For the week of March 13 - 19, 2002

Ending up one canal off often leads to pleasant outcomes

Commentary by JoELLEN COLLINS

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A tired tourist may forget that any travel is fraught with wrong turns and possible misadventures, but it is often those mistakes which open up the best experiences.

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As I head home to the Wood River Valley, I may reflect on what I have relearned from my recent sojourn in Italy. First is the reality that I do not do well in solitude. In spite of my bravado in asserting that I would be fine totally alone in a farmhouse during long and cold winter months, I discovered that I craved human companionship. I even worked better on my writing when I had others around from time to time. In the future, thus, I will have to juggle my sense of independence with my gregarious nature.

More importantly, I was reminded of the main reason for the success or failure of many travel efforts, which is that one does best when rolling with the punches. On our way to Venice’s Jewish ghetto, my friend Judith and I took a wrong turn. We were one canal off our planned route. Thus, we wandered for awhile, entered the ghetto from the rear and, after a moving time absorbing the bas-reliefs commemorating Venetian Jews taken by transport to the concentration camps of WWII, left through a different street than we were supposed to. As a result, we happened upon the oldest kosher restaurant in Venice. Without minimizing our emotions at the ghetto, we nonetheless appreciated the delights of the meal we shared there: chicken soup, potato latkes, and a wonderful assortment of spreads and ethnic antipasti. I felt for a few minutes transplanted to my former mother-in-law’s kitchen, where signs of my good favor were the jars of chicken soup and homemade applesauce we would cart home. The proceeds from the restaurants sales help support the Jewish community of Venice, a slight rationale for wolfing down the delicious food.

A tired tourist may forget that any travel is fraught with wrong turns and possible misadventures, but it is often those mistakes which open up the best experiences. A seasoned traveler, I expect, must be flexible.

Another friend of mine met me in Rome after the New Year. In college we went to India one summer under the aegis of the University of California-Los Angeles’s Project India. There, we experienced culture shock with sights of beggars everywhere, with the prevalence of disease, with the heat and monsoon rains, and with our own almost unavoidable illnesses. Yet, any of us would count that summer as one of the most profound of our lives. That rigorous experience trained me to appreciate most the kind of travel where I settle down in one place, despite occasional stresses and difficulties, to absorb a different culture.

Thus, when Roberta and I set off in my rental car to see Pompei, we were prepared for a few bends in the road. We thought we could drive along the Amalfi coast, stay somewhere (charming, we were sure) along the way, then go to Pompei the next day. However, we got lost after leaving the Autostrada; several hours later we paused to reflect on the visible effects of poverty we witnessed, reminded of another Italy seldom seen from air-conditioned buses. We were fortunate to take a turn up the hill beyond Pompei and stumble on a large conference center called the Sakura. Elegant and quite reasonable, it became our host for the night. Had we not taken a wrong turn earlier, we would have missed this place, the view of the sunset from our terrace, and the sense of gratitude we felt at finding it.

Even the worst thing that happened to me on this trip, the theft of my wallet by what the storeowner and police said was a professional gang of Gypsy or Albanian girls in Florence, had a slight silver lining. I let down my guard temporarily on the way to the hotel with my friend the week before Christmas. While she watched our suitcases outside, in very cold weather, I went into a small store to purchase a lovely warm hat I had seen previously. Unfortunately, I neglected to zip up my large purse before I left the store. A group of nicely dressed and pretty young women surrounded me, and by the time I checked my purse, the wallet was gone. Naturally, I am still disturbed by the loss of my passport, a hefty amount of cash and many other essential items.

This happened on a Sunday afternoon. On Monday morning I went to the U.S. Consulate, where I was treated very well and received a new passport within an hour and a half. American Express (around the corner) canceled my old card and gave me a new one by day’s end. I only had to spend a couple of hours reporting the theft to the police. By evening I had found my Traveler’s Checks and a copy of my driver’s license under separate cover. All in all, I finished the day inordinately thankful to and proud of my American consulate and grateful to American Express (a representative also called me several days later to find out if I was OK). I realized that I am in a large company of other victims. It could have been worse. I could have been alone.

So, Pollyanna still resides in me. I will continue to travel and love it, a bit more wary perhaps, but the next time I am one canal off I won’t regret it at all.

 

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