For a long weekend, we decided to go to Padova from Munich. What makes this place special? Aside from its beauty and historical significance, we used to live there – it’s where my husband and I met, where I had my first proper job and my first flat without housemates. Padova was the starting point for many trips, ranging from daytrips to nearby villages to longer journeys in Italy and beyond. It’s been 10 years since we moved away, and somehow, we never found the time to visit again. Finally, we took the chance that came with a public holiday, resulting in a long weekend in May, and booked our train tickets.
In Padova, everything is within walking distance. Though the underpass of the station had been reconstructed, the kebab joint next to it still bears the name that I used to find funny every time I saw it: “Kebab e … più” (“Kebab and … more”). From the train station, it’s a short walk down a broad street to the bridge that leads over the river surrounding the heart of the city. The same graffiti still marks the bridge, written in plain, black letters: “Buongiorno principessina!”. The hotel on the train station side of the bridge is under reconstruction, looking strangely disembowelled with the dark windows and pipes sticking out of it. My favourite pizzeria (Pizzeria Pinsa) is still there, the menu has not changed, and the pizza tastes exactly as I remember it. I realise, though, that the pizza chefs behind the counter were still school children when I’d last visited this place.
The town centre is full of life. The broad street from the train station changes to a pedestrian zone, intertwined with a couple of stretches where cars and motorbikes can drive. Some buildings offer shade with their archway passages. My favourite gelateria is still there (Venchi), but they no longer serve my favourite flavour (lemon and liquorice). The street is dotted with chairs and tables, where people can drink a Spritz. Spritz, in my opinion, just doesn’t taste good if you don’t drink it with the magic of Padova’s city centre, surrounded by student banter and the warm evening atmosphere.
Although you can still find a Spritz everywhere you go (Aperol, Campari, or misto, among many other options), many of the bars that we used to frequent are gone. The bar where my husband and I first met, Petrarca, was replaced by something that looks more fancy. Inside this new bar, the walls are decorated with living greenery, and the squatting toilet has been replaced by a dark-tiled, modern bathroom. In fact, I'm not entirely sure if it's the same place, because it has been completely and thoroughly renovated. On the famous Piazza dei Signori, the headquarters of Spritz, the tables are not as dense as they used to be, and in the shopfront surrounding the square, there are several gaps, like missing teeth, with closed shutters and “Affitto” (“for rent”) signs. I realise that not only ten years have passed, but that there was also a pandemic in between now and my last visit. It’s painful to imagine Padova stripped of its life, and with its cafés and bars shut due to the restrictions aiming to slow down the spread of Corona. I guess many of the bars and cafés did not re-open or had to be sold and rebranded as places that could charge more than three Euros for a Spritz.
A positive change is the addition of bike lanes. I’m pretty sure they were not there ten years ago. However, cars still park on the side of the road, blocking off the bike path at random intervals. Obviously, creative parking is still a thing, with one difference: I was always amused by people who’d park illegally and go away for a couple of hours – but turn on their blinkers. As if a parking inspector or person whose way is blocked by the inconveniently positioned car would say: “Ah, they have their blinkers on, so that’s fine!” Now, illegal parkers no longer provide this courtesy, the offending cars’ blinkers are consistently off.
Giardini dell’Arena was a part of my walk to work. It is next to the famous Scrovegni chapel, and I was often stopped by tourists who were looking for its entrance. Being asked for directions in Padova made me proud, because the tourists must have assumed that I was a local. The park has always looked nice, but it used to be mainly famous as a place to buy stolen bikes. More than once have I passed this park, and heard a loud whisper from behind some bushes, from someone trying to sell me a cheap bike: “Psst, bici, bici!” The bikes and the whispers are gone, and have been replaced by a playground and wooden stands that sell – you guessed it – Spritz. There used to be a rule in Padova: If you bought a bike, you’d need to get a lock that cost at least as much as the bike. Only then would you have a decent chance of keeping your bike for more than a few hours. Looking at the bikes and the corresponding locks that are parked throughout the city centre, it seems that the bike theft problem has improved a lot.
Padova is not immune to globalisation. Many of the previously typical Italian bars have been replaced not only by more fancy local variants, but also by more exotic restaurants. There are now more Chinese restaurants – maybe the Chinese community has grown. There are also places where one can get poké bowls – a fashion that I don’t really understand. Even at authentic-looking pizzerias, we, being obvious foreigners despite speaking Italian, are often addressed in English. Ten years ago, this would have been a sure sign of a tourist trap. When I had moved to Padova, I had very quickly realised that one cannot rely on English to get around. This was a strong motivation to improve my Italian, and resulted in many endearing conversations, where a person I’d asked for directions would realise that I didn’t speak Italian, and start waving around their arms while listing all of the English words that they knew.
For our weekend stay in Padova, I’d booked a flat on a street that used to be part of my daily jogging route. My jogging route was along the river, or creek, that surrounds the city centre. I found some time when I could go for a jog after sending my husband and son to the new playground at Giardini dell’Arena. For a route that I used to take almost daily, I realised how many details are forgotten: I’d run along the creek, yes. It’d pass this kiosk, which sells local Cicchetti, that’s true. Now I remember how I once stopped on this bridge to take a photo. (Do I still have that photo somewhere?) But where did I cross to the other side again? And why? Can I get through if I go straight here? I’m pretty sure the footpath at this place is new. And at what point did I use to turn back? Some details come back, others remain forgotten, and others have simply changed. The warmth, relaxed atmosphere, and beautiful buildings along the creek, remain the same.
As the train left the station, I realised how many times I’d left Padova in this manner before. I just hope it won’t be another ten years before I come back.
