Leaving Verona - Taking Memories

When I arrived in Verona traffic chaos and throngs of people filled the streets surrounding Castelvecchio. All had ventured to the city for a festival. Vendors plied their wares along the narrow cobblestones on footpaths, in parks and even on some bridges. The ancient city yielded to the crowds eagerly making light of their excursion. In but a few days I have become familiar with its culture while partaking of its local habits. I've walked the streets and lanes. I've dined in. I've dined out; at cafes, ristorantes, osterias and pizzerias. Up tall steps I've climbed into the arena and watched a passing parade of marching bands. Streets of lucky stones have tormented my shoe leather until they have succumbed to the pattern of my gait on the uneven surface. Engines of vans, arpes and vespas have trilled in my ears, like bees in a tin. The sound reverberating in my head as they accelerate past and it continues long after they are out of sight. I've shopped at supermarkets and walked in circles lost for what seems like ages when foot sore a known landmark is sighted and spirits have lifted. I've developed a liking for cones of limone and banana gelato and an interest in browsing the market stalls in the piazzas scanning the displays for trinkets and souvenirs. I grown accustomed to the smell of freshly ground espressos taken on the run, by residents, hurrying to work. Street theatre performers in the square outside the arena no longer a novelty for I've acquainted myself with their rehearsed patter for tourists. I note the polizia who daily stroll the pavements casually greeting those they know. Into juliet's courtyard I've ambled with streaming tour groups.Wonder what I'll miss the most?