Torcello, Italy
I spent one summer day in Torcello a few years ago, having taken a ferry there from Burano. The island was deserted and decaying, full of relics of its former splendor and significance; crumbling walls and rusty gates seemed to greet me at every turn. The hot sun caused me to walk slowly, taking in all of the Byzantine history as I went: the Bell Tower, the bridges, the Basilica. I remember the ferry back to Venice well, as it was one of the nicest boat rides I’ve had; I remember a cool wind and thoughts of that tiny island’s former glory, thoughts of what it all once was.
