At the train station, I bought a ticket to La Spezia. It was at that moment I truly felt the spirit of Italy. I felt confident and energetic. The receptionist was right: “What a night…”
In La Spezia, I realized my mind was pretty made up. Outside the train station, down below a tall dusty hedge, there was a busy harbour where every now and then a torrent of smells, shouts and rusty screeches spewed out like a spout of water from a whale. The Corsica in front of my eyes suddenly became a grimy postcard that had been forgotten at the bottom of the case. Besides, my purpose was fulfilled, or rather, it suddenly became apparent. I didn’t want to rake over my innermost psyche again, I just opened windows to my musty fort and let the fresh air blow through. Why stand in its way and chase after my own shadow yet again?

I went back to the ticket counter and asked what time the next train that would take me to any big city was.

“Venice in fifteen minutes, Rome in forty,” said a voice behind the glass.

Venice it was.

Although I had visited the city as a small child with my parents and brother, I remembered nothing. Well, just the pigeons, really. My dreams were full of thrilling fantasies, I would see the city with the sun blazing through the haze and the briny tang in the air bringing with it complicated portentous secrets. I would gaze at the blurry silhouettes of Giacomo Casanova, Lorenzo Da Ponte and Antonio Vivaldi and blurrier still, figures of doge’s informants, nimble gondoliers and fleeting images of carnival masks. I would inhale the humid smell of fish and dusk. I could see that my dreams were not too far from the truth, though little did I envisage how much the city would hold me in its grasp. Seize and hold.

I got off at Santa Lucia and when I left the station, all I did was gasp. Without any warning, a fireworks display of a breathtakingly beautiful city exploded right there, in front of me. The time was eleven at night. The city was giving me a great welcome, the Canal Grande seemed to be admonishing me for taking so long and on the left, the Ponte degli Scalzi was inviting me to take the first step. Everything was ready. I had to sit down on the step and wait for my pulse to slow down so that I could catch my breath.

I stayed in the city for three days. It did not matter if I was naked or if Venice cast a spell on me with one of its enchanting masks. I was happy. I was in love.

I fell in love with a city. I shall not and do not want to describe those three days. It was one long exhilarating wedding night. On the Piazza San Marco I drank from the sea and let myself float adrift…