Autumn In Verona (Escape To Italy 2)

by Holly Greene

  9

  It wasn't quite time for the lunchtime meal, which Sarah and Nate learned would take place one o'clock and four o'clock. The cafe they selected wasn't particularly busy, so they bought bottles of fruit juice and paninos, bread rolls stuffed with salami, cheese and vegetables. Sarah was hungrier than she'd realised, and she ate her sandwich gratefully while they chatted with the owner of the cafe. “Most of the shops will close down all afternoon for siesta,” she explained. “If you want to do any shopping, you'll need to get it done early in the day. You can still wander around and enjoy the sights, though. Where are you headed next?”

  Nate explained their plan to move across the city, hitting most of the major attractions as they did so. She nodded. “Si, si, well next you'll want to visit the Castelvecchio and the museum there—you could probably spend the rest of the day there alone. And of course explore the Skaliger Bridge and the area along the Adige River. It's beautiful there, plenty of places to take pictures, and so much history to explore. If you have extra time this week, you might even take a rafting tour of the river—you can see another side of the city that isn't apparent from the streets.”

  Nate and Sarah thanked her for the advice, and she moved away to help another customer. They finished their paninos and consulted the map for their next activity. Nate thought that if they went on foot they would only need to walk about a mile to reach Castelvecchio, and since it wasn't quite yet noon and they were both dressed to walk, they decided to forgo the cab and go on foot.

  It turned out to be a wise decision—the route to Castelvecchio was fairly straightforward, and Sarah was enjoying the chance to stretch her legs so much after the time spent in taxis, trains and airplanes. The guidebook listed Castelvecchio as a medieval castle, and Sarah was initially a little disappointed to see that there were no four-story-high turrets or other trademark bits of architecture that she expected all castles to have. Once they were up close, however, she quickly changed her mind. The size and majesty of the castle was in full effect, from the heavy stonework of the buildings to the towers and the adjoining bridge that spanned the Adige River.

  Castelvecchio was a compact but powerfully built structure, a square compound with a minimum of decoration. It had clearly been built with defense in mind, and walking through the interior Sarah could appreciate what it might have taken to breach the walls. Towers overlooked a now-dry moat; according to their book it had once been filled with water from the Adige. Sarah was now well and truly impressed; the size and scale of the castle, the old brick masonry and Gothic detailing all made her feel as though she were stepping back in time.

  If she ignored the hum of the tourists around her, she could almost imagine that she was a heroine in a medieval tale, waiting in the castle for a prince to bring news of approaching armies.

  Apparently much of Verona had been damaged by air raids and bombing during the Second World War, and so much of the original architecture and appearance of the city had been patched over during rebuilding. Somehow though, Castelvecchio had more or less retained its original appearance, for which Sarah was grateful. It seemed right somehow that such an old and majestic building should soldier on through the years, even if it were no longer needed to house armies.

  The couple spent nearly three hours exploring the castle, the bridge and the museum, which housed a variety of sculptures, paintings and frescoes from the fourteenth century.

  Everywhere they could, they snapped pictures, even taking several shots of themselves and of each other, and Sarah felt herself relaxing more and more.

  By the time they left the castle they were ready for their lunch meal, and soon found a cute little trattoria where they ordered pasta with tomatoes and pesto, chicken caprese, fresh-baked bread and delicious local red wine.

  The interior of the restaurant was small and rustic but welcoming, with bottles of wine displayed for decoration and framed pictures and newspaper clippings crowding the walls. The lunch crowd seemed to be a mix of local regulars and tourists looking for something to eat in between sight-seeing activities, but everyone was talking and laughing as though they were all old friends who'd simply happened to stop at the same place for lunch.

  Nate and Sarah lingered over their meal, finally admitting to each other that they were too full even to order gelato for dessert. “Maybe later,” Sarah groaned. “I'm too full of pasta to eat another bite.”

  Outside the afternoon was once again dusky with the setting sun, and the couple decided to make one last stop before returning to their hotel. The Gavi Arch was not far from Castelvecchio and the trattoria where they'd dined, so they decided to walk there to enjoy the view in the late evening.

  Sarah leaned her head sleepily on his arm. Nate pointed out a picture in the guidebook that showed the Arch at night, illuminated and shining next to the river. “Why don't we come back tonight to see it?”

  “That sounds like a plan,” said Sarah, checking her watch. “I vote we catch a cab back to the hotel and take a nap first. Then we can go out for dinner and more sight-seeing.”

  “We could do that,” Nate said amiably, hailing a taxi. He paused and gave her a pointed look. “Or...”

  She looked at him for a moment before breaking into a grin of her own.

  Or, she thought as they settled into the taxi, we could just stay in...

  10

  Declan woke at dawn as was his habit, and lay still in bed for a while he collected his thoughts.

  A church bell was tolling somewhere in the distance, but otherwise it was quiet. After a while he got up, dressed, and went downstairs to the breakfast room of his hotel. There was a tempting array of pastries, breads and jams, fruit and other items laid out for guests, and he selected his breakfast half-heartedly.

