a new structure in Firenze.

I had to adapt to change and newness: a new apartment, a new city, a new country, a new continent.  I knew I had to make Firenze “my own” as soon as possible. It meant telling myself on my first day – “This is where you live now!”  I was not a visitor to the city.  This is your new apartment, and these are the cups and dishes you are going to use every day from now on. This is your new gym, and this is your new neighbourhood.  I couldn’t have done this without learning the lesson from moving in June 2011 to live temporarily at Tom & Deanna’s place for 4 months.  That transition was rocky for many reasons and I felt “displaced” even though I was still in Toronto and at work. Making things my own made the transition less frightening and more manageable.  I tossed everything that had been my life to-date up in the air, and let the pieces fall where they were going to fall. Some would say a stupid move, but I rather think it was, as other people repeated told me, quite courageous.

I learned to “slow down” a whole lot.  From big city to small city, from lots of cars to hardly any, from big full-of-people sidewalks to small sidewalks but full-of-people streets, slowing down was both a goal and a consequence of living in Firenze.  The physical “slowing down” also lead to a mental slowing down, and that created space in my mind for new things like trying to learn Italian.  You never realize how much you think until you don’t have to anymore.

I gave myself some permission not to be so driven, so consumed by work, so “occupied” and fully booked.  As someone who takes things a little too seriously sometimes, giving myself this kind of permission was a big deal.  For so long, there was always something left undone at the end of the day.  But when you have nothing to do, you can sleep soundly each night knowing that there is always tomorrow, and you did what you wanted to, or needed to, do today. No regrets. No pressure. I learned to loosen up a whole lot.

I decided I didn’t need to do everything, and know everything that was going on in the world (although lots of things were happening while I was away).  In short, I UNPLUGGED, and I needed to get away (i.e. move away) to do this.  As I re-entered life post-sabbatical, unplugging because an often-used catch-phrase to describe what I did on sabbatical. It was my shorthand word for what I now realize I did: I simplified my life.  I shopped when I needed food. I slept when I was tired. I bought only the clothes I needed. I communicated with those who communicated with me. I wrote my blog when it felt like I had something interesting to say. I read only a few books and watched very little TV.  In short, I kept things simple, and that allowed me to be more “present” and appreciate being in the moment.

I became a little more spontaneous with activities in the day – and less scheduled.  It didn’t mean losing track of time or being late for appointments with friends, but it did mean that if they day was nice, shopping could always be done later.  If spontaneity is about choice and freedom, I learned to embrace and appreciate both.

Since I was not working, I was not so consumed by my daily schedule.  In fact, I didn’t have a real calendar and constantly had to remind myself what day it was.  After language school stopped, every day felt like the weekend and I noticed now the weekends became more significant because that’s when  everyone else was off and doing things.  But the Italians know how to live each day, and that rubbed off on me.

All this change, all this “letting go” and unplugging and adaptation to the “new” laid the groundwork for the extraordinary positives of packing it all in and moving away.

I did things that I wanted to do, and not the things that I should be doing because I had the time, money, or because I was in Europe.  It became easier to say NO, or maybe, without having to invent excuses.  It meant that I was in control a bit more, and chose to do things that gave me pleasure.  That is a wonderful feeling.

I RECHARGED myself on the sabbatical.  I recharged my mind by emptying it out and filling it with new thoughts and experiences.  I recharged my body by going to the gym most days, and napping every day.  My shoulders relaxed; I walked taller (and slower) and began to understand how much daily stress effects our physical state.

I gave myself permission to try, and fail at, learning Italian.

People take sabbaticals for a variety of reasons. The reason I told myself and others was simple. I needed to stop my life for a while – I needed a pause.  I needed to gather back some energy and gain some new perspectives.  I needed to unplug and recharge, and I did that.  That was the very conscious reason for taking the sabbatical.  A deeper, more unconscious purpose for the sabbatical came to me after about four months:  I had to said goodbye to my 20’s, 30’s and 40’s.  This was an unintended consequence of being away and not really something I was looking to do.  But when I realized that it was something I needed to do to move forward in my life, having the time and space to say goodbye to three decades of living felt completely liberating, if not a bit exhausting.

