Annie

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Summertime is the time when Europe is invaded by tourists. Tourists from all over the world. A large share of these tourists and a very noticeable category consists of American backpackers. On a pilgrimage they distribute themselves across the continent. They all travel with different motives, in different constellations, and with different itineraries. But they have certain things in common. Americans appear to have a born connection with country fellows. They all communicate with the next American like they’re family, although they may have met only a few minutes ago.

This is what strikes me this wonderful summer day in beautiful Venice. I’m resting my tired feet and am trying to orient myself on the map, sitting on the stairs to a large building. A few meters away sits a young and very cute girl by herself. Ok, not entirely by herself, she is surrounded by pigeons, a large number of pigeons. They don’t seem to bother her. Her calmness is complete, she’s in a state of total harmony. This extremely stupid species of birds even sit on her, like she was a divinity for this sorry excuse for flying creatures. Then a guy walks up to her. Obviously a stranger. Says he’s lost, but that’s just a conversation starter. They converse like they have known each other for years. Turns out her name is Annie. Without any discomfort caused by the unknown guy Annie engages in the casual conversation. Not once does she take her eye off the birds. They hover around her like they have no intention of ever letting her leave the city. Doesn’t appear to bother Annie. I

t’s rare to be able to tell when a complete stranger is happy by only judging by her appearance. Annie is happy. This is probably why she’s still in my mind personifying harmony. In the unlikely event I ever have a bird, I will name her Annie.

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