Calling home with news from Venezia and the latest Italian off-the-peg wear
‘WE WENT to Venice today!’ exclaimed Persephone. Isn’t Skype wonderful. Isn’t transition year wonderful. Isn’t modern travel wonderful. There’s our little girl all the way off in Italy. Her father never got that far until he was twice her age. Her mother was still in her teens when she made her Italian debut but Hermione had to endure a marathon bus trek before being deposited in Rimini. Contrast this overland endurance test with the experience enjoyed by the modern school student. Persephone was one morning taking breakfast in Medders Manor with her family before a few hours later she and her classmates were swanning around the delights of Bologna, of Verona and of…
‘We went to Venice today!’
Crouched over a lap-top, we parents marvelled at the casually cosmopolitan joyfulness of our daughter whose grinning face lit up the computer screen with impish adolescence. This lucky girl had been to Venice, no less, with her pals on an outing which will doubtless live forever in her memory, to be recalled with fondness in middle-age at school re-unions or whenever a glass of valpolicella sets the mood for reminiscence.
Ah, Venice. Hermione wondered whether our intrepid traveller had seen the magnificence of St Mark’s Square, beloved of painters and writers for centuries, with its soaring church tower. Ah, Venice. To me the name evoked visions of the magnificent Doges’ Palace and the Rialto Bridge, where gondoliers ply their trade, doubtless serenading their passengers with hits from the operas as they propel their vessels along the ancient waterways.
‘Yeah,’ said Persephone vaguely, ‘I think we saw that square thing, alright. It was crawling with Chinese tourists. I took a photograph on their phone for a couple from Beijing. And the ice-cream was ferociously expensive. Like, no way was I paying that much for a cone.’ No mention of historic buildings.
Enquiries about the Doges’ Palace were met with a wordless shrug before she turned to stick her tongue out at a friend making noises in the background. Summoned to wave to the folks back in Ireland, the giggling friend proved equally ill-versed in Gothic Venetian architecture. Well, what about gondolas then?
‘Yeah. We saw the gondolas and some of the girls took a ride. They looked a bit pricey to me. We didn’t hear them sing any arias.’
So, what was the highlight of Venice then? At this point the fuzzy image of Persephone exploded into a pixilated riot of abstract colour.
‘ Ta-dah! Isn’t it great?’
The computer screen slowly resolved itself into a picture of a hoodie bearing the emblem of the University of Venice, her latest purchase. If I thought it was a nice hoodie but not quite what I was expecting as the most exciting thing to be found in a city of infinitely rich culture and heritage, then I kept such feelings to myself. If I really thought all that history was the most enticing aspect of their Italian itinerary for a gaggle of Irish schoolgirls, then I had another think coming. They preferred frocks.
Italy is one of the leading powerhouses in world fashion and these young women copped on quickly. Armani, Prada, Versace or Dolce & Gabbana are beyond the reach of their pocket money but there was no harm in looking. And our intrepid voyager learned at least one thing during her time away - that what is called Penneys at home is Primark in Verona. She reckoned the Primark stock was several months ahead of the clothes in Penneys and took full advantage, filling her suitcase with all the latest.
Surely, we thought, there must be some aspect of foreign travel to broaden a young mind beyond the latest in skirts and tops. The wonderful cuisine perhaps? We were informed that the delegation from Our Town considered the lasagne served in Italy not a patch on the version cooked by any Irish mama. But at least the pizza on offer at street corners was up to standard and, for anyone feeling really peckish, there was always McDonalds or KFC.
McDonalds! KFC! Even over a dodgy Skype connection, Persephone must have realised that her father’s eyes were popping with high-minded outrage.