The Gondola Fantasy That Nearly Broke Us Up
I thought she was too touristy. I was an idiot.
We’d been dating for nearly a year. Everything was going great, when Emily said, “I have always wanted to ride in a gondola in Venice.”
I winced. “What?”
“It would be romantic,” she said.
Some people refrain from touristy activities because they look down on them. In my case, it’s fear. Fear that people who don’t do clichéd, touristy things will judge me.
“What kind of loser rides the horse-drawn carriages?” they’d whisper in Central Park, so I’ve never ridden one. I’ve never hopped on a cable car in San Francisco, never toured Buckingham Palace during visits to London. I lived in Tokyo for four years and never climbed Mount Fuji.
I tried to forget about Emily’s gondola remark, the way you might try to put out of your mind that your new partner snores, or dislikes uni. Attractive? Certainly not, but can you imagine a world in which it’s not a deal-breaker?
Possibly.
One day, we realized we had enough airline miles to take an overseas trip together.
“How about a street food tour of Southeast Asia?” I proposed.
“You mean a diarrhea tour of Southeast Asia?” was how Emily told me she would not be up for that.
She talked up the pizza and gelato, and I quickly caved for Italy. In other words, a gondola ride was on the table.
Before we left, I told my friend Carla, a third-generation Italian American, about my predicament. She had met and liked Emily, but now questioned whether this gondola fantasy might be grounds for reexamining the relationship.
My sister, on the other hand, took Emily’s side, scolding me over the phone:
“Andrew. All your girlfriend wants, to make her happy, is for you to get in a fuckin’ rowboat with her. What is your god-damn problem? You don’t even have to row.”
Here was my problem: Emily was a beautiful, intelligent, caring woman whose career was about helping non-profits make more of a difference in their communities. Was she also someone who would subject me to a life of hackneyed travel?
