Footsteps on cobblestone bounce off the walls in Venetian passageways. Aside from the sound of the occasional motorboat, there isn't much else to be heard on the streets of Venice; A much welcomed change of ambiance for someone who does not drive but hails from a world dominated by cars and multi-lane motorways. In Venice, wherever your eyes fall, there is only beauty to be seen.

Small standing-room only nooks are where people huddle for breakfast: fine cappuccino, almost always a cappuccino accompanied by a sweet baked pastry. Two euros fifty. Somehow, despite being accustomed to large breakfasts first thing in the morning, this totally sustains you for a couple hours until it's time to stop for a quick tramesin, a small crustless triangular sandwich filled with a ball of savory goodness. Perhaps you go with the baccala--Italian cod pound to a paste--given the city's famed reputation for all things of the sea. From the first bite of this zesty creamy lusciousness, you realize that all the cod you've ever had in your life has been handled with complete and utter ignorance. You follow it up with an Americano. It arrives in the form of an espresso with hot water on the side, the crime of dilution entirely on you. Three euros fifty altogether. You're now ready for your talk at Ca' Foscari University, where the classroom windows behind you overlook the canal. This is followed by the talk at the fumetteria, the comicshop called Zaza, also overlooking the grand canal. In Venice, you can take a boat to go places but everywhere is reachable by foot.

Cairo has become the city of grand mega-projects. It stretches beyond any other city you've ever set foot in. Seldom will your eyes not fall on a construction site, save for a few pockets in the city's core, which now includes parts of the city that were once considered "suburbs" less than ten years ago. Although the city's development races at a pace never before witnessed anywhere in your lifetime, time seems to move a lot slower in other ways; conversations linger for eternity, waiters never pester you about your opinion on the food or if you need anything else, and you may wake up asking yourself: what should I get up to today? You go for a walk and see a building's caretaker kicking back behind clouds of shisha, bubbling sounds of his draws soothing despite the much louder cacophony of car honks that is the sound of Cairo's beating heart. You attend a talk in one of those old downtown apartments with superbly high ceilings, packed to the brim with new faces displaying attitudes all too familiar: enthusiasm, curiosity, and a passion for cultural engagement that is raw, real, and void of pretention. Impromptu meets with old friends still come easy, as does making new friends. Dirty street cats still sit on your lap wherever you go for a meal. This one particular meal, a bowl of Koshary, fills you up for the entire day and costs you sixty Egyptian Pounds. You recall when ten years ago it didn't cost more than seven. You do the math though and realize that it's one dollar eighteen cents in American money, not a huge jump in comparative value from 2014 prices after all. Despite all the changes, despite it feeling like five different cities--five difference existences even--tangled into one, Cairo persists, and at its heart is still very much the same.

Old drinking fountains are everywhere in Rome and the water is always fresh and odorless. Another ancient city, but unlike Cairo this one is far more respectful of its olden remnants. No construction whatsoever, all buildings uniform in height. Cairo's a city of twenty million though, and Rome is less than five. Bustling, but never overwhelming. Ancient structures are seamlessly integrated into the city's urban fabric, never walled off, yet never too encroached upon and never desecrated. Pizza is served by the weight, not quite the slice, typically topped with no more than one or two ingredients, very fresh. Grab a couple euros worth of pizza and enjoy it overlooking a handful of ancient columns, no biggy.

Rome also boasts a number of "centri sociali", or social centers, large facilities that were once upon a time unused and abandoned, now squatted and occupied by antifa types with big ACAB energy. It is where people engage in all manner of sports, including capoeira and martial arts. Concerts are also had, as are underground book events, and other excuses to engage in cultural discourse. It is also where, naturally, street-artists go to adorn the walls, where all that antifa energy is made visual, very beautifully so. Some of these places have been around for decades, and you'll wonder why the cops never raid them. You'll even ask a few people outright, but no answer will satisfy your brain, heavily conditioned by the capitalist police states you've lived most your life. On which note, you kick yourself for not taking a picture of the massive sign at your terminal at Leonardo Da Vinci Airport which reads: "Travelers to the United States and Israel ⤴️".

Two nights before Christmas, American airports are packed with disheveled travelers, faces spelling misery. For some it is the misery of missed flights, for others it is the misery of obligingly engaging in upholding a tradition--a facade even--they don't believe in, and for others it is the misery that comes with the knowledge of excruciating conversations they know they'll be having with unmalleable family members. Airport workers however are miserable for working through the holidays. For some reason though, Delta flight attendants on the flight from Rome didn't seem to mind at all; their eyes carrying a sparkle brought back from a picturesque world of accessible fine wine and exquisite cuisine.

Fighting jetlag in Houston, you reach for the espresso machine. Betrayed, it seems to have died in your absence. Little choice but to grab coffee from the spot around the corner. It is morning, and you have yet to shake off the Italian way of doing things; it's time for a cappuccino. Five bucks American, beautiful view of the parking lot.

Ganzeer
Houston, TX
23.12.2024