Imogen’s Grand Tour

Some things might never change through history.  The Viscount thought it prudent we make use of the largest coffee house once in Rome, to find out what the Romans were doing, what they were talking about, and gain certain intelligence.  There was an article in the newspaper on board the ship he asked me to read through, which fascinated me. 

Villa Ada was also still at the back of my mind, visions of arcadian splendour, sunbaked loggia and sweeping wisteria vine.  I longed to see it.  The salty sea air blew gently warmer, as we had come closer to our destination, but still had no sight of land.  A wandering player serenaded us on his ancient violin, walking the crowded decks, as the sun began to set.  It shimmered across the ocean which was calm like rippled silk.   

Other travellers, encouraged by the windless eve, set out their card tables, arranging themselves with their wine and coins, chattering amongst themselves.  There was much talk of Christmas in Venice, barely ten days away, which excited one and all.  It was known the festivities could run into a month, with much merriment and colour in the streets. 

I thought of home, the rolling hills now blanketed with snow, the sea a rolling tide of white angry foam.  The wildflowers on the hillside would be buffetted by the wind, leaning into the shelter of the hills and rocky coast.  Yet here the breeze was like a comforting balm, as if the violin music had bewitched all, languishing as they, and we did, on the decks toward Rome.

(copyright Imogen Crest 2006.)

(image from own vintage greeting card.)