Venice, Italy is one of the capital tourist destinations in the world, although the thirty million annual visitors it receives are enough to destroy the attraction of this historical port-city. Instead of observing “other-worldly charm” and the “petite grace” of this small island, most people spend their day shuffling from one line to the next. When my husband and I planned a stop-over in Venice, we knew we wanted to attempt an authentic experience and avoid the “tourist traps” at all costs. Our plan was simple: get lost. Most people do not try to get lost on purpose. As travelers, we wanted to take a leap of faith into the unknown and follow the universe instead of following the crowds. Our inspiration came from the great Captain Barbosa in Pirates of the Caribbean who said, “You have to be lost to find a place that can’t be found. Else ways, everyone would know where it was.” Since the main tourist attractions (read: barrage of pedestrians) are along the Grand Canal, we realized we needed to get lost in a direction the herded cattle weren’t moving. Our mission this day was to find an authentic butcher shop and get some Italian ham, cheese, and bread for lunch. We had it in mind that we would buy charcuterie from a delicatessen (or gastronomia) that had cured meats hanging in the window. We wanted to find something that could not be found by a regular tourist, not something that one would happen across in St. Mark’s Square, or on a streamlined route. We crossed the Grand Canal at the Ponte di Rialto and set off in the San Polo/Dorsoduro direction. At each intersection we assessed the traffic flow. We would ask, “Which way are there less people?” and that was the direction we would head. If we came to the next crossing or pathway and saw too many individuals, we would agree, “Nope, not lost enough,” and head towards the still and unassuming alleyways into the unknown sections of Venice. It’s quiet in the local sector during the day. Most of the populace works in the tourism industry. They leave their apartments early in the morning and return late at night. The result is an almost post-apocalyptic scene in which the alleys between the towering residences are vacant and silent. When we reached this area, we knew we were getting close. The sky was overcast this day and rain was forecasted. Thunder and lightning overhead instilled a sense of urgency into our steps. The afternoon showers were about to let loose on Venice. As if some cosmic force were on our side, the moment the storm began, we found what we were looking for: a genuine Italian gastronomia, with hanging meats, and a butcher who didn’t speak a word of English. It was ok, though, because we both spoke the international language of prosciutto. Armed with my best rudimentary Italian and hand gestures that would make a mime jealous, the butcher and I successfully navigated through the transaction. A few slices of cheese, paper-thin prosciutto, a freshly baked Italian loaf, and two Peroni beers were purchased for six euros. The squall outside had not subsided much. From the inside of the store, we could see an awning that covered one of the shop windows around the alley. It was large enough to keep us dry while we sat on the curb, drank our beers, and relished in our accomplishment. Although the day itself was gloomy, our adventure through the passageways of Venice was enlightened. It would have been easy to stay on the main thoroughfare, eat a charcuterie board, and drink beer in a covered restaurant that accepts the U.S. dollar as currency with a waiter who speaks English. The joy of our experience derived from participation in the local culture and the thrill that comes with seeking what is around the next corner. In order to grow in the world, it is important to be comfortable with being uncomfortable, to embrace the unknown. No, we didn’t speak the language. Yes, we were off the map. Still, we were a beautiful kind of lost, where the real experiences happen, and memories are made.