We spent a few post Christmas days in the deceiving city of Verona. I was naive to fall quickly in love with the classic cobblestone streets, gorgeous Tuscan hillside and ancient folk on bikes. On my breezy, brisk run along the river, Verona was idyllic! That was until I got back to the hotel to Ella deep diving into the cities’ politics. She always knows how to ‘ground me’ after a runners high. She did some digging and discovered it was the far right, pro life capitale of Italia. The closer we looked the more facismo things got. Nevertheless, despite the bitter taste that simmered on our tongues in Verona, the juicy steak I had (after 15 years without) was as delicious as one could ask for.

We had the luxury of staying at the elegant and elaborate Due Torri hotel, which, like the city itself, was perfectly quaint from a far and rather authoritarian up close. There was no bending of the rules to look for my lost passport because their housekeeping protocol was so thorough…and nothing ever falls through the cracks at the Due Torri Hotel in Verona! Needless to say, the passport had in fact fallen through the cracks and was later found…Luckily for them we had already left. After my trip to the Roman embassy, where I would have loved to see the security officer face off with the Due Torri manger in a ‘who can execute their job with less charisma’, I was given a bright purple replacement passport to get home. I don’t know if I need to go back to Verona, but I’m glad we went. It’s a paradoxical place to me, and I’m at peace with that.