Dreams of Venice

On the day David and I crossed the Brenner Pass and down into Italy, I was tempted to continue going south to Venice. David and I had to return to Innsbruck, as we had not checked out the hotel. Our luggage was still in that attic room.

I always wanted to see Venice, and I thought I would never have another opportunity. I expected to married to David’s father “until death do us part.” He would never pay for another trip to Europe. I did not foresee the divorce, my big trip in 1983, or marrying John and spending a week in Venice with him, and after his death, on an Elderhostel with a week each in Padua and Venice. So much for forecasting the future. .

Reluctantly I headed the car back towards the Brenner. At the border crossing at the top of the pass, there were two lanes, one for cars, the other for trucks. We seemed to be the only car wanting to leave Italy that Sunday. Taking only a minute to show our passports, we started down the mountain towards Innsbruck, leaving behind the long line of big trucks waiting to have their cargoes inspected.

At the hotel, as I packed our luggage, I wondered why I kept dilly-dallying in Germany and Austria when my goal this trip was to see Paris. Have you ever wanted something for months or years, and when the opportunity came to actually do it, you were afraid? I dreamed for years about a romantic second honeymoon with Wally in Paris. Now I was going to Paris with a thirteen-year-old kid. Not at all as I’d imagined it when I saw Bogart and Bergman in “Casablanca”.

It was time to stick my courage to the sticking place and do it. We left Innsbruck the next morning and headed west. The road to France led straight up into the Austrian Alps – and the most terrifying experience I went through in all my trips to Europe. And David was there to be frightened so badly he didn’t talk about until 30 years later.