  He had determined that morning to enjoy everything as much as possible, for the sake of Hannah's memory, even if everything he saw and did recalled her ghost.

  Drinking a cappuccino reminded him of trips to Starbucks; talking haltingly to the concierge of the hotel reminded him of how his wife could so easily strike up a conversation with any stranger at any time, while he'd never shared her gift of the gab.

  Enough with that, he thought, collecting his camera bag and stepping outside; he was determined, if somewhat grimly, to buck up and enjoy the day.

  Photography was a hobby he'd enjoyed as a teenager and in college but had later neglected, despite Hannah's urging. It was a nice hobby but a solo one, and he'd let his photography gear collect dust as he threw himself happily into married life and renovating their new home. For this trip he thought it was fitting that he dust it off and put it to good use.

  Outside his spirits lifted a bit. The morning was warming up to a pleasant temperature, the sun was shining, and the air smelled like fresh herbs and lavender from the planters around the entrance of his hotel.

  Looking down the side streets full of old stone architecture and iron detailing piqued his photographer's eye, as did the groups of locals strolling through the streets. There were younger people with cell phones and briefcases, probably headed to work, and then there were the obvious tourists, toting cameras or day bags. But there were also groups of people chattering rapidly in Italian—children heading to school, an older couple strolling hand in hand through the streets, a vendor with newspapers talking and laughing with a customer. The upbeat vibe of the people around him was infectious, and Declan decided to forgo a taxi and start his day with a brisk walk to his first destination, the Verona Arena.

  Declan took a few panorama shots to capture the scale of the amphitheatre and then spent a little time zooming in on the finer details of the architecture, noting little things like the curve of a pillar or the shadows case by an arch.

  Next he moved on through the neighboring Piazza Bra, which was packed with tourists and locals alike. This afforded him some excellent opportunities for people-watching, and even though he'd never considered himself a portrait photographer, he found plenty of subject matter here. There
was a mother and father trying to take pictures of their two children in front of a fountain; the boy, who looked about four, kept turning to dunk his hands in the water, prompting the mother to run forward and scold him. He saw a family buying gelato from one of the stalls; an older man sitting on a bench feeding the pigeons; a group of young women, probably school mates or old friends on holiday, setting out the contents of their picnic basket for an early morning brunch.

  One young couple in particular caught his attention. They were obviously tourists, sitting on a park bench and consulting a guidebook; the man was pointing at a bronze statue in the piazza and saying something to the woman. She burst out laughing, and he pulled her closer, laughing along.

  Declan studied them, feeling a small wave of sadness—they reminded him so much of himself and Hannah, not long after their wedding—but he felt something else too, a little bit of inner warmth at seeing someone else so happy. The woman laid her head on the man's shoulder, and Declan framed a perfect shot of them with the gardens in the background, and instinctively pressed the shutter button. Though almost immediately he felt guilty; their happiness seemed like it should stay private and he felt like this was a rare moment for them, though he couldn't have said why.

  He’d delete it later.

  11

  Moving on from the piazza, he bought more cappuccino and a sandwich roll from a small cafe and decided to walk the short distance to the old Castelvecchio, a medieval castle and bridge spanning the Adige River. It was an impressive structure, low and heavy with a series of towers that had obviously once been perfect for shooting arrows or later cannons at an oncoming enemy. Declan thought that Hannah would have appreciated the imposing build of the structure and the tactical design, complete with a moat (now dry) and a bridge to thwart intruders.

  The courtyard of the castle was sunny and well-tended as a garden, but inside it was cool and darker, and the medieval feeling was well-preserved. Declan wandered a bit through the old stone interior, peering out the slotted windows and snapping pictures of the Gothic architectural details. There weren't as many tourists inside as there were outside, so he had plenty of chances to shoot without people entering the frame. He felt like he'd found a portal to the Verona of Shakespeare's time, and he could see how a writer would find inspiration for a tale of warring families in the city—clearly the early Italians who lived here put a high priority on defense. The castle was not built to be easily overrun.

  Once he was done in the dim interior he moved out to the bridge. It was a low, heavy stone structure spanning the river, punctuated by defensible spots for archers and military men to fend off an enemy. The bridge looked as thought it had seen better days—Declan noted sadly a bit of graffiti as he walked—and his guidebook informed him that much of the reconstruction throughout Verona was the result of damage sustained during the Second World War Still, even if it wasn't in a pristine state, it provided ample angles for new photos, and Declan could easily imagine standing on this bridge in a prior century.

  He checked his watch and saw that midday was quickly approaching. He decided to make one last stop at a nearby tourist attraction, the Gavi Arch, before stopping for lunch. The Arch had once stood as an entrance to Verona but had been dismantled by the French during Napoleon's time, and the ruins had sat in the Piazza for some time before being constructed in the 1930s. It too bore graffiti marks and obvious signs of age, but it was an impressive structure nonetheless and Declan spent a little time looking for the best angles of the structure with his camera.

  Finally he packed away his gear and set off in search of a good place to grab lunch. He was a little surprised by how much he was enjoying himself; for a moment he felt a little guilty as he realised with a start that he was thinking less of how much he missed Hannah.

