By Dianne Dunchie-Coley
There are trips you plan, and then there are the journeys you’ve been waiting your whole life to take. For me, this was the latter. It began with two anchors, twin stars in my travel constellation: the dream of witnessing a play in Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre and, finally, setting foot in Venice.
The planning started simply, a two-week window to bring these bucket-list items to life. Then, a happy accident: I discovered a stopover in Canada would cost nothing extra. The thought of seeing my dear former colleague, Monette, and meeting her boys was too wonderful to pass up. That small addition set off a cascade of ‘what-ifs.’ If I was already crossing the globe, why not embrace the journey?
Suddenly, the map began to bloom. My two-week trip blossomed into a grand, whirlwind tour: Fiji, Canada, London, Paris, Germany, Poland, Rome, and the grand finale, Venice. It was a sprint, not a marathon, and I was ready.
A stopover in Fiji is always a treat for the senses. The moment you step off the plane, you’re greeted with 'Bula,' the tropical warmth and the familiar rhythm of reggae that pulses through Nadi International Airport. The locals’ easy smiles make you feel instantly at home.
A friendly chat with an immigration officer about Fijian curries sent me on a mission for authentic island flavours—and I found them at the domestic terminal. The curried lamb and rice were rich, spicy, and perfect. It was the taste of the islands I’d been craving.
My stop in Canada was a quiet, grounding interlude in the whirlwind. Seeing Monette again after so long, meeting her beautiful family, and falling back into the easy rhythm of old friendship was a true gift. In the midst of a journey focused on new places, there’s something profoundly comforting about reconnecting with people who hold a piece of your past.
Then came London, and my adventure began in earnest. On my very first night, I found myself dressed up and walking toward the iconic silhouette of Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. Seeing Twelfth Night performed in that hallowed space was surreal. The history, the language, the laughter—everything I had studied and imagined for years burst into life right before my eyes.
I spent the next few days exploring like a seasoned Londoner, the Tube map my guide and Google Maps’ real-time arrows my trusty compass. In a city of endless culinary options, I naturally sought a taste of home. I found a Jamaican restaurant that served a decent curried goat and rice and peas, though it missed that signature island fire. But then, a true discovery: The Jamaican Patty Company. I took one bite and was transported. They were so perfectly flaky and flavourful, they could rival the very best back home.
From London, I took a long, weary bus ride to Paris—an endurance test disguised as a romantic adventure. Still, standing beneath the Eiffel Tower made the journey worthwhile. It wasn’t quite the breath taking vision I had once imagined, but it stirred old memories of French classes at St. Hugh’s High School more than 35 years ago. Being able to order a coffee and converse in French felt like a quiet triumph—a small but deeply satisfying reminder that learning never truly leaves us.
By the time I reached Berlin, my feet had declared mutiny. The grand plans—to visit the Berlin Wall and the Holocaust Memorial—faded in favour of gentler moments: a young man patiently guiding me through the train system, the impressive sweep of the Parliament Building, and bursts of art scattered across the city. In these unplanned encounters, I found something more meaningful than sightseeing—kindness, connection, and calm.
Poland offered perhaps the most profound lesson of all. I had long dreamed of visiting Auschwitz-Birkenau, but the queues stretched endlessly—hours of waiting just to begin the tour. I returned the next day and found the same. It was then I understood that some journeys ask for grace rather than completion. I didn’t make it inside, but perhaps that, too, was part of the pilgrimage—a gentle acceptance that not every dream must be fulfilled to have purpose.
I arrived in Rome utterly exhausted. It was late, and I did nothing more than grab an Uber to my hotel and surrender to sleep. The true highlight of my time there came the next morning. In the hotel lobby, I heard it—a familiar Jamaican accent cutting through the air. We struck up a lively conversation over breakfast, a little bubble of home in a foreign city. Sometimes, the sound of your own people is the most restorative comfort in the world.
Then it was Venice. Ever since I read the play, The Merchant of Venice at St Hugh's High School, I have held the dream of visiting Venice in my heart. It wasn’t just another pin on the map; it was my ultimate reward, the place I was saving for a moment that truly mattered.
And when I finally arrived, it was pure magic. Everything felt like a scene from a movie: gliding in a gondola down a silent canal, hopping on the water ferries that act as the city’s buses, and just letting myself get lost in the maze of winding streets. My days were fuelled by crisp, bubbly spritz and slices of the best pizza I’ve ever had.
The Rialto Market was a chaotic symphony of sights and sounds, and I loved every second of it. Standing there, I could almost hear the echoes of Shylock and Antonio from Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, a story that suddenly felt real. It’s amazing how, centuries later, the market is still the city’s beating heart. You know me—I’m always on the hunt for a new, exotic fruit. While I didn’t find anything I hadn’t seen before, I did find a Sicilian mango so sweet and juicy it almost took me back home (though, let’s be honest, nothing on earth truly compares to a Jamaican mango!).
But the opera… that was the moment that took my breath away. From the second I stepped into the breathtakingly beautiful theatre, I was spellbound. When the music began, the world outside disappeared. The power of the singers' voices, the beauty of the costumes, the sheer drama of the story unfolding on stage—it gave me goosebumps. Every note, every movement was perfect. It wasn't just a show; it was an experience that vibrated right through me.
Venice had been a dream I’d built up in my mind for most of my life. In the end, the reality was even better. Just as I’d always imagined, the city didn’t just win me over; it completely took my heart.
This two-week adventure was a beautiful, messy, and unforgettable tapestry of dreams realized and plans rerouted. It taught me that travel isn’t just about the destinations you tick off a list. It’s about the unexpected kindness of strangers, the humbling moments when you have to let go, and the sheer joy of tasting a piece of home when you least expect it.
Venice was the destination, but the journey with all its grit and grace was the story.
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Glad you had a great vacation hun.
Coley, this is refreshing. I am happy that you were able to fulfil your dream.
Like you my friend, I would love to touch base with Monette and her sons.
Thank you so much for your kind words! It really does feel amazing to be able to check off items on my bucket list. I'm so glad I was able to catch up with Monette and meet her family. Though it's been over 10 years, it felt like days.
What a refreshing read, happy you had a wonderful trip . Looking forward to seeing you soon, not after 10 years again. Oh Miss Swimmer!!! it would indeed be a pleasure to see you 😊.