Mountainous landscapes coated in new-fallen snow still swirled past the view I had from my seat on our homey charter bus. Mühlbachl, Austria had finally relented and given way to quaint little Italian towns scattered through the Swiss Alps. Through my window, I peered at the road markers, now written in that romantic language we call Italian, which would sporadically burst through the ever-present flakes tumbling down from the sky. The atmosphere around me seemed alive with excitement and anticipation as we drove further and further into that amazing nation. The next morning, my school group and I boarded a boat that would take us to the last stop on our two-week-long journey: Venice, Italy. Though our time in Venice would be brief, I promised myself that I would soak up every ounce of history and beauty that this ancient city provided. My friends and I scoured the azure waterways for gondolas, desperate to view the inner city through the typical tourist mode of transportation. Upon locating an available vessel, we began our new adventure. The water was frigid and gently swayed the boat as we floated through the channels, taking everything about this magical place in. We toured St. Mark's Basilica, whose interior art can only be described as a kaleidoscope of colors surrounded by glowing gold. I was in complete awe of the building, which is the final resting place of Mark the Evangelist, a disciple of Jesus. I recalled the fascinating story of how St. Mark's body was stolen out of Egypt and taken to Venice by two Christian merchants. The importance and significance of the basilica, not just as an ancient place but as hallowed ground, was palpable in the faint whispers and faltering steps of those inside. Suffice to say, my life was changed forever.