Travelers Notebook Writing Prompt

Get your pen moving: COMING HOME no more than 250 words

I fight with the stubborn window the second the train starts to pull out of the Mestre station. Inevitably one side will move freely while the other sticks solely to spite me. The train gathers speed and the signs depicting the various binarii fly past along with the McDonalds windows and tabaccheria vendor and his reviste- one of which lies on the seat next to me. I am unable to forgo my daily gossip and the newest issue of "Oggi" features ginger Prince Harry mid-stride at a polo match on the cover. At the moment I could care less about these things- all I want is to catch that first breath of sea air as we come onto the tracks leading into Venice proper.

The first time I road on a train was in Italy and it was leaving Venice heading towards Verona. I remember the shock and amazement as we left the station rolling along tracks that rose first above the canals and later the open water that both protects and damns the city. I don't know why that made such an impression or why it continues to this day. I have seen, walked and driven over many bridges in my lifetime but these rails over the water enchanted me.

The window gives way stubbornly as the last car passes out of the Mestre station. I kneel on the seat closest, crushing Prince Harry and craning my head out the window looking for that first glimpse, hoping to catch that first smell of ocean and canals. Two french tourists near me stand nervously in the space between cars ready with their bags. My french is poor but I am experienced enough to know they are wondering if they should have gotten off at Mestre. This is a common area of confusion. Mestre is Venice yes, but the mainland. The station signs however, all say Venice-Mestre and more then one tourist has gotten off only to find buses, industry and little to no water. I smile knowing that soon we will leave the land behind and they will know my wonder and joy at finally seeing La Serenissima.

I can feel the difference in the movement beneath my feet, the slight slowing as the train moves onto the bridge. I hear the excited smattering of french behind me and I smell the ocean as my beloved Venice appears out the window. I am back. I am home. Mi trovo bene a Venezia.