So there I was, that little duckling diving into the pan of water. I dove and I survived to tell the tale.  The schooner also set sail, leaving the safety of the harbour for ports unknown.  That ship is still sailing and the sea is full of gentle swells.  It left port once before, 31 long years ago, for a new land far from home.  It survived all kinds of seas and adventures and travelled far and wide. But now it feels like a new voyage has begun.  The ship is filled with new friends, new experiences, a deeper level of self-awareness, and a stronger appreciation for history, art, culture and tradition.   The ship will sail to new destinations and experience unforeseen threats and sailing conditions.   But the ship is in good hands: the captain is now older, more experienced, and just a wee bit wiser.

Back in the Saddle

At the office. Mariko made me a beautiful sign.

There was only one start to my sabbatical – getting on a plane 10+ months ago and flying to Italy for what turned out to be an adventure of a lifetime (or at least my life so far!)  There have been a few endings to my sabbatical, but Monday, the sabbatical truly ended with my return to work. 

The first ending was leaving my adopted city of Firenze and heading back to Toronto.  Only 6 weeks left to Sept 10 – my official “return-to-work” day.  The second ending was coming back from Chicago/Saugatuck in mid-August, where I looked ahead and there were NO travel plans in my future.  A kind of reverse countdown had begun – only 3 weeks before I went back to work.  The third ending was Sunday night of the Labour Day weekend, when driving back from Geoffrey and David’s cottage near Kingston meant that only 1 week remained.  The final ending was last Saturday night, travelling home from Cape Breton and Halilfax, where I had been for 4 days celebrating the life of my dear Aunt Margie (she lived to be 99!) Then, it was only 1 day to go.

While you might think the transition from a planned leave of absence back to full time work would be jolting, it has actually been smoother than I expected.  It helped to be going back to The Princess Margaret Cancer Centre; back to my team, my office, and a truly great fundraising organization filled with exceptionally talented and dedicated people.

It also helped to have enough time between re-entry back to North America, and re-entry back to work.  All the culture-shock of not being in Firenze, Italy, Europe had dissipated. I had lots of time to figure out that my morning cappuccino at my local bar was not to be had; that I needed a new gym, and the food and wine didn’t quite taste the same now.  I had visited the office a few weeks back – to prove I was still alive AND coming back to work, so that gave me some time to tell stories and reconnect with my “work family.” That visit also took the edge off physically going to the office, something I was consciously avoiding.

But mostly, going back to work was relatively easy because it was the right time to go back. The few “goals” I had for my sabbatical were achieved; the summer was over; and I realized that I actually like working too much to dread the daily journey to the office. That may change, but for now, the important work of raising money to conquer cancer continues anew.  It feels good to be back in the saddle.

Home, Again…Then Saugatuck

The Cloud in Millenium Park, Chicago, August 2012

I flew home from Firenze on Tuesday, July 31, exactly 3 weeks ago today (Aug 21'12). And it was time to come home.  The weather was very very hot in July (there were only 5 days where the daytime temperature was under 30ºC!) and the city was starting to shut down for the August holidays. There were only a few regulars at my gym; the locals that I had come to recognize on the streets were absent, and the tourists had truly taken over the Centro.

The flight home deserves its own little blog post (stay tuned), but for the first 5 days back, I think I just stared at the walls of my apartment and felt angry to be surrounded by so many people.  The next 5 days were all about unpacking my personal belongings from my locker and preparing to visit my friend Brandi from Chicago. 

