Treviso, continued

I’m figuring out Treviso. Bought myself a guidebook and keep my map in hand. Somehow it seems more acceptable to walk around with a map in hand there than it does in Venice. Or maybe I’m just getting more comfortable with preemptively outing myself as a foreigner.

The Biblioteca Comunale has a charming little Sala Manoscritti — wood-paneled (i.e. high, elaborately-carved  wainscotting with benches) above which are silk-clad walls running up to the 30-foot ceiling. The librarian is charming, too — quiet, courtly, and wry.  I can no longer remember his name and, in fact, messed it up the moment he told me — but he kindly offered to write it down for me.  Despite my inability to remember his name, he offered to show me around the closed sections of the library.

Because the library is so small, there are no limits to requests and they allow (well, he allows) do-it-yourself photography.  The only downside to this small-town atmosphere is the schedule: the manuscript room is open 9:30-6:00, with a lunch break from 1:00-2:30. I usually spend that long lunch uploading and cataloging my photographs, but occasionally I take an exploratory walk. That’s how I’m figuring out this maze-y little town. I would take advantage of the time and the terra firma prices to get some shopping done, but everything is closed for lunch.

Over lunch on Thursday, I was blazing a new path for myself when I heard a tapping on a car window… tapping obviously aimed at me. To my great surprise it was Emmanuela — my Trevisan friend and fellow UofC doctoral student. I’d been thinking about her a lot and had only that morning solemnly sworn to myself to email her that evening. For her part, she was on her way from the airport, having just arrived from Chicago. What are the odds?