Northward Bound

Florence to Venice to Verona to Garda Lake to the Italian Alps

"A singular disadvantage of the sea lies in the fact that after successfully surmounting one wave you discover that there is another behind it just as important and just as nervously anxious to do something effective in the way of swamping boats."

The Open Boat by Stephan Crane was the perfect short story for the trip to Venice. We arrived at 9am for a day of navigating the watery grid, a city famous for Carnival and Murano glass making. The canals dominated the day's agenda. And so with our internal compasses spinning in all directions, we acquiesced to getting lost. 

I bought my first souvenir: a kitty cat carnival mask.

We grabbed a bag of ripe nectarines from a fruit stand and feasted. 

And after mazing our way through the city like an out-of-control Etch A Sketch, we paused for a spontaneous alleyway photo shoot. 

 Following our window shopping and gelato eating, we worked our way back out to the main canal where we dangled our feet in the milky green water and fished for algae-feeding crabs.

Day in Venice = richly repetitive and idyllic.

Next stop was Verona. 

Made famous as the literary context of the famous Capulet and Montague betrothal, the city attracts tourists based off of a fictional love story. 

But the "Romeo, Romeo wherefore art thou Romeo?" balcony and the wall where couples fasten the locks of their love is a mystical nook in one of the most bucolic cities I've visited while in Italy. 

We continued the trek up to one of the most preferable Italian vacation spots: Garda Lake. 

It put on display every shade of blue.

The biggest lake in all of Italy, its crystalline salt water is situated at the foothills of the Italian Alps. We crossed the mote into Sirmione, a fortified peninsula city and summer home to the famous Latin poet, Catullus. 

We stayed the night in Trento, a college town in the northern most part of Italy in the Adige River Valley. The next morning began our day of hiking, starting in Madonna di Campiglio.

Water fell where the land decided to fall.

And the balds were gateways to views like these.