The sound of the water edging against the boat, lapping against the side of the canal, should be barely audible, yet it seems to bounce along the walls of this narrow street. I’m grateful, though, for this auditory intrusion: it reminds me the pavement does in fact end. Considering that in Venice, one solitary glass of wine goes straight to my head, this reminder was certainly welcome.
Coffee and walking. Two things that are incredibly difficult in America. At least, they’re incredibly difficult in the suburban environs of the Pacific Northwest.
At home in Belgrade, it takes me four minutes to walk to my favorite coffee shop. It’s snug and cozy in bad weather, filled with people chatting, while in the summer it’s difficult to find a seat on the spacious patio. But if I were in dire need of caffeine, there are at least two other cafes within a two-minute walk. This is not just a big-city thing; you’re going to find cafes on nearly every street in any town.
It’s been nearly two weeks since a crowd of hundreds rushed a border fence in Macedonia, only to be met by truncheons and stun grenades. Six days later, two boats sunk in the Mediterranean, while 71 bodies were found inside an abandoned truck in Austria. Now hundreds are stuck outside Budapest’s train station, demanding their tickets to Germany be honored, as the Hungarian government insists it is applying EU law by keeping them there.
Venturing out alone doesn’t mean loneliness, so why am I so reluctant to do it?
Some might say I’ve done a lot of travelling in my life. I’m not sure I’d agree with that — there’s so much of the world to be seen — but it’s true that I’m always planning not just my next trip, but the next, and the next.