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from debilitating panic attacks. Panic attacks
that were so bad that it was hard for me to
take a walk around the block in a neigh-
borhood that I had grown up in and come
back to. I was also mid-divorce and thank-
fully my husband was all for me taking the
vacation.
Before I left, there was a fl urry of paper-
work that needed to be done. Our house
had just been put on the market. There was
a power of attorney executed for my father
to act on my behalf in case our house sold.
My sister insisted I make a last will and tes-
tament in case something happened to me
while traveling. She didn’t want my small
estate or the house to go to my soon-to-be
ex.
As it was my fi rst trip alone, I decided to
go on a three-week-long tour of Italy with
a tour company. A risk, as I’m inherently
a shy person and not fond of group activi-
ties. The thought rose in my mind of a tour
group following an umbrella held in the air.
But the company guaranteed that wouldn’t
happen and the itinerary highlighted many
parts of Italy that I had loved from previ-
ous trips. The upsides were I didn’t have
to worry about transportation and there
was plenty of time on our own where we
could explore, and of course for me, shop. I
tacked on a few days before the tour started
so I could get accustomed to the time
change and added fi ve days in Paris at the
end. All in all, I would be gone almost fi ve
weeks. A long time to be absent from the
goings-on at home.
The absolute pinnacle of my trip was an
afternoon I spent getting delightfully lost
in the back streets of Venice. I wasn’t con-
cerned a bit, knowing that I could always
fi nd my way back to the hotel via the small
arrows on some of the buildings that direct
you to San Marco square.
I was giddy with the feeling of being by
myself. No other tour members in sight. No
one speaking English within earshot. I wan-
dered into a small artisan jewelry shop that
specialized in items made of glass and fell
in love with a ring. Unfortunately, it wasn’t
the correct size. The proprietress bade me
to go away and come back in a bit and she
would have made it larger for me.
So, I wandered down the alley and came
upon a pizza place. An uncommon sight
Author Ann Dudley writes of her travels, and delights, while on a trip to Italy.
to see someplace that would sell me a sin-
gle slice. It was my lucky day. They had
a c arciofi pizza made and I could have a
slice of it. The young woman behind the
counter made me say it in Italian, and she
praised me for my pronunciation. Carciofi
is a tongue twister for me. But as I love arti-
chokes, I had practiced the word until I had
it down.
I took my slice of artichoke pizza and a
can of Coke (also known in my family as
the nectar of the gods) and left the small
pizza place. Across the alley, there was a set
of stairs that went directly into a canal.
I sat down on the top step. The water
lapped at my feet. The sky overhead
was the perfect shade of blue. The dis-
tinct aroma of Venice (part sea, part Ital-
ian restaurant, part sewer) was around me.
As I ate my humble lunch, I realized some-
thing. No one knew where I was. Not my
husband, the tour group, my parents, friends
OREGON COAST
or family.
And I smiled. My heart was full. The
meal was both one of the simplest and most
memorable I’ve ever had. Some of the best
few moments of my life.
(P.S. And in the true spirt of me and jew-
elry, I not only bought one ring, but I also
bought two.)
This essay was produced through a class
taught by Tom Hallman Jr., a Pulitzer Prize
winning reporter at The Oregonian.
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