This day wasn’t supposed to be complicated. It was planned as a simply outing to Verona, a post card-esque community north of Bologna reasonably overrun with determined, flag-toting walking-tour leaders and their merry packs of gawkers. The day even started out well. We had pre bought tickets on an Italo train that promised to deliver us in “Smart” style, i.e. in steerage, in 50 minutes with no in-between stops. The weather cooperated. Breakfast was good. The stock market even ended the day before with a modicum of restraint. In short, we were set. But then it went horribly wrong. I decided to wear shorts for the day. Bad move in Italy. It doesn’t matter how hot it is outside. If there was a sliver of doubt before that you’re a tourist, not traveler – tourist, in Italy, put on a pair of shorts and you have confirmed it.
The shame felt Bologna, repelling the locals like some like-poled magnet quickly evaporated in Verona however, where even dorkier tourists seemingly outnumber the residents by a frightening factor. Admittedly having been seduced by some professional photos of Verona, the actual town is less exciting than I had hoped. While it has areas that are genuinely visually appealing, it is hard to shake the impression that most things in your path are there for local merchants to drain you of as many Euros in as short a time as possible. I mean, when they charge you 13 Euro per head to see a Toulouse Lautrec exhibit (that was virtually deserted, by the way), they’ve gone too far. In some ways it’s even more insidious than Las Vegas that at least is honest about it what it is.
Not to be crushed by the gears of unbridled commerce, we nonetheless made sure we had a good time. In addition to meandering and taking somewhat offbeat photos, we settled for lunch at the low-key but excellent Impero’s with a view of Dante himself, no less. With a piping hot fresh pizzas and a cool carafe of white, we were perfectly positioned for a good while of delicious people-watching enjoyment under umbrellas providing shade from the merciless mid-day sun. Plus Meredith, despite already being married, also got to fondle some brass boob by Juliette’s balcony.
[/et_pb_text][/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_3″][et_pb_image admin_label=”Image” show_in_lightbox=”off” url_new_window=”off” use_overlay=”off” animation=”left” sticky=”off” align=”left” force_fullwidth=”off” always_center_on_mobile=”on” use_border_color=”off” border_color=”#ffffff” border_style=”solid” src=”http://[2600:1f13:e3b:9100:ae18:b451:18d2:e990]/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_20170518_134000.jpg” /][et_pb_text admin_label=”Text” background_layout=”light” text_orientation=”left” use_border_color=”off” border_color=”#ffffff” border_style=”solid”]Outside the cathedral. After experiencing some serious church fatigue, I decided to sit this one out.
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