Lake Street Commons B&B, Saugatuck, Michigan

 Before Brandi left Firenze, we had organized a 4-day reunion in Saugatuck, Michigan, which took place last week. Saugatuck is a beautiful little resort community on the eastern shores of Lake Michigan, and is a mini-Provincetown for the Chicago set.  Brandi had been back in North America since the beginning of July so she was used to not living in Firenze. On her return though, she observed that the pace was quicker in North America, people talked louder, they were fatter than Europeans, and there was an intensity to life here that is just not present in most of Europe.  On all counts, I concur.

Brandi, in our kichen.

Our reunion was just that, a reunion, and very different from the “daily-ness” of being stranieri (foreigners) together in a place we both came to love.  Brandi and I did many things together in Italy, but surprisingly, we didn’t reminisce that much.  I think the intensity and uniqueness of the whole Firenze experience is so deeply personal that any attempt to “re-live it” is to diminish it somehow.  So we stayed in the moment, and enjoyed each other’s company as I knew we would.

Brandi, on Douglas Beach, August 2012

Seeing Brandi and spending time in Saugatuck was, in many ways, the end of my sabbatical and my Florentine adventure.  Even though I have three weeks left before I head back to work, there is a lot to tidy up (like finishing this blog), friends to re-connect with, and fresh new starts to begin.  Saying arrivederci at the Midway airport to Brandi was bittersweet because she’s going back in September and I’m not!  But it   was not a good-bye, just a “see you later.”  Kind of what I felt when I boarded the plane to come home.

What is not to like about fresh Blueberry Pie!

The Trip Home

The alarm sounded at 04:00hrs, but I did manage to get 6 hours of sleep my final night in Firenze.  Kendra and I went out for a farewell dinner the night before at my local hangout – I Ghibellini, and my final walk was down to the River Arno at Ponte alle Grazie. I was clutching the lock I had used at the gym.  There is a tradition in Italy of young couples fixing locks to bridges to show their undying love for each other. On many bridges, you’ll see long chains of locks locked together, often with names and dates painted on them.  While I was not in love, I thought it fitting to attach my gym lock to the Ponte alle Grazie as a sign that Florence had captured my heart. It was the one physical momento that I had lived there – existent on the bridge until the locks get cut off, or maybe not.  Either way, it was my way of saying goodbye to the city.

At precisely 05:00hrs, my cab arrived and 20 minutes later, I was at the airport for a 06:30hrs flight to Frankfurt and a 10:30 flight to Toronto.  Everything was going smoothly until we got to the end of the runway and the steering computer for the front wheels malfunctioned. Back to the terminal for a reset, and we were off – 1 hour behind schedule.  At this point, I was resigned to the fact that I would probably miss my connection to Toronto. But Luftansa pulled out all the stops in Frankfurt for connecting passengers to Toronto and San Fransisco, and we had our own little shuttle bus to the departure terminal.

With 30 minutes to spare, I made the Toronto flight, which was full and uneventful and the nine hours seemed to fly by (pun intended!)  It did not really feel like I was going home.  Rather, it felt like I was going for a visit to Toronto to see all my friends.  Passing through the airport felt strangely new, and remarkably familiar, which is how I felt for the first week back in Toronto.

Barb Track had offered to pick me up, but a severe thunderstorm had closed down the airport shortly after we landed.  Nobody was going anywhere, and nothing was getting unloaded from the airplanes including luggage. Three-and-half hours later, things started moving again. By this time, I had sent Barb home (since she’d waited long enough – thank you Barb!) and I was sure I could deal with my luggage and bike by myself and get home safely in a limo.  I finally made it back to my apartment at 6pm - 20 hours into the day.

Fresh off the plane - July 31, 2012
@ Zucca with Lawrence (front left) and gang

The day, however, was not done.  My good friend Lawrence Bennett was celebrating his 70^th birthday that night and I could not miss the party.  So, I showered, changed my shirt and off I went for celebratory cocktails.  Cocktails turned into dinner at Zucca, an Italian restaurant uptown at Yonge and Eglinton.  By this point I didn’t really know what time it was, but it was sure fun to see my friends again and regale them with stories from my Italian adventure.

