the trip made me think about different cultures and perceptions that we have of other people. a lot of people aren’t genuinely interested in different cultures, and it’s kind of sad. sure, a bunch of people travel, but they don’t experience the culture. I think that kids nowadays need to have this idea of travelling, this desire to go out and see the world and experience different things. I think that’s a huge part of learning to appreciate life.


I sat in the airport reading the books I had acquired over the trip, and this one by Philip Morre spoke to me in more ways than one:

Home is where I hang my hat


Home is where I hang my hat,

currently a tiny flat

with views to compensate for that.

Home is where I hang my hat.


Home is where I sip my soup

and rock at sunset on the stoop

(I don’t belong to any group).

Home is where I sip my soup.


Home is where I stash my bag;

it has no team or hymn or flag

to cause its citizens to brag.

Home is where I stash my bag.


Home is where I choose to stay.

I may be here till Saturday

and after that I’ll go away.

Home is where I choose to stay.


Home was an island in the sea

where I was born but knew to flee

before the taxman came for me.

Home was an island in the sea.


Home is where we await the hearse

―a glass of wine, a book of verse:

many waiting-rooms are worse.

Home is where we await the hearse.


Home’s an unfamiliar song.

My household’s what I take along,

the road ahead’s where I belong.

Home’s an unfamiliar song.


Sing it, you lot, if you must;

―no doubt by now you must have it pat ―

but leave me to my wanderlust.

Home is where I hang my hat.

Home is where I hang my hat.

day ten.

my last day in Italy :(

we ate breakfast at the hotel, and they had a delicious fruit salad made of strawberries, kiwi, peaches, and apricots.

then we headed to the airport. we were bound for a connecting flight from Frankfurt, Germany.

part of me didn’t want to leave, but part of me was looking forward to sleeping in my own bed again.

postcards, postcards, and more postcards!

when we were in Venice, we passed a statue of a gigantic winged lion, which I found out later was dedicated to the historical figure Daniele Manin.

known as the Lion of Venice, it is a beloved symbol of the city and of St. Mark. so naturally, I bought a little gold keychain of a little winged lion as a token of Venice.

back to Venezia

so then it was time to say goodbye..

we made the drive back to Venice and ate dinner at our hotel’s restaurant. I had penne pesto that was delicious!

we were on the mainland rather than the island, so we didn’t have much to do except relax and rewind for the long plane trip back to the States.

my brother insisted that we go to the residential village of Corte di Cadore, which was right on the outskirts of Borca. it was designed by Edoardo Gellner in the 1950s and 60s, and was famous for it’s church, which was a collaboration between Gellner and Carlo Scarpa.

it’s hard to describe the style of it, and I don’t want to insult any architecture gurus by using the wrong terms, so I’ll keep it simple, the church was absolutely stunning.

we spent a good deal of the morning exploring the structure, and my brother spoke to one of the ladies at the village office and she opened it up for us so we were able to see the inside. it’s been closed for a couple of years now, so it was a real treat!

I was fortunate enough to hear the bells chime, and they were so loud but gorgeous. I just stood there watching them for a good twenty minutes.

*sidenote — I also saw the biggest snail I have ever seen in my life. it was a good four inches long.

day nine.

my last day in Borca! today we were going to go to a little hillside development that my brother was really interested in because of it’s architectural significance, and then we were going to have a nice lunch with everyone and say our goodbyes.

my mom, brother and I were heading back down to Venice for the night so we could get an early start for the airport.

we travelled to Lorenzago di Cadore, a tiny village where my grandmother’s parents originated. it’s tiny, only about 600 people, and was known for being the occasional summer vacation place of Pope John Paul II.

we met about fifteen relatives and they proceeded to make a gigantic meal for all of us. we started with fresh bread and salami, and then were served two kinds of pasta dishes, a thin pork dish with sliced potatoes, wild mushrooms, and mountain raddichio (which apparently is illegal to pick…oops!). then we had gelato. and when we thought it was all done, they handed out shots of asparagus grappa. I was about to burst.

they were all so nice and so generous. there were two little girls, probably only nine and six years old, who had learned some English in school. they were a bit shy at first but then started showing off what they knew, it was cute.

I’m amazed at the hospitality of people in Italy. no matter where we went, we were welcomed with open arms. the food was amazing, and if they knew the slightest bit of English, they would make an effort to communicate with us.