Polcenigo is small and restful, nestled in the foothills of mountains an hour west of Venice--and my word, is it enchanting. There is a mix of old and new--brightly painted buildings with gracefully peeling shutters; elderly people conversing as children ride their bikes up and down the same stretch of road. All stages of life are happening here, all enveloped in an easiness of transition--everyone just flows like the fresh, vital river that runs through Polcenigo's center.
It was an absolute pleasure to discovering this about Polcinego from different angles--whether we were turning down random streets, sunbathing in the Italian heat, or chasing melting gelato down its cone.
Walking easily, smiling easily, breathing easily--Polcenigo is beautiful and tranquil and just what we needed (after waking up at 4 a.m. and waiting half an hour in the English rain after watching our bus drive past us. Yes. Sun and rest were very nice indeed).
From the moment we stepped out of the train station, I could hardly believe my eyes. The grand buildings sloping off into the canals, gondoliers weaving their ways through water traffic, window boxes bursting with flowers, Venice looked like everything I had expected it to be. While walking through the city, I often found myself looking down to check the ground was still beneath my feet, that I was the one walking through this history, not just some character that I was watching in a film. It's unlike any city that I've ever been to.
I expected the hustle and bustle that I've come to associate with any city, but Venice was a different speed. While there was more of an urgency and a crush of people on the banks of the Grand Canal, as we wove further back into the maze of streets, the noise faded, and there was more space in your head to stare dumbly at the ubiquitous beauty of graceful decay.
There were times walking through there, where it seemed as if you're in a different world completely. You're walking through a tunnel of buildings--a forest of apartments rising up high on either side of you, the echo of your footsteps dissolving into the playfully painted walls--and then suddenly you'll emerge into the fresh air of a piazza, with perhaps a café, or children playing soccer. Venice is a city of stone, but there is life that resonates within it. I will be back there in a couple of days to explore with my beloved aunt, and look forward to it very much!