 When my head hit the pillow at midnight, I had been awake for 26 hours, travelled 7,061 kilometres (4,388 miles) through 6 time zones, two continents, three countries, and it felt good to be home.

Week 39 – Saying Arrivederci

Firenze, from the Campanile

The final week of my time in Firenze was bittersweet. It was incredible to think that my “stay” was coming to an end.  Had I really just spent nine full months living abroad in Bella Italia?  It felt like I had just arrived yesterday! But the tasks at hand in preparing to leave were making me sad because I had to say goodbye to the people and places I had to come to love in the city I chose to call my home.

The weather remained hot in late July, so preparing to leave took place in the mornings and late afternoons, and ran smoothly thanks to the “run sheets” I developed (thank you Geoffrey C!) which itemized my days and tasks needing completion.  I edited my wardrobe down to two large suitcases, and the lovely cleaning lady at Cesarino became the recipient of a lot of my clothes. She was a divorced mother of three from Tunisia so things would come in handy for her growing son.  There were also a few trips to the charity clothing bin down the street.  I cleaned the apartment from top to bottom; brought my bike to the bike shop to get dismantled and boxed for shipping, and went through a shoebox full of stuff I had collected over the months. I left behind my guide books along with some maps for the next tenants so they could benefit, as I had, from the resident library in the apartment.

I was not quite finished seeing everything Firenze had to offer, and there were a few things left on the sightseeing to-do list I had made at the beginning of June.  One morning I walked to the top of Giotto’s Campanile at the Duomo because I couldn’t bear to think that I had stared at the tower for so long but had never ventured up.  Finished in 1359, the bell tower has stood like a faithful sentinel in the Piazza del Duomo sounding its bells on the hour for 653 years. The trip up made me sweat, but the views were spectacular and different, and it was interesting to see the tower’s interior up close. It was worth every step.



Giotto's Campanile, Firenze, July 2012

 

Also on my list was the Church of Santissima Annunziata in Piazza SS Annunziata.  I had walked by this unassuming church (on the outside at least) many times and now was the time to venture inside.  While most “famous” churches have a few masses during the day, SS Annunziata is a going concern with mass ever hour until 13:00hrs.  I had come to be quite respectful of not visiting churches when a mass was underway, so my visit was wedged between the end of one mass and the start of another.  While the outside might have been bland in comparison to say, Santa Croce, it was spectacular on the inside and filled with fabulous Renaissance artwork.  The chapels along the nave were connected to one another by a series of doorways, so you could walk to the altar without interrupting the congregation. SS Annunziata was a late “find” but a true Florentine jewel.

By now, the Galleria delgi Uffizi really had become my local art gallery and it deserved one last visit.  In late June, a bunch of new galleries finally opened up on the first floor (in the wing that was damaged by a mafia car bomb in 1993) along with the Tribuna on the second floor (the renovation of which is spectacular.)  I went late one afternoon, because the crowds were now getting unbearable, and visited all my favourite paintings.  I had read enough and see enough to know the Medici lineage fairly well, so all the portraits on the 2^nd floor hallway finally made sense and had more meaning to me.  Similarly with a lot of the Renaissance painters and their work; Bronzino continued to be my favourite painter and Giambologna my favourite sculptor, so I lingered a little longer in the gallery with “my” Bronzinos saying goodbye to each one of them – admiring their exceptional execution and truly timeless beauty.

Saying goodbye to the people I had come to see and know was an iterative and deliberate process.  When I had my hair cut for the final time by my barber, Gigi, I told him that I was leaving for Canada the next week. Like a bunch of the Florentines I had regular interaction with, Gigi knew little about me except I didn’t speak Italian very well, but was a regular and faithful customer. He carefully explained that he was going to close his shop for the month of August and made a point of telling me when the shop would open up again. Then he asked if I was going for a vacation and for how long. In my very bad Italian I explained I was returning home for good.  His response was a natural one: Vero? (truthfully?) and When will you be back? I laughed and said I didn’t know – perhaps next Spring. I gave him a larger-than-normal tip, we shook hands, and my first goodbye was done.

