So, I just got back from Verona, and I feel like I'm still floating in the afterglow of it all. You know those cities that surprise you at every turn? Verona was that place for me. Honestly, before I went, I wasn't expecting much. Just a few days of wandering about, taking some pics for Instagram, and maybe sampling some pasta. But it turned into one of those experiences that you know will stick with you for years.
This spot? Total surprise.
Let's start with my first full day there. I woke up super early, a mix of excitement and jet lag buzzing in my veins. After a strong espresso (like, legit wake-the-dead kind of espresso), I decided to stroll down to Piazza delle Erbe. I had read about it, of course, but you never know if it's going to be filled with tourists or if it'll feel special.
Well, color me surprised. As I walked into the piazza, it was like the city opened up its arms. The colors of the buildings, the scent of fresh fruit from market stalls—it's like an explosion of life. I'm standing there, soaking it all in, when I noticed this little flower stall that practically screamed at me with its vibrancy. I thought, why not?
I ended up chatting with this sweet old lady selling flowers. Her name was Maria, and she was so animated, waving her hands around while she told me about her favorite flowers and why they're significant in Verona. I honestly expected to just grab a quick bouquet and move on, but I lost track of time just standing there, captivated by her stories.
She slipped me a sprig of rosemary for good luck and insisted I take it. I'm not usually one for sentimental gestures, but you know what? Holding that sprig felt like a small piece of Verona to carry with me.
The afternoon that changed my whole mood
Afterward, I made my way to the Verona Arena. It's so iconic, right? But instead of being dazzled by the grandeur of it all, I actually almost turned around because the line was kind of long. But something pulled me in—maybe the thought of seeing something I'd only ever seen in pictures.
So, I stuck it out, and I swear, as soon as I got inside, I was hit with this rush of awe. I found a quiet spot in one of the arches and just sat there for a bit. There's this kind of magic in old stones, you know? It made me feel connected to all the people who had witnessed performances there centuries ago.
I even caught a few snippets of a rehearsal happening in the background. Seriously, I almost cried. Just sitting there, watching the sunset slowly change the colors of the sky, I felt light and happy, the kind of joy that creeps up on you unexpectedly. In that moment, I realized that getting into the arena even with the long line was one of the best things to do in Verona after all.
I almost missed this, no thanks to my bad sense of direction
Now I need to tell you about a little mishap—because when don't I manage to turn a simple walk into a lengthy detour? I was trying to find this quaint little osteria I had read about. The problem? My sense of direction is… let's say it's an ongoing project.
So, I'm wandering around aimlessly, and after what felt like hours, I stumbled across this tiny alley. I almost didn't go down there, but something about the way the sun was hitting that cobblestone wore me down. I figured, “Why not?”
This alley turned out to be my personal secret passageway to gelato heaven. I found an unmarked gelateria that wasn't on any of the tourist maps. They had this flavor called tiramisu that was beyond anything I'd ever tasted. You know the way good gelato makes you feel? Like you're cradling a piece of the universe in your hands? Yeah, that. I plopped down on a nearby bench, savoring every rich, creamy bite, and for a moment, my detour felt like destiny.
A meal I won’t forget
Speaking of destiny, let's talk about dinner. I decided to try this place called Trattoria al Pomodoro (or something like that; I'm terrible with names). It was recommended by a few locals, and since I'd had good luck with their tips so far, I decided to give it a shot.
The thing is, when I got there, it was packed. I almost gave up and went somewhere else, but I could hear the clanking of plates and laughter spilling out onto the street, and I just couldn't bring myself to leave. So, I joined the chaotic waiting list and stood there awkwardly, scanning the menu like it was some sacred script.
Finally, I got my table and ordered what the server recommended: tortellini in brodo. Let me tell you, it was as if someone had reached into my chest and pulled on heartstrings I didn't even know I had. The warm broth felt like a hug, and the tortellini melted just right. I can almost still taste it, rich and comforting.
As I sat there, occasionally striking up conversation with the couple at the next table, I realized that those little moments—the unexpected chats, the tiny mishaps—were what made this trip thrive with life.
On one hand, it felt slightly messy, like I was trying to juggle stars and they were slipping through my fingers. But on the other hand, that was part of the adventure. I mean, who knows how many random mishaps turned into special memories along the way?
As I sipped my espresso at that tiny café where I first landed, I thought to myself: these are the best things to do in Verona, right here, woven into the fabric of everyday life. Just like that sprig of rosemary—sometimes you just have to let the randomness of it all add some flavor to your journey.
So here I am, still processing all that magic, just sipping my coffee slowly, letting every detail melt like a piece of cheese on homemade pasta.
