After years of talking about it, we finally made the trip. My wife, son, and I flew out of Chicago and landed in Venice, where the heat, the humidity, and my overpacked carry-on reminded me that travel is never really relaxing—it’s just movement with purpose. But this trip? It meant something.
I was stationed in Vicenza over 20 years ago. Driving from Venice to Vicenza brought back memories I hadn’t touched in years. We booked a VRBO right downtown, just off the main piazza (Piazza dei Signori). Check-in had a bit of drama—turns out they were messaging me through WhatsApp, and I had notifications off because I didn’t want spam calls waking me up at 3am. Miscommunication on both ends, but we got it sorted out.
The VRBO was perfect. Old building, thick walls, modern AC—very important for a 13-year-old who thought everything outside was “too hot and too old.” Fair. I didn’t drag him across the ocean for TikTok content. But he did love the train.
Speaking of which—Friday the 13th, we woke up early to catch a train to Venice. I’d bought tickets to the wrong station, and the train we needed wasn’t even running due to maintenance. Had to reroute and improvise. But once we got moving, I was impressed. European trains are clean, fast, and way more comfortable than anything in Chicago. Air conditioning. Quiet cars. No sticky floors.
Venice was Venice—beautiful, crowded, and slightly confusing. We got turned around looking for Saint Mark’s Square (note: Piazza San Marco ≠ random “San Marco” listings on Google Maps). But we made it, eventually. Sat canal-side with an Aperol Spritz, split a seafood pizza (my wife’s favorite), and just watched the world float by.
I stayed on edge more than I should’ve. Chalk it up to old habits. I’ve spent enough time in sketchy places to assume everyone’s trying to scam me. It’s not fair, but it’s automatic. Still, Italy had more kindness than cons.
Oh—and the cappuccinos. Next level. Lavazza at every turn. Simple breakfast. No syrups. No nonsense. Just good coffee.
We made memories. I got to share part of my past with my family. My son got to see where I lived before he was even born. My wife got her seafood and sunshine. I got a reminder that even when plans go sideways, sometimes that’s where the story actually starts.
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