Traveling in Europe: Random Thoughts

Author: Wang Xigeng
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-09-01
Features: We entered the old city from Piazza San Marco by land, turning left and right, navigating through a series of dark and narrow cobblestone alleys. The guide pointed and gestured, walking and talking as he went, saying that the Venetians knew Marco Polo well. His main achievement, he claimed, was transforming Chinese noodles into Italian pasta, making it popular in Southern Europe. Second, he was a bold and adventurous merchant who succeeded in exploring the East and returned wealthy. As for his reputation for bridging Europe and Asia through exploration and his literary accomplishments, he didn’t care much. Yes, Venice always viewed everything through a commercial lens. After making several turns, about ten minutes later, we arrived at a wooden bridge. This bridge was the same height as a two-story building, spanning a waterway between two rows of buildings. The guide pointed to the right and said, “Oh, here we are! This is it.” Looking around, we saw a long row of buildings connected like a wall, mostly three stories tall. The most ornate one was Marco Polo’s former home. Its ground floor was a stone-arched gateway built for boats. Due to the continuous subsidence of the foundation, it no longer stood as tall as it once did. People only lived on the second and third floors, which was the custom for Venetians. The second floor had a large marble balcony extending outward, with two windows and a door. The four half-round windows at the top of the balcony were heart-shaped. The third-floor balcony was enclosed with iron railings, matching the size of the second floor. The building had been neglected for years, and the tide had eroded its foundation and brickwork, leaving them. In many places, especially near the ground-floor gateway, the surface decoration had already peeled off, leaving behind patches of moss and green stains. The exposed red bricks inside had weathered into pits and hollows, inward. The grooves were exposed outside, and the entire wall, especially the bottom, was covered with cracks of varying depths and lengths. In some severe areas, even clusters of vibrant green grass had sprouted from within. This old mansion was in such a state of disrepair that it seemed like a poorly constructed project. Yet, it still retained the dignity of a wealthy and upscale residence, far beyond the ordinary. The neighboring windows were open, but this one was quiet and sealed off, utterly silent and still. Only the two windows on the third floor were half-open, seemingly for ventilation. The building looked as if it had been abandoned and neglected. It seemed that Marco Polo’s descendants no longer came to inherit it, though it had once been a distinguished and noble family. Looking at the empty balcony and the closed doors and windows, my thoughts drifted back 700 years, to an unforgettable scene inside this building: flickering candlelight, choked sobs, and old Polo on his deathbed. He was a wealthy and influential merchant in Venice, a man of courage and vision, with a spirit of adventure. In his youth, he traveled far and wide, his capital increasing tenfold, amassing a substantial fortune. Now, his time was running out. His breath was thin, and he said to his two sons, “I regret that I never visited the East. I’ve heard there’s a powerful country there, about two thousand miles away. You must go there, no matter the difficulties, and see for me.” The brothers wept uncontrollably, “Father, rest assured, we will fulfill your wish. No matter how many challenges we face, we will accomplish it.”