After several years of mostly separate vacations, my partner and I wanted to finally have a romantic trip together in some cheesily romantic place that we could manage to afford. We headed off from central Germany by train for a week in Verona, Italy...unfortunately without reservations.
June 7, 2011
In Verona, safe and sound in a clean, comfy bed. Silence. Only the soft rain falling through the trees of the elegant garden outside the window, the glow of the city lights pale grey-peach toned through the leaves. Flashback to half a day earlier: Hot and damp, umbrella in hand, we rolled our bags clacking over cobblestones and uneven marble pavement on the off-chance that this “youth hostel” on the map was correctly labelled and willing to affordably host us. And then the relief and awe: a “Yes” to our inquiry and the gradually unfolding gorgeousness of this place—an old palace. Beyond the very basic reception room and common area we found the wrought iron staircase, fragments of centuries-old adornment—painting of faux marble and optical illusions of building blocks on the plaster walls. The extensive gardens with fountains and statues. Lovely.
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