The barristas at La Loggia where I had cappucino and a cornetto nearly every morning were next. Over my final two days, I learned (because I finally got up the nerve to ask) the names of the women behind the bar: Veronica, a short dark-haired young woman, and her colleague Mary, who was a slightly taller brunette.  I wrote a thank you card to each one of them and enclosed €50 as a tip.  That gesture was unexpected and they were delighted and appreciative, but it only worked out to a 10 cent tip per visit which I thought was the least I could do.  Like Gigi, they asked when I was coming back, and like good Florentines, they didn’t make any big fuss about my departure – they just said goodbye and carried on about their business. I was going to miss seeing them every morning.

My final day at the gym was the day before I left, so I packed up two bottles of nice chianti for Riccardo and Costanza and presented both with their parting gifts and handwritten thank you cards. I had seen Costanza and Riccardo at the front desk of the gym nearly every day for 9 months, and because they both spoke better English than my Italian, we conversed regularly. Like the gym itself, and one of the trainers there, Marco, they became touchstones for me - friends, guides, and people I said ciao to when I ran into them on the street or in a shop. They helped me feel like a local, even though they knew I wasn’t.  But in some way, now I was a local because everyone seemed a bit shocked that I was actually leaving.

The most heartfelt goodbye was on my final night and that was with Mrs. Civai.  Mrs. Civai lived alone in the apartment below me and was a lovely lady in her mid-seventies. She was considered “family” by my landlords and I was instructed to treat her well.   When I first moved in, I bought her a flowering plant, and left it by her door with a note introducing myself. Later that day, she came up to introduce herself, and for 9 months, we saw each other regularly in the hallway of the apartment, on the street, or at the market.  She had an impeccable sense of style and never went out without looking her best.  She seemed pleased to hear about my adventures and travels, and was always up to date on who was visiting me.  And in that reserved Florentine way, she shared details of her daily life that she thought I should know, and nothing more.

Mrs. Civai was the recipient of a bag of food I couldn’t bear to throw away and two bottles of wine. When I made my delivery, she invited me into her apartment (a first) and we went through each item sharing a bit of a story on each. I learned more about Mrs. Civai in the 15 minutes it took to empty the shopping bag than I had in the previous 9 months of regularly seeing her.  It was a life lesson for me – and part of being a stranieri (foreigner).  We both shed a few tears and hugged a lot when saying goodbye and I was sad to be leaving her behind. But I was happy to have had her as my friend and neighbour. It really made living at Via Giovan Battista Niccolini 8 my home away from home.



Via Giovan Battista Niccolini 8, Firenze

It is interesting that I do not have any pictures of the people I saw most frequently.  Perhaps taking their pictures would have meant that they were less significant figures in my Florentine life – needing a photo because I might not remember who they were or what they looked like. Maybe I just never thought to do it. Whatever the reason, their faces are etched in my memory and can be easily and fondly recalled in my mind’s eye.

Week 38 - Preparing to Return Home

Two statues on the Ponte Santa Trinita

Michael M. left Firenze on Wednesday July 18^th, and so a new countdown began – 12 more days before I flew home for good.  While I knew this time would come, the reality of having to leave Firenze was firmly starting to sink in.  So much left to do!  So little time left to do it.

With good friends Matias in Sardegna for a 2-week vacation and Brandi long back in the US, and no other visitors scheduled to arrive, my new best friend became Kendra Gardner from Philadelphia. Kendra lived in the apartment below Brandi; was a practicing architect in Florence; was fluent in Italian after living there for five or so years; and was a tonne of fun to be around.  She was also a link to a large group of ex-pat women (mostly US) who had come to Firenze and found love. 

