What a day. A day that was both wonderful and not as planned.

I woke up early this morning ready to go. Today is the day to travel to Tomba Brion. One of a few very specific architectural pilgrimages this trip.

I’m more excited today. But my head is killing me. And Italy has mosquitoes that WON’T QUIT. I thought Memphis in the middle of summer was the worst place on the planet for mosquitos, but I was wrong. I have bites all over me, and there is always one or two random mosquitoes in my room at night. I cannot figure out how they’re getting in to save my life. Anyway.

I head out. The first lesson of the day: follow your instincts. Second lesson: keep to your original plan (unless of course you have to move on to your next plan for some reason, other than mere suggestion). I told my aunt and uncle I was going to rent a car to go see the Brion Tomb while I was here.

My aunt asks, “Is there not another way to get there besides renting a car?”

Well, maybe. A bit more research. It looks like I can take a local train, walk a little ways, take a bus, walk a little more and I’m there. Piece of cake.

But I have to use google maps for this instead of relying on my apple maps app I’ve been using. This should have been a red flag to me, and maybe it was, but not alarming enough to stick to my original plan. But an architect on a blog I found said he got there the same way. This is legit.

I start navigating with google maps. It takes me through town, to a very brief, very utilitarian gondola ride, through some parts with abandoned buildings (that I thought wouldn’t exist in a city like Venice) and to the train station. Somehow I’ve missed the train and the next one isn’t for about an hour.

So, in my typical fashion, I’m waiting for a ridiculously long time for a train ride. I have a round trip ticket and then in my anxious traveling state bought another return ticket for a later time just in case I am delayed. I don’t know why, not a soul has ever checked my tickets for the local transportation.

I board the train, everything is fine. I listen to music, watch the fields of poppies out the window. I’m so excited I could cry. Like meeting a pen pal or something. A long distance friend you finally get to see in person.

I get to the station, go next door, buy my bus tickets, and head across the street to the stop to wait. I have forty-five minutes until the bus is to arrive. A lot of waiting.

I stop into the small deli and grab a piece of pizza and pear juice, which is something I’ve never had, but is amazing. Back to the stop to wait.

Ah! 12:22, time for the bus! I stand up, put my mask on, get my ticket ready.

No bus in sight. For a stupid long time. Ok….

I head back over to where I bought my bus ticket.

“Hi, do you know if there is a way to tell where the bus is, if it’s on schedule, what is going on?”

“No, you just wait for the time on the schedule.”

There is a station outside that has a number for a taxi and a sign that says “Transfer to Tomba Brion.” I call it, a message in Italian, then it hangs up. Cool. Back into the shop that sold my tickets

“Is there any way to get a cab? The number I called on the station doesn’t work…”

“No, it doesn’t work, just have to stand outside and wait.”

“Ah, ok. Grazie.” Stand outside and wait for a cab. I haven’t seen one in at least forty-five minutes. Hell.

Back outside to figure out what to do. A nice couple walks up and asks me about a taxi. Well, the folks inside say you just sit and wait and they just show up. Somehow these kind people took that news better than I did and sat down with their suitcases to wait for a taxi.

I’m burning daylight. And running the risk of being stranded somewhere. I do not want to be stuck in the Italian countryside tonight.

I look up an alternate route, different series of buses.

I start down the street. Cross the street to a creepy underground tunnel that takes me under the train tracks and to the other side. Walk a bit more. Then turn back around. If that first bus is unreliable, why would I think the others would be reliable? Why would I get myself on a path where I needed to rely on several buses to be on time and not just one? Bad, bad, bad.

I walk back through the underground tunnel. I decide I will stay at the first stop, wait for the next bus, and if it doesn’t show up, I’ll just get back on the train and go home. I almost start crying. I don’t want to miss this.

Back at the stop to wait. I have eleven minutes.

All of a sudden several buses start coming down the street. None of them say they are bus 214, but I still feel good about this.

One of them stops. A ton of teenagers get off. I step on and try to scan my ticket. Doesn’t work. The man says something in Italian I don’t understand. He finally tells me this is a school bus. Neat. I walk off. That was embarassing.

Just so you know, it’s not like a big yellow school bus that says “SCHOOL” on it. It looks literally like all the other buses.

Another bus pulls in right after the school bus. More teenagers. This time I assume it’s a school bus. But right behind it bus 214 pulls up! This is it! I’m giddy.

I walk to the doors. The driver doesn’t open them. He tries to pull around the second school bus. Ah. He must have to actually stop at the bus stop instead of randomly on the street behind some other buses. So I walk over to the stop and wait. He pulls around the school bus and KEEPS DRIVING. Does not stop. What the literal hell.

I am done, I turn around to walk back to the train station to go home. But I see the couple that was waiting for a taxi and the taxi pulls up.

I walk over to the taxi driver– “Please, after you drop them off wherever they’re going, will you please come back and pick me up? I’m trying to get to Tomba Brion and I’ve been waiting for the bus to show up for two hours. Please.”

“Well, if they don’t mind you can ride with us, I’ll take you there.”

The couple was so nice! “Of course, prego!”

Thank you god.

I ride with them five minutes to their stop. They speak to the driver in Italian. He looks back to me, “All the taxi drivers, bus drivers on strike. Today is a bad day to be trying to get somewhere.” Great.

He drops the nice couple off. And we make our way to Tomba Brion.

“Why are they on strike?”

He explains to me that they are trying to get back since COVID, but it’s slow and demand is high, and with the rising petrol prices from the war, the wages are not enough.

