Venice: Hey, if I Like It, Why Should I Put a Ring On It?

It’s the oldest trick in the women traveling solo guidebook; wear a fake wedding band on your left ring finger to avoid unnecessary passes from men. That is if they spot a wedding band on your hand (signaling you are spoken for) then out of respect they won’t harass you. But, hey, if I actually like it, why should I put a ring on it (exception made for the 14K white gold, green amethyst and diamond accent ring that now dons my left ring finger).

There was a time long ago that any mention of me traveling solo to a lust filled, machismo driven country like, say, Italy, would heed loved ones warning me to wear a fake wedding band on my left hand. Years ago I was driven to return to Italy, on my own, to fulfill my desire to visit Venice, the city of canals. “Are you still thinking of going to Italy, alone?” Overly concerned, loved ones would ask.
“Definitely!” I replied.

“Oh…are you sure? It might be quite dangerous to go alone. The men can be quite persistent and we worry about you being harassed all the time. You should buy a fake wedding ring to wear on your finger. We just want you to be safe.”

Prior to my trip I stopped by Nordstrom’s to purchase a cubic zirconium ring. Stashed it in my suitcase and upon arrival in Italy donned it on my finger. I wandered the canal, watery city on my own, day and night. One chillingly cold evening in late December I found myself as on a crowded vaporetto. Vaporettos are basically the public transportation system for Venice. These boats navigate this water locked city as there are no cars, buses, taxis, not even a street light. I sat there nudged in between older women donning their furs, well dressed professionals and well, a boatload (no pun intended) of young, dark, chiseled, handsome Northern Italian sailors. I glanced down at the imposter ring on my finger, halfheartedly reassuring myself that I was OK because I was taken.

I recalled earlier memories of traveling Southern Italy with my sister where we were bombarded by the minute by men constantly courting “Ciao bella” smack smack, kiss kiss they’d leer. We got in some pretty contentious arguments the two of us. I was appalled and more so, annoyed by their lack of manners. I’d quip back “Please, give me a break!” “Oh brother” “As if!” rolling my eyes. My sister would bark at me, “Look, you’re traveling in their country now. You have to respect their culture, stop getting in to such a huff about it. When in Rome…do as the Romans” she’d scold me.

“Yeah, when in Rome do as the Romans but that doesn’t mean I have to DO a Roman! They’re being rude and disrespectful!”

I peeked up again to see if any lonely sailors lost at sea were checking me out for some possible maritime good times. Nothing. Not one single sailor glanced my way that evening.

I disembarked the vaporetto and returned to my hotel. Standing in front of the mirror in my room I did a once over. I reassured myself that albeit I was no Sophia Loren I was still young and fairly attractive but my God, if I can’t get one nod from a boatload of Italian sailors then something might be terribly wrong. I removed the fake wedding ring from my finger and stored it back in my suitcase reassured that I had kept the receipt to return it once I got back home.

The following day young, handsome male passersby remarked “Ciao, bella…where are you from?” “Are you a university student?” “Where are you going?” “Are you lost” “Would you like to share a cup of coffee?” I breathed a small sigh of relief. Everything is right in the world again.