A Trek Through the Snow

Perhaps I slept through it that morning but I’m sure that at some ungodly hour the men and women manning the Padova Christmas markets must have released a single, cumulative curse in Padovani dialect as they gazed out their windows to the foot of snow that had fallen in the night on this the final weekend before Christmas. While one could easily gaze upon the towering Dolomites to the north on any given day in winter to see them capped with glistening white snow, it was altogether unexpected to find this much of it having fallen here in the valley.

It may have been my inner child getting the better of me or maybe just my inner explorer but I was soon out of bed, into a four-layer mixture of jumpers and jackets and trudging through the winter wonderland around me. At once I found myself surrounded in a perfect silence with the usual city sounds of the typically bustling Padova surrendering to the gentle whisper of snowflakes. Beneath me I could hear the fresh, fluffy snow crunching as each step carried me toward the old city center ten minutes away.

Passing by the 16th century Porta San Giovanni I soon took refuge from the snow beneath the arcade along Via Euganea and continued my way toward the center with the mostly deserted cobblestone road at my right. As my trek brought me to the centro I soon found market vendors doing their best to fight the elements. A hopeful few had parked along Piazza dei Signori, their engines running with vendors huddled inside to keep warm. Along the bordering shops and café’s stood other vendors, some chatting with the local polizia while still more opted to sit out the snowfall by sipping a cappuccino and reading Il Mattino. With the roads empty, the piazza’s packed with snow and the snow unrelenting it soon became abundantly clear that Christmas shopping was not on anybody’s agenda.

Moving through the sparse piazza’s I soon passed the icicle-strewn fountain at Piazza della Erbe where the daily fruit and vegetable markets were a few kiosks at best. Working my way across snow-covered cobblestone and dangerously slick marble I eventually found myself at the foot of the Christmas tree across from Padova’s town hall and the university where the likes of Galileo had taught and where the term padawan had been born. Gazing up and the towering pine I found its limbs hanging low with snow and the decorative red Christmas bulbs standing out magically against the stark sky.

I hadn’t realized the true impact of this unseasonal snowfall until I eventually made my way toward Prato della Valle, the largest square in all of Italy. Previous Christmas seasons or Saturdays I had spent strolling the bustling markets had shown me that the pedestrian-only path along via Roma would have required dodging milling Italians, chatty tourists or weaving bicycles. On this day my footsteps carried me easily to the massive square, a handful of others strolling in the snow seeming to enjoy this particular beauty found in the mixture of snow with Italy’s already distinct architecture. My journey ultimately brought me into the center of Prato and to a fountain there now frozen through. The four paths leading out toward arched bridges now seemed to work as the points of a compass with every direction along that compass covered in snow. From the tops of the basilica bordering the square to the heads and arms of the timeless statues of nobles encircling the area the once busy world around me had come to a standstill. Amidst the silence I soon found my own priorities becoming much like the vendors I had passed earlier: find a nice caffe, order a cappuccino and enjoy a little warmth on a cold winter day.