That's Amore

This weekend was the weekend of all weekends.

Perfect weather, three course [budget] meals, gondoliers, and strong drinks.


Venezia e Firenze.

We departed my beloved Rome Thursday night at 9 o'clock to take an overnight train into Venice. The train was an adventure in itself...

The nine of us girls were lucky enough to somehow be split evenly into three train cars. That means there was room for three other people to be seated in there...

Lucky enough for me, I got on the train and someone was in my seat! In an attempt to inform him politely that that was the seat I had payed for and intended to sit in during this trek, he conveniently asked "Parlez vous francais?"

Thanking God for my life and my
leather when we got to Venice.

I just can't escape it.

In a fury I pulled out my ticket and pointed to the seat number. Numbers are the same in every damn language, there was no reason he should not have understood. But a guardian angel was also seated in my car; an American girl who figured out he could also speak Italian and somehow got him up.

So I sat semi-comfortably and tried to doze off after we waited for the train to leave for minutes. Next to the four of us girls was a pair of random, unacquainted Italian dudes; one who was frantically answering phone calls and the other who seemed to want us to stop gossiping so he could get a peaceful rest.

I was not getting a peaceful rest when the cell phone guy got off and was replaced by someone I was sure was a merchant. It would be fine if he had brought his middle eastern goods to sell to help feed his family. It was not fine that every time I opened my eyes he was leaned over staring at me. At that point, I knew I couldn't close my eyes for a second. I let out a dramatic sigh of frustration and what I hoped had come off as aggression.  I took out my first generation iPod touch which could miraculously manage to allow me to type a note and furiously typed away just so he knew I wasn't gonna go to sleep with a pair of all too curious eyes in the same car as me and my leather jacket.

He got the hint that I was an assassin; the exact hint I wanted to convey. He grabbed his little rolly-bag of useless nic-nacks and left the car. I slammed the door and closed the blinds.

trekking to the water taxi at dawn. photo cred: J. Herro

By the time we arrived in Venice, it was 5:30 in the morning and I had gotten a full 15 minutes of sleep. The only thing that kept me awake in our somewhat muted scurrying of trying to figure out how to get to Campo Tomá on the middle of this island was the beautiful sunrise we got to watch from our Venetian water taxi.

However, after we found our hostel it was time for a nice nap before we began the day.

The day officially began at 12 o'clock when we went to a restaurant where everyone got pasta except me, who chose salad (for you Krystal), but of course wine.

A lot of wine. No better way to start the day!

After being vinoed we took to the streets to do as tourists do; this is not Rome, there was no chance for us to pretend we know what's going on.

Apparently, glass is a hot Venetian commodity.

Shop after shop of mardi gras masks, pinocchios, and blown glass. Throw a few 4 euro scarves in there and you have the attention of American college girls!

We ventured into St. Marco's Square, the central location of the island. A nice big piazza-esque area with lots of tourists and vendors. I was personally more awed by the water; it was gondola time.

We wound ourselves back through the narrow Venetian streets to come to the ideal spot for the boat tour. A narrow water passage allowing us to watch the sun set and provide a view of Venice's most famous bridge. Our gondolier, who is apparently a third generation gondolier looking to pass the flame to his son, showed us the house of Marco Polo and Casanova, boat garages on the water, and, by my request, a rendition of Nino Roto's "Speak Softly Love" in Italian. Nothing like murder tunes in the evening on the water, right Fredo?

It was a beautiful and romantic ride with some of the best girl friends I never thought I'd find (just missing you ave </3). In all honesty, it is kind of awkward seeing just couples in gondoliers. It is not very private, and everyone should know now how I feel about PDA. And it kind of also blows my mind that people do it anymore. I guess I just assume that all married men get sea sick since I know a certain grown married man who does. No names necessary.

It was definitely an experience that I will always remember and never regret paying XX euro for.

Pictures don't do it justice

We went to a restaurant on the water and me and my fellow Roman Catholic got calamari to honor the fasting from meat on Lenten Friday's while everyone else got chicken cutlet. God can't strike anyone dead in a city as beautiful as Venice.

I can speak only for myself when I realized I was exhausted from the 2 hours and 15 minutes of sleep I had accumulated in the last 36 hours, so we made the very rash decision of having an early night... once we got the free drink our hostel offered us.

It was definitely free for a reason.

Venetian drink... I'm sorry, no.

Having never researched or indulged in specialty city drinks besides Long Island Iced Tea, I cannot give the so-called "Venetian drink" a fair critique. So I'll just give it an amateur critique and say that it tasted like pure acid. It was bright red and I'm pretty sure there was a chili pepper in it. Who quite knows what they do on this little island.

We settled for gelato and went back from some rest. It was a long day of traveling and adventuring (hence the long post of writing).

Tomorrow [and in the next post I'm going to write after class] comes Florence.