Italian men have a reputation that precedes them, for being overtly amorous and forward in their romantic endeavors. And I found this to be true, in my singular and personal experience at least.

Living in a city that alluring, with its cast iron bridges and budding vines wrapped around every corner, it is not hard to imagine why the atmosphere is saturated with romance. I must’ve been called “baby” by at least a handful of men each day, and even a few times at dinner would the waiter or a stranger passing by actually invite himself to sit down at the table and start flirting and try to pick me up right in front of my mother! One man even had the audacity to ask if she didn’t mind leaving after she finished eating so that he could take me for dessert and drinks to finish the date elsewhere. He, just like the others, regrettably had his advances turned down.

However persistent and annoying the gestures were, they were thankfully playful and harmless on the whole. So despite the nuisance of the excessive flirting, nothing could’ve taken away the beauty of the city that I got to share with my mother.

This was taken when we were on our way back to the center of town, Rialto, when we went over the wrong bridge and landed ourselves a solid extra thirty minute walk away from our destination. I loved the rustic look of the old cast iron rail and just had to capture it.

Venice was a definition whirlwind trip, full of misadventure and living on a whim. We spent most of our time hustling through the busy city, missing ferries, getting off at wrong stops, going down the same street three times because we swore that was the street our Airbnb was on and having to ask a stranger to use google maps because my phone died and I forgot my external charger.. But it couldn’t have been a more perfect trip (minus the catcalls). We lived for the moment and went wherever the city decided to take us. Sometimes the only way to experience a city is to get lost, and only then will you find its true heartbeat.