EXPLORING ITALY'S VENETO: A STOP IN VERONA, VENEZIA, VICENZA, PADOVA

After November began with a wonderful food blog tour through Tuscany, mid-month brought me back to Italy for a new research tour, this time in Veneto. Home to Aperol Spritz, which I rediscovered with joy in all its flavors enhanced by the charm of the place, the stories quickly shifted—though not without significance—from Verona to Vicenza, Padua, and Venice, returning eventually to the city of Romeo and Juliet. In each city, these stories were accompanied (my luggage can attest!) by a book about the local cuisine, purchased from a bookstore discovered among the alleys or recommended by locals.

One of these books, the one I became most attached to and the quickest, was an illustrated volume of traditional recipes from the Veneto region, with a handwritten dedication on the first page in slightly shaky calligraphy: “For Carlo, from Grandma Carla.” I don’t know what happened to grandson Carlo that Grandma Carla’s gift ended up in a second-hand bookstore, but I like to believe that everything happens for a reason, and that reason was that this book needed to be in my suitcase, allowing me to take at least a small part of the heritage of the beautiful Veneto region back home. I’m sure Nonna Carla would be pleased.

FIRST STOP: VERONA

‘There is no world without Verona walls.’ These words from Shakespeare are engraved, along with a statue of him, on the Porta Bra, which was once the main entrance to Verona. Here, poets like Dante and Petrarch, in exile, found refuge. Here, love stories like ‘Romeo and Juliet’ were written. Here, amid evenings beginning with aperitivo and continuing with sublime gnocchi at Pane e Vino or feasts like in fairy tales at Il Pompiere, even everyday life has a special poetry.

I’m learning to catch this poetry in flight, somewhere between the moment when a garrulous elderly man complaining about the traffic light (“sempre rosso, sempre rosso”) realizes while talking to me that I am not Italian, and the moment of departure, when, on the bus taking me to the station, an elderly lady mistakes me for a local and asks if it stops at San Michele, then chats with me until it’s time for her to get off.

Day by day, waking up in the cozy apartment on Via Redentore, with its view of the Adige River winding tumultuously beneath the Ponte Pietra, becomes a ritual. There are several bridges under which the river weaves, but here we are, next to the Roman Theatre, at Ponte Pietra. The Stone Bridge – which I cross every time in amazement, barely restraining myself from taking a few more photos. Beyond it, on the other side of the river, the historic center begins, with its winding streets that all lead to the same thing: love.

And love, in Verona, takes many forms: it can be Piazza delle Erbe, where I could get lost trying to imprint every balloon, every painting, every statue into my memory; it can be the unforgettable flavor of an Amarone della Valpolicella savored late at night in the warm atmosphere of an elegant trattoria; it can be the shimmering path of luxury shops that envelop you with their distinctive fragrance, but it can also be the way that leads to the brilliance of the past, in Mercato Vecchio, where Dante’s statue reigns among Christmas decorations; love, in Verona, can be a bookstore where you step in to catch your breath after so much wandering, only to discover unexpected little treasures, or a pastry shop where large pieces of well-aged Asiago, plenty of prosciutto, and local salamis tempt you.

Something more classic, love in Verona also means the house of Romeo and that of Juliet, each grander than the other, which everyone advised me against visiting before leaving, saying there was nothing to see. Of course, I went. And I saw. Although there is no clear evidence that Romeo and Juliet, the protagonists of the most famous love story of all time, actually existed, the fact that hundreds of tourists come daily to visit Juliet’s house and Romeo’s house is proof that people need to believe in love.

VENEZIA

I arrived in Venice on a morning that promised a chilly, foggy day. Almost like in a movie script, when I stepped off the train and saw the first canals, the sun came out, revealing a beautiful Venice, more beautiful than any photos or videos I had seen about it, more beautiful than anything I could write about it. Those who visited in the summer say they saw a different Venice, one overflowing with tourists and the smell of canals. For me, it was my first time, so I’ll consider myself lucky to have caught a Venice where I could stroll freely, crossing little bridges and admiring gondoliers singing cheerfully, in the purest Italian style.

In Venice, somewhere near the Grand Canal, I had the best Aperol Spritz of the entire trip, one that fueled my joy all the way back to Verona. Because in Venice, you can only be cheerful. Cheerful and in love with everything you see. While I lingered in Verona, I thought romance had made its nest there. Then I discovered Venice, and romance took on a new face. Venice used to be called many things, but my favorite nickname is “La Serenissima.” When I first stepped into it, I understood why it is called that: Venice is so beautiful that it takes your breath away. And there, amid the songs of gondoliers rowing under the little bridges and the pigeons landing on your table while you enjoy your espresso, you can’t feel anything but serene.

VICENZA

Vicenza is not just a town with a poetic name (how lovely does Vicenza sound?), but also an ancient city founded 200 years before our era, a place whose architecture still impresses today. Moreover, it is part of the UNESCO cultural heritage, alongside its larger sisters, Verona, Venice, and Padua. After so many millennia, one might wonder what more it could offer? The answer lies in its spirit, which you can only discover by wandering through its streets, entering cafés, or chatting with the locals, exploring its cuisine (baccalà alla vicentina is one of the local specialties), or surprisingly many bookstores for such a small city—a sign that the people here have not lost the habit of reading.

If you venture among the columns in the center, hidden in the shadows, you might also find the most cheerful, colorful, and hip restaurant, where the Aperol is just right, the food is perfect for a leisurely November lunch, and the friendly waitress recommends exactly that bookstore which leads you to a beautiful cookbook with illustrated recipes, signed by nonna Carla for her grandson, Carlo. And you fall in love with it at first sight, deciding to take it with you to Padua.

PADOVA

Arriving in Padua immediately after my experience in Vicenza, I expected to find something similar, even though I knew that the city is famous for its university, where none other than Galileo Galilei lectured. Not far from the train station, as Padua began to reveal itself to me, a charming graffiti caught my eye near a bridge: “Buongiorno, Principessa!” The famous line that Benigni says to Nicoletta Braschi in “La Vita è Bella” greeted me in shades of gray on a wall, almost like a welcoming ritual. Beyond it, Padua revealed itself to me as elegant, distinguished, and graceful, with a princely air befitting the quote that welcomed me at the start.

I saw it in daylight and after nightfall—both times, it impressed me. The more I explored, the more I fell in love with its streets and its people, who possessed an elegance worthy of the city they were fortunate enough to inhabit. I bid farewell to Padua following the ritual I have become accustomed to: an aperitivo savored slowly and a few indulgent desserts at Café Pedrocchi, a famous place where architectural styles blend harmoniously, just as nobility, history, and art do. Since its founding in 1772, the café has attracted many important artists and writers, such as Stendhal and Lord Byron. On a chilly November afternoon, it drew me in too, your wandering writer.