The hike up to the castle was familiar. I used to call it a déjà-vu because I had done it innumerable times since one of my university classmates brought me here almost 20 years ago. The entrance to the theatre area was rather unassuming – a narrow little alleyway squeezed in between yellow and brown stone buildings, facing one of the busiest roads in Verona. Like a little door to another planet I thought. Or better, like a little door to the past. My past and Verona’s past. Or the other way around. I smiled as I entered the alley, remembering the many visitors I brought all the way up to the castle.
How many times we had to stop with the Asians, taking pictures of the bright pink orchids growing from the old, cracked stone walls. Apparently, the occasional foreigner found its way here also without me, I thought, as I passed sweaty-looking and rather heavily breathing visitors of Northern European appearance on the first set of stone steps, winding narrowly along the buildings. … A little door (Episode 2)