Mantova and Brescia

13th birthday celebrations call for adventures of varying kinds. They begin at 9 in the morning with an overnight bag, snuggled in the back of a full car on the way to Mantova. At 10:27, we are singing happy birthday outside a rest stop, and, minutes later, we are crossing over the 25th parallel, clapping our hands and cheering. Indeed, growing older calls for much celebration.

Three hours later, we unfolded ourselves from the car and stepped into the humble city of Mantova, the place in which the infamous Romeo was once exiled. The city is significantly smaller than both Genova or Torino, and yet it still manages to boast grand palaces and extravagant architecture. 

Piazza Sordello comprised the majority of the city center. 

The Duomo di Mantova stood watch over the square as we made our way across the antient cobblestones, poking up against our soles. To the east stood the houses of Acerbi, haunting only if you knew the rumored history behind it. 

Then, to the East, Palazzo Ducale, a grand palace housing over 500 rooms, multiple courtyards, gardens and galleries. 

The inside was filled with a plethora of frescoes, some, of course, more common than others.

A short stroll south of the palace, led us to a series of great finds such as the Rotonda di San Lorenzo, an ancient church built in the 11th century, and the Basilica di Sant'Andrea di Mantova. More proof as to why cathedrals are my favorite places to visit.

Afterwards, we met up with family friends whos two sons practiced every english word they knew on me. “Nix, there is a table in the kitchen. That is a piano and a TV. My brother is a gay.” I uncomfortably ate cookies while the Italians joked on.

When the day ended , we said our farewells and weathered the rain and the clouds to the small town of Brescia. Here we would meet up with the grandparents of the birthday girl and feast in god-like fashion on home made Italian cuisine. When our bellies were uncomfortably full, we pulled out some chocolate cake and celebrated.

In the morning, for breakfast, I was served a mug full of raw egg yolk and sugar, a substance that sang me dreams of salmonella. When it was apparent I was having a hard time finishing the meal, they delivered two shots of espresso and suggested I pour it in. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I obliged and filled my bloodstream with cholesterol and caffeine. Honestly, I would do it again.

We spent the afternoon on the fringes of Lake Iseo, taking in the sights of mountains and water and villas. The market was in full swing and we strolled around, enjoying the good weather and cheap prices.

For lunch we overdosed on food and drove home in a daze from the week long adventure. I continue to remember the words of their mom, saying, "Oh no, you can not leave. The girls will cry. This is a problem. Really." In the end, she schemed to find me an Italian boyfriend to keep me around forever, as moms must do what moms must do to keep their children whole. Ha, and how can I complain?