A bone hanging over a street has been waiting for centuries for an honest person. Verona is known by walking, not only by photographing balconies.
“Well, wanderer. I am the Rib: the bone hanging under the arch between Piazza delle Erbe and Piazza dei Signori. A whale's, they say. Nobody knows where it comes from and nobody has ever proved it.”The Rib
What the narrator asks you. The answer, and the true fact behind it, is for you to find on the spot.
If you arrive by train, the first thing Verona gives you is a gate. Not just any gate: a monument that Giorgio Vasari judged without equal. Yet tourists walk past it with their suitcases and do not look up. You, look up.
Verona's drawing room has a marble guest in the middle. In 1865 someone put him there, defying the censors of the empire. Those who know him greet him; those who do not take a photo without reading his name.
This Romanesque church is so beautiful that it has inspired poets too. It has a wheel on its façade, and nobody turns it: it turns by itself, and it is called destiny.
A rectangular enclosure with nine orderly buildings, chosen to be hard to reach in case of revolt. It was the empire's depot. Today it is a corner of the neighbourhood with benches, and few know what it was.