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The Travel Test: Your First Vacation
Traveling to Italy tests the tenacity of the author's relationship.
by Kendall Morgan
I discovered a grove of lamps shaped like bunches of grapes. I’ve wanted to possess such an item for nearly 15 years—don’t ask me why—so I was thrilled and touched when the boyfriend announced I should pick my favorite for my birthday/Christmas/ Valentine’s/Arbor Day gift. Suddenly, the absence of my luggage didn’t seem so tragic.
Still, a girl can’t live on handblown glass grapes alone. A trip to one of Venice’s ornate houses of worship for a little spiritual sustenance was the next order of business. Basilica di San Marco may get most of the attention, but a local tipped us off to Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari in San Polo. Its carved marble skeletons, pyramids, and saints are so exquisitely over-the-top that I couldn’t bear to dilute their memory with a glimpse at another church until we got to the Vatican.
Next, we needed an art fix. Venice is filled with museums devoted to Byzantine, Renaissance, and Baroque masterworks, but I had just finished reading Art Lover, a biography of Peggy Guggenheim, who amassed an enviable collection of 20th-century art (and more than a few artist lovers) and spent her waning years in the Palazzo Venier dei Leoni on the Grand Canal. So I took the boyfriend to the palazzo, now a light-filled museum, to see surrealist and cubist works by Max Ernst, Piet Mondrian, Marcel Duchamp, and Guggenheim discovery Jackson Pollock.
In return, he took me someplace that showcased his favorite Italian “art.” Enoteca al Volto Calle Cavalli (rumored to be a favorite of Elton John’s) is a rough-hewn ristorante tucked away on a winding street near the Rialto bridge. While the boyfriend adores “challenging” food and likes everything with ten kinds of sauce, I could live contentedly on protein bars, so I felt pretty adventurous letting the server choose what we should sample—salty creamed fish spread, tiny spicy langoustines, and pasta tossed in anchovy sauce. All delicious.
Cliché or not, we set off for a Bellini nightcap at Harry’s Bar at the Hotel Cipriani. Who can resist a Hemingway haunt? I was tempted to snatch a signature ashtray—they are so bright and shiny, after all—but they’re less expensive than a drink, so we bought one instead.
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1 Carlos // Jun 25, 2008 at 5:18 pm
Have anyone on this blog been to the Caribbean on an escorts resort in the DR? Or erotic vacations.
2 Little Italy // Feb 12, 2008 at 11:55 am
Love this. As a fellow writer who happens to be spending a year in Italy, I can vouch for the dear author’s authentic Italian experience. Brava. Now please send some of those love vibes back over the ocean, please…
3 Paris, City Of Fisticuffs? // Feb 12, 2008 at 9:58 am
[…] Isn’t arguing, debate anyways, in the French character? Like if you’re trying to invade Iraq aren’t they the first to say “au contraire, mon frer”? Sure, having a knock down, drag out at the Eiffel Tower is bad form, but would the French really be put off? “Ah, look at the Americans, with their Super Bowl and Dane Cook, how you say, adorable.” Well maybe they should rethink making things tough on us after bailing them out of WW2. Anyone? Dad? It’s weird, this is the first time that we’ve ever thought of National Lampoons: European Vacation and Ethan Hawke’s novella, The Hottest State, at the same time. There are parallels. This reminds us of one of our all-time favorite Tango articles about a little Euro vacation that goes in the wrong direction but ends up just right. […]
4 lola // Dec 1, 2006 at 12:39 pm
Great story! Felt like I was there with the writer and her “boyfriend.” I related to much of what happened as my “boyfriend” also took me to Rome last Feb. and it was without a doubt one of the best trips ever. It wasn’t the vacation…it was the experience of being with a wonderful person and learning more about him. I”m the artist and he is the doctor. What a combination! I”ll let you know when the wedding occurs —