European Travel Vinettes
1995 Venice
Somehow our courier timed our arrival perfectly...as we arrived on the ferry in the Grand Canal, every church bell began to chime in our noon welcome; the ringing crescendoed as we drew nearer and nearer. We began to see the magnificent architecture of the churches...our pulses raced. The students and I ran to the side of the ferry. And there, as the twelfth chime rang, we saw Piazza San Marco, the Doge Palace and the Cathedral of San Marco in all its glory...Venice in all of its glory... and we were here!
1996 Rome:
Our courier, Debbie, made special arrangements to take me to the English Cemetery in Rome, the burial place of John Keats and Percy Shelley. Keats had always been my favorite poet, and now that I was an English teacher, I had longed to see this landmark. To my surprise, though, the cemetery was a transcendent place, cloistered behind a stone wall and nestled in the shadow of The Cestius pyramid. Debbie and I were the only visitors at that time; we discovered that we shared the same love of literature and art...and the visit became special to both us. The oleander was in full bloom and the sun was brilliantly shining. As we wandered thoughtfully we noticed that one of the tombs was protected by a weeping angel---the sight of her was tragic, yet comforting....then as we approached the corner of the cemetery where Keats is buried, I felt that the glistening light of the sun took on a special ambiance. The poetry of Keats filled my mind at that moment...and I felt the comfort of eternity in this special place.
1996 Capri:
We found our way to a cliffside cafe overlooking the Mediterranean Sea...the sea was not dotted with sails, but punctuated by a single clipper alone in crystalline blue...the hillside homes stood out from the rocks, yet were a part of it: the flowering vines embroidered the dwellings in a coat of comfort and they belonged as a part of the landscape...I thought, “I could live here---I’m home!”
1996 London
“Mr. Robert! Mr. Robert!” The two senior girls shouted. “We saw it! I can’t believe we saw it!” “Oh my god,” they said, “ we saw John Keats’s house in Hampstead...you gave us our free time and while everyone else went shopping, we took a bus and found our way to Hampstead Heath...everything you taught us last semester came back to us; now we know why you love Keats’s writing so much...it came alive!”
1997 Eze, France
The chilly morning in Eze, just outside of Nice, was a journey back in time...we meandered through the cobblestone streets and glanced into the many shops carved into the hillside....stopping only for mist-filled vistas into the French Rivera of the past...a gardener trimming rose bushes...a maid carrying linens to a backdoor... the path of adventure led us onto a side street occupied only by locals who smiled and gestured us into a shop for a cup of cappuccino...we were warmed in the fellowship of smiles and good company.
Back in Nice, the sun broke through as we gathered on the beachside pavilion of our hotel...our journey was coming to a close...we had one last day in the sun.
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