 

Kendra G at Giardini Monumentali di Palazzo Corsini

 

My first introduction to this group was at an outdoor production of Romeo and Juliet mounted on by a local English-speaking theatre group.  The show was in the gardens of the Palazzo Corsini (Giardini Monumentali di Palazzo Corsini) at sundown one hot Saturday evening in July, but beforehand, theatre goers were encouraged to have a picnic on the grass in front of the “stage” (which was really just a grassy knoll.)  Kendra and I brought enough food to feed an army, and when everyone had arrived, we pretty much took over one-quarter of the seating area.  The ex-pats with their Italian husbands were a great group of people, and I was sort of sad to meet them at the end of my stay.  But Kendra also had a birthday the following week, so we all met again at Borgo Antico in Piazza Santo Spirito for dinner on Friday July 27^th. There were about 20 of us to fête Kendra and everyone, it seemed, was having a great time.  An interesting thing happens when ex-pats and their husbands get together: they separate by gender – boys at one end of the table, girls at the other. It was fascinating to watch – and I really didn’t know where to sit, so I sort of straddled the two solitudes.

 

As it turned out, Kendra’s birthday turned out to be my last social outing in Firenze, but there were lots of final moments to be had in my last days in Italy.



The summer sky at dusk - Firenze, July 2012



Week 37 - Being a Tourist Again

Michael, in Firenze, July 2012

My friend Michael arrived shortly after Tania and David left for Israel. Michael was my last visitor and he was a newbie to Firenze but not to Italy.  With only 3 weeks left before I headed home, hosting Michael gave me a chance to be a tourist all over again.  Despite the hot weather, we busied ourselves with visits to the Boboli Gardens, Santa Maria Novella, Fiesole, the Uffizi (naturally), the Cappella Medici in San Lorenzo, and even made it to the gym for a workout together. 

The Palazzo Vecchio and its tower.

One new experience I had with Michael was visiting the tower (torre) of the Palazzo Vecchio.  I had looked at the tower almost every day while I was in Firenze because it is the second tallest structure after the dome of the Duomo, and during the summer months, it’s open to tourists.  The torre served as a lookout, is part of the battlements of the palazzo, has a huge clock, and also contains two small prisoner cells.  The cells were only ever used twice: once to imprison Cosimo di Giovanni degli Medici (Cosimo the Elder, as he is commonly known) for a few nights, and then to imprison that nasty priest Savonarola before he was hanged in the Piazza della Signoria.  It was fascinating to see this iconic part of the palazzo and I’m glad we walked the 400+ steps to do it!

 

Looking down onto Piazza della Signoria from the torre.

The lagoon, Venice, July 2012

Another day, we hopped on a train for a day-trip to Venezia, because we could and Michael had never been there before. Venice was not quite as crowded as I expected it to be for a summertime visit, but it was still bustling with tourists in all the main spots.  We really only had time to do “one thing” while there, and we chose to see the Palazzo Ducale (the Doge’s Palace.)  I had been once before, back on my first trip to Italy in the early 1990’s, but is appears in almost every picture of Venice ever taken.  And with my new, deeper appreciation for Italian art, culture, and history, the palace was a definite highlight.

The Palazzo Ducale, Venice, July 2012

Inside the Palazzo Ducale.  This is the top of the main staircase.

 

After only six short days, it seemed Michael left as quickly as he arrived.  With his departure, I had hosted 10 sets of visitors/15 people during my 9 months in Firenze.  I appreciated everyone who came to stay with me, and I quickly learned that every guest was unique and different, and each experienced Firenze differently.  Having visitors gave me the opportunity to see Florence and Italy differently than when I was by myself.  I learned new things about my friends by having them as resident guests, and they taught me how to be a (hopefully) good host and better friend.  Best of all, I got to spend quality time with the people who are important in my life, and that is the true gift of being the host.

The juxaposition of the picture,
taken from the train in Mestre outside of Venice, says it all.