Through Venetian Calli
It’s a sweltering summer day and the Venetian streets hum with a cacophony of chattering tourists, a distant melody of a gondolier’s song, and the creak and clunk of restaurant doors swinging open and shut.
I stand behind my tiny bar counter, grab a slice of lime and add it to the concoction of Aperol, Midori, soda, and prosecco I just prepared for this lady. This lady is the sort who could pass as a local—dressed in a pastel blue linen dress, with a leather crossbody bag slung over her shoulder, and a straw hat hanging stylishly from it. But it’s her movements that betray her. She checks the clock on the wall after she orders, her wristwatch, and the clock again—five times in as many minutes. Tourists are always rushing, especially in a place like Venice, where even Google Maps encourages you to savour the labyrinth. I couldn’t help but wonder—what are they chasing?
“Signora,” I call as I slide the glass across the counter. Relief softens her face as she smiles and reaches for the glass. “Grazie mille,” she says in a broken but charming Italian. As she rushes to the door, I couldn’t help myself and I call after her, "Dolce far Niente.” She looks at me, puzzled. I reply, “The sweetness of doing nothing. You are in Venice, signora, take your sweet time.” She walks back in and a conversation ensues.
My Aperol Spritz with a twist of Midori
A couple of years later, it’s the 2nd of January, and I have just celebrated Christmas and New Year’s in the chilly Northern Hemisphere. It’s 7:30am. I am woken up by an alarm going off in the next room. My face curls in annoyance but I relax when I realise that I have the luxury to stay in bed for a little longer. As I wait for my blanket to lull me back to sleep, my mind drifts to that Venetian summer afternoon. I reminisce about the conversation that followed with the bartender after I walked back in. A five-minute stop at this bar turned into a fifty-minute chit-chat. We talked about her impressions of me when I walked in, other tourists, life, love, Aperol Spritz, travel, and of course, the sweetness of doing nothing.
Curled up under my thick blanket, my thoughts still linger on the conversations with the bartender that afternoon. I feel the bittersweet weight of this morning—a mix of joy from the holiday season and sadness at its inevitable end. The stretch between Christmas and New Year’s is a surreal time of the year, with no concept of routine, work, calories, or exercise. All sense of time and space is lost as the mind and body crave this break after a full year of activity.
The sweetness of doing nothing. The sweetness of being idle. The sweetness of slow mornings. I find myself holding tight to my blanket, clinging to these moments, savouring the slow morning, before the routine sets in again.
As we grow older, life feels heavier—with responsibilities at work, in relationships, and within ourselves. Our past catches up to us as we anxiously look toward the future. So why not we take a pause sometimes? Why not we take a few moments every day or perhaps a few days every year, to slow down—to savour the slow mornings and relish the sweetness of the present moment? To truly taste the coffee, to linger a little longer in bed, or to pause for a few moments and marvel at the vastness of the sky.
That summer afternoon in Venice, I walked out of the bar with lighter steps. I let the labyrinth guide me, wandering without purpose, savouring the sweetness of nothing. Dolce far Niente!