I'm a Nomad.

The wise words of my grandmother: “you’ll fall in love one day, with something and someone, but beware of the pick pocketers wherever you go.” Especially warned of the gypsies, every child seemed to be one. They seemed to travel in groups and I was traveling alone, so it was me against the pick-pocketers.

I didn’t understand how in a place of such serenity this occurred every few seconds. Something stolen from one just to be gained by another. I didn’t understand; staring down this canal was worth more than any pocket change anyone could take from me. Along the cobble stone pathway, this small bar and restaurant called my name. I trusted this tiny alleyway and found it filled with natives. Understanding each other was difficult, but the challenge was welcomed on both sides. His name was Angelo, an “angel” he was considered given by his name.

We sat for hours over a bottle of Pino Grigio. He was only three years older than I, but had the wisdom within age of my grandfather. I began to realize the beauty deep in his eyes and the flow of his beautiful Italian voice. After a few hours, I understood the simplicity of living in Venice. Now I had to attempt an explanation at the hustle and bustle of the northeast: New York and Philadelphia. He started to assess me in the same way I depicted him while he was talking, and a girl could only wonder.

The next day, we strolled through the Rialto market, carrying my first real espresso. As bitter as it was, I felt as though it helped my obviously American face blend into this very Italian crowd. His father owned a gondola at the spot on the canal where they sold their fish. The conversation of the difference in our lives continued down the canal, but I began to feel as though we were speaking the same language. We rowed until sunset, and then to Piazza San Marco we went.

Every day for my remaining time in Venice was spent with this angel. The chance to see Venice through the eyes of the most beautiful local I could find is every girl’s dream. The time came too fast to get on the fast train to Florence. Angelo walked me to the train station, on to the train, and stepped up to kiss me farewell. I sat and thought, was I this lucky, to fall in love with something and someone? I stared at the platform where he stood, smiling. The train pulled away and I went into my purse to get my train ticket, and found 400 euros missing. I had fallen hard in love for a pick pocketer, but I was oddly okay with it.