  For a moment he stopped walking, feeling almost ashamed of himself; how could he enjoy this trip at all without constantly mourning her? Then it slowly came to him that he was thinking only of what she would say or do if she was at his elbow, the little remarks she would make about the historical sites he'd visited or the silly poses she might adopt, standing at an archer's post in the castle or on the bridge. No, he wasn't mourning her loss, but he wasn't forgetting her, either.

  In a way Declan felt as though she were not far away. Her words came back to him: I think once you're there you'll feel me with you, at least in spirit. And I hope all the love you sense there will help you to feel whole again.

  He did feel more whole than he had all year. He wondered if it was only the busy itinerary he'd set for himself or if there really was something about this city that worked its way into the soul.

  A little lighter now for this realisation, and the fact that he was truly starved, Declan stopped into a small trattoria on a side street and ordered a full Italian lunch: risotto, pasta with fresh tomatoes, bread drizzled with olive oil and spices, a cold platter of meats, a side of spiced and braised eggplant, and a delicious red wine which was served by the decanter.

  The lunch crowd here looked mostly local, and he listened contentedly to the hum of their conversation, as they toasted each other over their meal. The casual atmosphere and delicious lunch relaxed him further, and he decided that he would take a taxi back to his hotel for an afternoon nap before resuming his sight-seeing.

  As Declan paid for his meal he asked the owner if he had any recommendations for other places to see in Verona. The man thought for a moment. “You'll see Juliet's casa, si? All the tourists go there. Be sure to visit the wall,” he added, noting Declan's camera bag. “Lots of chances for good pictures, if you like people.”

  The house and wall had been on Hannah's list of sites to see if she ever visited Verona, so Declan nodded his assent and thanked the man. As he turned to go, however, the Italian added, “While you are in that part of the city, you must visit Marco and Valentina.”

  Declan didn't understand at first, thinking perhaps the man was referring to caretakers at a tourist site. “No, no,” the man laughed. “They run a trattoria, like Angelo here. BellaVita is one of the oldest in the city. Many of us who now cook and serve here grew up eating there, and took our inspiration from their tables.”

  Angelo gave Declan rough directions to the restaurant, which was close to Juliet's house, and Declan thanked him again and left.

  He wondered what was so special about this particular eatery, but since he had after all resolved to find as much local flavour as possible on his trip, he thought BellaVita might at least be worth checking out.

  12

  Saturday morning dawned just as sunny and beautiful as the previous day, but Sarah and Nate slept late and took their time getting ready to head out into the city. After their little afternoon siesta the evening before, they ended up going out for dinner and wine, then a bit of nighttime sightseeing, and then more wine.

  It was the first time in months that Sarah could remember them fully relaxing and enjoying themselves without bickering about something petty.

  She just hoped the feeling lasted.

  Finally they dressed and ate, and pulled out the guidebook for day two of their adventure.

  Sarah was adamant that they visit the famed Casa di Giulietta, supposedly the house that the famous Juliet Capulet had once lived in. There visitors could leave letters in Juliet's Wall, where the lovelorn placed notes seeking advice on unrequited love and other romantic problems.

  The couple caught a taxi outside their hotel and soon landed in the midst of a throng of tourists, all taking advantage of a gorgeous Saturday morning to snap photos and reenact their favorite scenes from Shakespeare’s drama.

  Sarah had enjoyed reading “Romeo and Juliet” in school, but she wasn't so enamored with the story that she was going to pose on a balcony and recite lines from the play in front of a crowd of strangers. She contented herself with exploring the house and the grounds. The house and Juliet's famous balcony overlooked a stone courtyard that was packed with tourists. Tall narrow windows with iron detailing on
the frames overlooked the cobblestones where Romeo supposedly stood to court his beloved. The last of the summer greenery brightened the shadows of the courtyard and helped distract from some of the small concessions to modern time, like electric lamps on the courtyard walls.

  Inside the house, care had been taken to restore the interior to something resembling a medieval state. The floors were a mix of well-trod wood and colorful large tiles, but the ceiling was beautiful: a design of large tiles, painted with flowers in shades of red, yellow and green.

  At one point the crowd of tourists in the house thinned out a bit, and Sarah stole back to the balcony. She wasn't going to do anything silly for a tourist picture, but she wanted to at least stand on the balcony for a moment. Even if the cynics were right (and they usually were, she reflected) and this house had never belonged to the real-life counterparts to the Capulets, it was wonderful to pretend that the story was true and a lovestruck young girl had once stood here and professed her love for the boy she couldn't have.

  As Sarah stood on the balcony surveying the courtyard, she caught sight of Nate leaning against a wall in the corner. He wasn't that interested in the house itself, and decided to stay outside in the sun and relax. As she watched him she had a sudden panicky thought: what if all the cheer and easy-going humour they were experiencing here in Verona faded as soon as they got back home?

  What if the return of the old spark between them dissipated once they were away from the romance of Italy and back in the grind of a day to day routine, complete with the stress of jobs, bills to pay and families to deal with? She thought of her parents' deep dislike for Nate and his family, and dread swelled afresh in her chest.