Pigeons in the Piazza

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Back when we were young newlyweds, Sarge and I planned a European rendezvous.

At the time, he was serving a yearlong deployment in Afghanistan, and I was working as a newspaper reporter in Hawaii. We met up on his mid-tour leave in Germany, rented a car on an Army post and set off for more countries than we had ever been – all in the span of two weeks.

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One of my favorite spots we visited was Venice, where we stayed in a hotel off the beaten path that had interesting artwork on the walls and a romantic arbor-covered restaurant in the back garden.

When we made spur-of-the-moment plans last week to take a weekend trip to Venice, I pulled out my worn Italy guidebook that I packed from the States and searched for that little hideaway. Of course, it was completely booked. It’s July in Venice. But through the magic of the internet, I found a reasonably priced apartment across the canal on the island of Giudecca, and we piled in our tiny rental car for another European road trip.

We told the boys we’d do all of the quintessential touristy things we could fit in a 24-hour tour, including taking in the art and architecture, a gondola ride, Venetian food and souvenir shops.

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I had forgotten about the birds. I had no idea one of my boys’ lasting memories of Venice might just be playing with the pigeons.

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As soon as we entered St. Mark’s Square, it wasn’t the breathtaking beauty of what Napoleon once called “the drawing room of Europe” that they boys noticed. It was the hundreds of pigeons and what seemed like almost as many Bangladeshi birdseed hawkers.

Half a dozen vendors accosted us, shoving bird food in the boys’ hands and roses in mine, and putting their palms out to Sarge for money. It probably cost Sarge 40 euro for us to walk across Piazza San Marco.

“We’re not spending money,” Sarge explained when I urged him to stop handing out coins. “We’re making memories.”

Those street hawkers loved us. The boys made it out of the pigeon frenzy alive, and I ended up with a dozen red roses.

I also had a chance to relive some nostalgic memories. We took that gondola ride with the kids, just like Sarge and I had done years before.

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And the next morning, we found that hotel with the grapevine arbor. It wasn’t open to the public for breakfast, but we snapped a few photos anyway.

We picked up some souvenirs, a glass bracelet for me and fedoras for the boys. “W” talked me into letting him get a dog, at least one made of Murano glass. Thank goodness he didn’t pick a pigeon. Those things will give me nightmares.

Road Trips and Memories

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When I was a kid, we went on family vacations every summer, and those trips are some of the highlights of my childhood memories.

My dad, an avid boater, liked to go to the water. My mom, a teacher, liked to educate us with history and culture. So we usually did a little of both. Dad strategically packed everything for our family of six. Sometimes we rented an RV – once to Walt Disney World and once to Canada. On another trip, Dad towed the sailboat to South Carolina. And for several years, we rode in style in the family van that he configured with a table and benches that collapsed into a bed. Mom made the brown cushions and the curtains, and we had plenty of room to play games, color or sleep.

We always had maps and a giant road atlas that I’m sure my siblings and I fought over to pinpoint where we were going and whether we were almost there. I remember my older brother being an excellent navigator. I miss those maps.

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On our European mini road trip this weekend, we relied on our phone apps to get us to our destinations. My phone service didn’t connect outside of Croatia, so it was hard to tell what country we were even in just going by road signs that I couldn’t read.

Some things, though, are universal. Border crossings are exciting, whether it’s a state or a country. And as much as I love having authentic experiences meeting people who can talk about what life is like where they live, I still love touristy stuff.

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I like double-decker buses that you can hop on and off to get an overview of a city. I like watching street performers and wondering how they endure wearing body paint in the summer heat. I like landmarks and statues and taking goofy pictures with the kids. And I like seeing the world from my kids’ perspective.

One of the boys’ favorite parts of the trip was spotting Ferrari sports cars in Budapest, Hungary. If they were going to have a scrapbook from this trip, it would include pictures from their self-guided tour of the parking garage near the apartment we rented, where they excitedly documented cool cars.

That scrapbook also would include a picture of the architectural sculpture directly across the street from the apartment we rented. “A,” who is 11, opened his bedroom window to take pictures and giggle. “Mom!” he said, “Doesn’t it look like he’s taking a selfie naked?”

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“A” liked the hustle and bustle of Budapest’s urban core and the tall buildings and people milling about. “I’m going to miss this city,” he said when we left. “I’d like to live here for a few days.”

“W,” our 10-year-old, liked that our Airbnb rental was above a Lego store. And he was impressed to learn that the man who invented the Rubik’s Cube was from Budapest.

The next day, Vienna, Austria, became their next favorite city. Its Ferris wheel and amusement park caught their eyes as much as any palace or monument we visited.

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Our whirlwind tour of Budapest and Vienna didn’t leave us much time to cruise along the Danube River (which we tried to do, but the tour boat unfortunately left without us when there was no one to unlock the pier gate). We didn’t have time for museums or to linger in coffee shops or a chance to see one of my favorite paintings in person. But I’m sure Gustav Klimt’s works will still be in the Belvedere Museum if I make it back to Vienna.

We had the usual trip headaches (including that tour boat leaving without us!), a parking ticket and no air conditioning on a hot Vienna night. But we left impressed with the history and beauty of both cities, the grand boulevards and majestic buildings.