Is Romance Dead? Or in a coma? Should we poke it and see?

So for those of you not yet aware, which is anyone without a computer, phone or indeed within shouting distance of my face, I am currently residing in the beautiful city of Venice in Italy.

 

This was not an 'Eat. Pray. Love' finding myself type decision, it was more a 'we will pay you to eat' type decision. 

 

So here I am. In what I believe might actually be the most beautiful city in the world. Add to that pizza, ice-cream and yummy Italian men. Or that was the idea. Unfortunately Venice is not full of thirty something dark haired lotharios called Lorenzo who would love to eat gelato off my naked body. Nope.....It is full of tourists. 

 

Tourist couples. (I threw up in my mouth a little bit when I wrote that).

They've all flocked out to have a wonderful romantic four days on gondolas, holding hands on bridges, kissing in corners and generally getting in my way on my way to work.

 

Initially I wanted to throw each couple off the Rialto and into the Grand Canal, but to be honest that would be a little too time consuming and I have better things to do with my time. Eat Pizza. Scowl. That sort of thing.

 

So instead I have observed. Like a sort of pervert spy.

 

Romance is a big business here. This place is a sort of Groundhog Valentine's Day. Gondoliers sweep young couples up and down the canal under some of the most stunning vistas ever to have been built by man. Rose sellers accost you at every turn with their huge bunches of reminders of your singledom. You can eat ice cream and playfully put some on your lovers nose before kissing in a sort of Rom Com type way. This was the city of Casanova for goodness sake. How can you not get swept up in the greeting card life? Even I forget sometimes and start holding my own hand as I wander over bridges and wonder what romantic restaurant I will take myself out to this evening.

 

This would be an ideal place to have such a unique experience, if you weren't sharing it with 6543 other couples.

 

As a result the city is packed with couples forcing themselves at huge expense to have a good time. 

 

Women scowling at boyfriends who didn't buy them that rose despite the fact that it was 3 euros and he's already sold his clothing and teeth to take her to the opera and eat a sandwich. (It's an expensive city).

 

I go on my little vaporetto up the river and watch couple in gondalas. And do they look like disgustingly happy newly weds who need to get a room? No. They look embarrassed as people gawp at them from passing boats and the banks of the river. And, depending on the weather, a bit wet. And not in a good way.

 

Call me cynical, (I won't answer because it's not my name), but I think that this forced romance actually sucks the romance out of a relationship.

 

Maybe I'm just bitter, but I can't see how you can feel ardently in love with your partner when you are fighting through crowds of equally ardently in love couples and rose sellers.

 

I can't help but feel a little smug as I sit in my quiet little corner with my book watching couples argue over maps and who got who lost.

 

But maybe I just don't know what romantic means.

The Italian Inquisition

Ciao!

A while ago I had a boyfriend. I know, I know. I actually used to own a man. It wasn't a dream or a lie I made up to convince my parents that I'm not a lesbian.

Unfortunately, as with all of my relationships it fizzled out. We both agreed that this wasn't going to work. At least, I think that's what we agreed, English wasn't his first language. And Italian isn't mine.

Although I loved the idea of a romantic liaison with a Latin Lothario it turned out to be very unlike the promises made to me by films and my Grandfather's Mills and Boons books (Yes I said Grandfather - Don't ask).

Rather than the full blown passionate love making for three days coming out of bed briefly to eat pasta like his Mamma used to make it was more like dating a wet dog. Who actually did make pretty good pasta.

Anyway, we moved on with our lives. He in fact moved to a whole different country. I don't believe I had anything to do with that. Not this time.

We continued to keep a vague interest in each others lives. Occasional emails that sort of thing.

Anyway, recently I went on a small visit to the country he now resides in. To the city he resides in nonetheless. So I thought it might be nice to meet up. It would be rude not to. Right?

Well, as it turns out, my idea of rude is not the same as that of an Italian.

Our virtual conversation went as follows.

Me - 'Hey I'll be arriving on the 17th and leaving on the 21st? Any time around then good for you?'

He - 'Yes. That is good.'

Me- 'Great. I'll be in touch closer to the time.'

He - 'Am I still entitled to fill you up?! hehe!'

This is the point where the pianist in the bar stops playing. Birds fall out of the sky. The traffic outside shrieks to a halt. Drivers poke their heads out of their windows and shout up to me. 'He said what?!'

Yep. 

I believe you can guess what my response was. Let's face it. If there was even a tiny chance of that happening (which there most definitely was not), he had certainly squashed that in one poorly judged move.

My sister pointed out that what with English not being his forte and also he was now learning his third language, maybe he had made a mistake. Perhaps he meant to say 'Feel you up'.

Of course, it's possible. But that isn't exactly what a girl wants to hear either.

Needless to say, I didn't meet up with him, so he didn't get a chance to clarify what he meant. 

Che Peccato