Coffee and White Dresses

Oh God, miss you on my lips. It's me your little Venice bitch. The lyrics that ignited my sister and I's interest in visiting Venice. Granted the location Miss Del Rey sings about is in America, we assumed our efforts travelling to the Italian name-same would still be recognised. We said we will go this spring. Not too hot that we cannot explore the city. But, enough rays to reach our souls. The responsibilities of life burdened my sister and restricted her from being able to financially justify this dream. Luckily for her, I am not so responsible. I sat her down at our local pub and told her that I had found the hotel and flight tickets - all she had to do was say yes. Of course, she said yes.

The hotel I booked complimented the theme of the trip delightfully. Looking like a motel off of Sunset Boulevard, there were wire tables and chairs placed at the entrance with ashtrays and humbled street noise. Venturing around the premises with luggage still in hand, I instantaneously felt a small weight lift off me and dissipate into the warmth of the air. The water streamed quietly beside vintage cars and coffee shops. Swingsets and innocence running barefoot over grass. Oh, how I could live somewhere like that. Indulging my life with nothing but poetry and espressos. Sun and rain.

Although, I do not believe I could live there very long as I would be sent to an Italian prison. The men. My God, the men were shocking. Unsure of the cause being my blue sundress, or our English speaking or, you know, the fact that they are men. Each car that drove past contained a man behind the wheel, eyes not on the road. Cyclists, cab drivers, senior bus drivers, for God's sake! Changing into different dresses, my sister and I thought we would play a game to see if we could reach one hundred stares during our three-day trip - a honk was worth two points. After five minutes and an easy twenty-five stares, the game became depressing and we stopped. As did a couple of men by the side of the road thinking we would glide over to them. Sometimes it makes absolute sense that man built this strange world.

Commencing a two-hour wait for the bus. (Which we missed due to standing on the wrong side of the road. Our fault. And the buses being an hour apart and still late. Italy's fault.) We had not eaten for over ten hours, so our immediate mission was to find a decent restaurant. Once I had visited Rome, my expectation for the quality of food was not vastly high due to the tourist-heavy nature of the cities. However, our first meal was so enjoyable, we visited the same restaurant for our final one. Waiters as welcoming as tiramisu, (they do exist!) The Adriatic Sea flowing softly beside us as we dined on pasta. My sister's, accompanied by steaming shellfish. As for mine, simply delicious with tomato and parsley. Despite my sobriety, the waiter poured the crisp orange juice into a large wine glass. Followed by a generous offering of two free limoncello shots - both of which my sister rapidly consumed, resulting in my arm in hers for the next hour, at least.

With the amber sun setting upon the sea like a sheet of lace, we ventured into some late-night shopping. Having now purchased intimate jewellery, a paper bag of candy and modest gifts for loved ones, we took to a coffee shop for something sweet. Drinking iced coffee at humid dusk while playing rummy. A group of young men sat beside us and I believed they were really living. Absorbing espressos and cocktails side-by-side, sharing a lemon meringue tart and conversation amongst a cloud of tobacco. It was as if they had nowhere to be other than in that moment.

Completely unintentionally, my sister and I packed white dresses with almost identical embroidery - only mine was far longer than hers with puffed sleeves. Concluding an unfortunate amount of begging, we left the hotel room in matching white dresses - and earrings that my sister bought us the night prior. Despite my sister's scowl, I was very happy, indeed.

Leaving our hotel with stomachs full of pastries and coffee, we caught an early bus into the city. The day was full of browsing quaint shops, purchasing postcards and drinking copious amounts of coffee. A memory I adore is of us sitting on a damp step beside the stream of water and of the crowd. Sipping on a takeaway espresso and taking small bites into the marzipan I had bought us from the patisserie nearby. An afternoon sun placing a comforting hand on our shoulders. Much to my sister's disdain, I waved at the tourists who would swim by on boats. It is always worth it when a group of children beam and wave back at me enthusiastically.

Trailing to the end of the road to be met with an open sea, the walls surrounding were mustard and saffron, apricot. A sepia hue was cast upon the air, warming those embraced within it. We drank more coffee before snacking on pistachio crêpes. They were so good that we trekked for forty minutes in the pouring rain the following day for another - only to be faced with disappointment as they had run out of the delicious sauce. Following more coffee and a delectable bowl of fettuccini alfredo, we stepped our tired soles onto the eight o'clock bus. Soon as we entered our hotel room, the makeup came off and the nightgowns came on. Sitting on wooden chairs upon the balcony, underneath the setting sun, we played a few games of rummy. Then, called it a night.

During our last day, we walked and walked and drank coffee and walked some more. Despite my conventionally youthful age, I find myself getting exhausted more often. So, this trip took an immense amount of my energy that no unit of caffeine could balance. Since I have gratefully experienced multiple city breaks, I now understand that I can shamelessly admit they are not what I need right now. Do not misunderstand me, I adored this trip with my sister. The memories we made I will devotedly treasure. Though, we are both very tired. Perhaps you may believe I am uncultured or lazy. All I want to do is revel between the elements. Make visits to the sea from different corners and drink the local coffee. Taking my poetry with me everywhere and watching it transform as I do.