The more things change...

Thirty-five years ago,  two wide-eyed college girls gazed wistfully back at a vanishing city as their train crossed the Venetian lagoon. They had spent two weeks at the conclusion of a European semester surrounded by the mystic, surreal beauty of Venice, one of the world's treasures and most extraordinary republics. Hours spent lolling at caf├ęs, lying in the sun on Lido beaches, sampling gelato, walking and shopping everywhere while reading required tomes on the history of this most extraordinary city.

Despite those years, through which two girls -- still close friends -- became women of the world: professionals, wives, and mothers, the city seems not to have changed at all. Locked in some sort of magic time space continuum, the narrow streets, the spectacular vistas, noisy vaporretos, inky cuttlefish and even the quiet of Campo Santo Stefano where they lived at the seedy (and malodorous) Locanda San Stefano seems almost exactly as they left it.

Retracing steps, remembering and reconnecting around profound shared memories. What a blessing.

Retreating now, again, across the same bridge (over a freakishly semi-frozen lagoon this time) those two girls vow to do it again, next time sooner. 

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