"Hey, Dave! We just arrived here at Termini! What's your apartment number again? We..." I asked, but was cut with an equally over-eager voice from him.

"Don't worry about it, let me just meet you guys up at Rialto Bridge!" replying with a hint of seemingly concealed grin on his end.

That left me wondering.

After our phone conversation, and while looking at the map we just purchased from a souvenir shop at the terminal in an attempt to find our way to Rialto bridge, my wife and I chose to walk instead of boarding the Vaporetto (water-bus), which at that time was getting heavy with boarding tourists.

(When we met Dave later at Rialto bridge, he explained to me that it’s a lot easier meeting us in a public place such as this famous bridge rather than try our luck in unconventional narrow lanes of Venice. He proved himself right later on.)

We did the right decision to walk.

Except from transient beings, i.e. these wandering tourists - I felt as if I was walking in a place so different from any present-day civilization. The city's ancient elegance to me is beyond description. A moment in time when your eyes get spell-bounded by what it sees, and your tongue fails to process words to describe it. In the end, it is the heavenly sensation I felt that will testify to its impeccable greatness…and my camera, I guess.

We crossed several smaller bridge on our way to Rialto, each offering different views from the other. Vendors and tourist hawkers are everywhere. Some straight-faced, others would offer their traditional greetings: “Buon Giorno!”

I noticed most, if not all, alleys do not have letter signage in them, but only directional arrow pointing to city's main attractions (i.e. Piazza de San Marco).

Though I felt my feet becoming heavy at that point, we continued on, enjoying each view every time we passed by at narrow alleyways snaking over a turquoise canal.

A showcase of quaint and cozy shops spread on both sides of the alley enhanced our enjoyment. We did our occasional stops on arch bridge to take pictures of gondola gliding smoothly through meandering water canal as well. At times, the wife would giggle with enjoyment every time she hears fedora-clad baritone gondoliers sing their hearts out.

Meanwhile, Dave had been at the Rialto bridge way ahead, waiting for us. TO BE CONTINUED.

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