“It’s too much. All too much.”

Yes, it is all too much.

He tells me about the city we are in. A pope was born here, a random statue in the middle of what looks like a highway with bouquets of flowers all around.

“Do you take many people to Tomba Brion?”

“Oh yes. When I first started driving, everyone asked me to take them there, but I had no idea what it was. So I finally go see it, do some research. It’s wonderful. I bring a lot of students, architects, from all over the world. You are a student, yes?”

“I’m an architect. I love Scarpa. This is one of my all time favorite pieces. I had to see it. Thank you so much for taking me.”

He is very happy to drive me. He tells me about the Medieval town on the hill that I should visit, another Scarpa work nearby, and some other facts about Brion.

“Ok, but I don’t want to get stranded out here. How will I get back?”

“I’ll give you my number. You call me when you’re ready to leave and I’ll come get you.”

Bless you sweet, kind taxi man. He reminds me of Anthony Bourdain. We both have our masks on, so I can only see his eyes, but they remind me of Anthony Bourdain’s.

He shows me the original entrance. A dirt path through a grove of trees. The entrance before everything was built around this. But we continue to the new entrance, paved, with a parking lot.

He drops me at the cemetery, “Ah, not many cars today. All for you!”

I walk in. It’s just me and three other guys that I can tell in the entire place. It’s small.

You walk through a number of above ground graves and mausoleums with flowers and photos and headstones, but you see the Brion Tomb upon entry. In fact, you can see it from the street, through the grove of trees. A powerful terminus, just like he imagined.

A place for your eye to rest among the classically designed tombs. Austere and strong, but at the same time soft and quiet. Moments of light, of color, glimpses of sky and vegetation. Spiritual moments to rest and see and appreciate. I don’t have words to describe it. And the photos I took don’t even do it an ounce of justice. I don’t even know the best way to photograph it. Some of the best pieces of architecture I have ever seen don’t photograph well. Because to be in them is so infinitely better. You just have to experience them. The detail. The craftsmanship. The thought. The materiality. The juxtaposition of the elements. The journey through. It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.

I feel the tears rolling down my face. I can’t believe I’m here. Cannot believe it. I’ve said that a lot the past two years, but this feels so wonderfully different.

I walk through, running my hands along the concrete, listening to the gravel. A flowering bush growing over one of the walls has a ton of bees humming in it. I stop and listen. I just read an article about the meditative and healing quality of beekeeping. And given my recent beekeeping experiences, the sound is so calming.

I’m taking some photographs and one of the guys comes over to talk to me. He tells me Scarpa’s tomb is just right over there. “Isn’t this all wonderful?” he says.

“Yes, it is amazing. Where are you from?”

He’s from Scotland. I ask if he’s an architect. Sometimes you just know. He is, and his other two friends are too. I get so excited and give him a high five, because me too! I’m a nerd, I know it, it’s fine, I’m embracing it.

“Yes, you just look at this and think about the work you do, and well…hmmm…just makes you want to be better, I mean look at that,” he points to another small detail I had missed.

“Yes, very aspirational. We could only be so lucky.”

“Absolutely. Well, enjoy your visit, it was very nice talking to you!”

I think about this a bit. I think Scarpa would love it. All of us coming here to see his work, a gathering place for architects.

They all walk out. I’m the only one there. The entire place to myself.

I’m standing in the lawn area just beyond the rings, taking it in. Two small blue butterflies twirl up from the grass and flutter out in front of me before flying right over my shoulder.

Like something put me here at this exact time. This is when I was supposed to be here. To have this moment, alone in this place. Just for me. Be patient and what is meant for you will find you. Chills all over my body.

I walk around studying, photographing, sitting, taking it all in for about an hour and a half. Then I call my friend to come back and pick me up. Several people start showing up to visit the tomb.

“Ohhhhhhh…I had to drop someone at Venice, about an hour and a half away. I will need that time to get there.”

“That’s totally fine, just whenever you can.” You are literally my only way out of here, man!

I start getting nervous about catching the train once I get to the station, especially with what he told me about the transportation strikes– “Yes, the train too, but they have obligations. They can only strike at a certain time. I think they are striking starting tonight at some time.”

“Hey, do you think you could take me all the way to Venice?”

“Yes of course, if that’s what you want.”

Yep, skip the train, get out of here.

I walk around the area outside the cemetery. I’m looking for poppies, but I can’t find any. Then I see a small spot of red peaking out in the overgrown fields. I pick it and press it in my sketchbook.

Back to the shade to sit and wait for an hour and half.

He makes it, drives me back to the city, an hour and a half away. I pay him more than the ride.

“Just please, keep all of this.”

“Oh…thank you. You are so kind.”

“This day would not have happened at all if it weren’t for you. Thank you so much.”

“It was a pleasure. Call me again if you need a ride anywhere else, if you decide to go see other Scarpa work.”

I would love to, but I think this adventure did me in.

I walk back to my room, about thirty minutes away. The car ride made me very queasy. I had to do a lot of meditation. A lot of roundabouts taken very quickly.

I lay down on the bed. But it’s time for dinner.

Emily calls me. I tell her about my day. What a day. She laughs hysterically at the part about the school bus. We can’t wait to see each other and we talk about what all we want to do in Paris.

I get to dinner. A very nice restaurant hidden down a dark, narrow street.

I say something to my aunt and uncle about the music, “It’s so weird they’re playing what I would have on in my house right now.” They can’t really hear it.

They bring out dessert. Lucinda Williams starts playing. A nice end to a weird adventure. I should have rented a car.