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When I take a photo abroad, I like to think about how—while a picture may be worth a thousand words—it will be worth so much more after my return to the states. Araceli’s photos of Rome’s winter wonderland makes me think of my own Italian photos and I begin to reminisce; many of them often remark on other memories not present in the photo, and soon, it feels like I’m peeling off layers of an onion, until I’m at its core.
The unassuming photo above (left), for example, conjures so many more romantic and yet frustrating memories of Italy, other than just the obvious gondoliers before work: the smell of an Italian cigarette on a cool, damp Venetian morning. The taste of fresh orange juice—spremuta—in one of those thick but tall and skinny Italian glasses. Mmmmm…a cornetto’s crispy corners folding in, revealing a sliver of perfectly melted nutella.
If I look at the photo long enough, I begin to remember more than just breakfast. The weather, the news, perhaps July—the time of year I hate Venice the most because the marshlands feel more like swamplands and the tourists feel more like terrorists. And, my favorite memory of Venice: the first time I stupidly realized that everything taken in or out of its islands and inlets is transferred by boat. Instead of garbage trucks, there are trash boats, instead of grocery trucks there are grocery boats—for some reason it’s just as fascinating to see tomatoes and carrots piled too high on a tiny boat as it is to see Michelangelo’s ceiling—and my favorite, a DHL boat. It’s a cross between a gondola and a vaporetto, a faster Italian boat, and also reminds me that people need their mail, and, even in Italy, people get to live here for more than just a year or two, and carry on their lives, like I am carrying on mine in a different part of the world and on the other side of the picture.
Maybe you should take a look at some of your own old photos and see what memories they inspire.
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