Broam K's Italian Saga: Day III

Was woken up prematurely by a rowdy group of high school douchebags from some other tour outfit, sometime around 11:15pm.  Not so awesome.  I don't know what they were doing in the hallway, but it sounded like they were riding a pack of drunken wargs.  After about ten minutes, I was about ready to throw on my ass-kickin' trousers, but they mysteriously shut up before I had to - evidently our tour director got out there and tore into them before I had to.

F***in' teenagers. . .

As tired as I was, the prospect of seeing Venice got me out of bed soon enough.  After a decent shower, I skipped the bidet once again and met my group downstairs for breakfast, which consisted of the same bread rolls we had for dinner the night before, a fruit-filled croissant, some swiss cheese, thin slices of honey-smoked turkey, and plenty of black coffee.  I didn't realize there was jelly inside the croissant at first, so I put the cheese and turkey on it and by the time I realized my mistake I was already too invested in it.  As any American would do, I soldiered through.

After breakfast, we boarded the bus and set off for the coast and Venice.  I snagged a window seat on the right in order to take plenty of pics and video along the way.  It was overcast, but the small villages and countryside were scenic enough.

Houses here are hundreds of years old, and are home to generations of family members, unlike their American counterparts.  Instead of moving out into their own houses, Italian families apparently just add on to theirs in order to accommodate new generations of family members.  These mega-houses are surrounded by sprawling farmland, with rows upon rows of grape vines, old rusty vehicles and farm equipment, outdoor kitchens of cobblestone, and shuttered wooden windows laced with black iron.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think was the turn of the century.  Exactly how I'd pictured Italy.

It was in the low 40s, with a strong wind and pelting rain - not necessarily ideal weather for strolling through historic Venice.  We got off the bus at a rest stop and had about ten minutes before getting on our boat, so I opted to duck into a shitty souvenir store in order to pick up a lighter.

Very similar to Africa.  And 1214 Oak St.

The price was 1.50 euros, so I gave the guy the only coins I had - a one-euro and two-euro coin.  When he gave me my change, it was .50 euro, so I tried explaining to him what happened.  The old man began grumbling in Italian, and printed out my receipt, which stated I paid him two euros instead of three.

I decided the one-euro (approx. $1.30) over-charge was not worth the hassle, but vowed nonetheless that this would be the only time i'd be ripped off by an Italian merchant.

The boat ride over to Venice was very similar to those I used to take to Mackinac Island - definitely nostalgic.  It was too windy and rainy to sit out on the top, but I did head out onto the bow of the ship in order to take pictures of the scenic shoreline as we made our approach. . . 

Before landing on the main island of Venice, we disembarked on the island of Murano - most famous for its renowned glass-blowing (I guess. . . I've never been really all that into 'glass').  There, a most distinguished elderly signori brought us into an authentic glass workshop for a glass-blwing demonstration.

Glass aside, it was nice getting out of the cold and rain.

After the presentation, we were led into the showroom (where cameras were not allowed - something that would soon become the norm throughout Venice).  The signori proceeded to show us some masterworks of glass, made by the surviving 'glass families' of Italy.  Fused with gold, they were exceptionally well-made. . . but way out of my price range (ex. the 'red glass,' using gold in the creation process - cost 180 euros, or approximately $280, for a pair of wine glasses.)

I don't like booze that much.

"What the f---"

After idling around the store for awhile, we all boarded a boat bound for the main island of Venice.  Well, almost all of us - we did somehow manage to leave Rebecca, our tour director, behind.  That was fun turning the boat back for her  - not an easy task for the Captain in the day's choppy water.

San Marco

With our group reunited, we docked in San Marco and met up with our tour guide for the morning.  We were given these EF-emblazoned boxes called 'Whispernets,' that, when plugged into an earpiece, would allow a tour guide to speak to every member of our group without raising his voice (a necessity, considering there are 43 of us and the only way of maneuvering  through the narrow alleys of Venice is to snake along in a single-file line).

The walking tour provided for great picture-taking, but unfortunately was far from informative, mostly because for those of us towards the back of the line, we were never anywhere near the point of interest the guy was talking about.

The Umbrella Snake sets off. . .

Another downside to the tour was that Venice was experiencing its coldest winter in over fifty years (of course), and when combined with the pelting rain and high winds, the guided walkthrough of historic Venice often felt more like a forced march. . .

I wasn't a big fan of the souvenirs in Venice - masks, tacky jewelry, designer clothes, etc. - the only thing I ended up buying while in Venice was the lighter I overpaid for. . .

This building's famous, but I don't remember what it was called or why it was famous.  Something about armies fighting on the winding staircase.  Look it up, folks.

This guy's job sucks.  Worse than mine.

Coming back to the Piazza de San Marco. . .

The glory of St. Mark's Basilica. . . under construction.

Modern stores and cafes built into renaissance-era structures.  We saw this everywhere.

After nearly two hours of slithering our way over choppy canals and narrow, cobblestone alleyways, we finally arrived in the Piazza of San Marco.  Here our group split up for nearly four hours of free time in Venice.  My group - the Orlando Nine - decided to hunt down a cheap, authentic ristorante.  The group had their hearts set on pizza, so after a few inquiry-laden stops we found a reasonable joint a couple of blocks from the Piazza.

I had packed two boxes of protein bars and PowerBars in my luggage, being both a light eater and a frugal traveler (I'd rather spend money on souvenirs than food), and always carried a few bars with me in my day pack (those meals do add up quickly).  I, therefore, only ordered un caffe, while those in my group were forced to wait nearly a half an hour for their individual pizzas.  Though medium-sized, the waiter refused to let people share - most likely to squeeze every , past euro out of naive tourists like us.

Long story short, the service was so terrible (though the food was decent apparently) that the other eight were twenty minutes late meeting Rebecca and the St. Louis group at the designated rendezvous point. By the time we got there, there were no EF people in sight - they had left for the gondolas.  The other eight had really had their hearts set on taking the gondolas, so they scuttled off in the direction they believed the gondola docks to be in.

This left Yours Truly all alone - finally - with the freedom to explore Venice unhindered.  I set off along the side canals, hugging the side streets and moving my way back towards where we first started off in San Marco.  After about a half an hour, however, I bumped back in my group, who had found the wrong gondola company, which charged an exuberant eighty euros per person for a half-hour gondola ride.

80 euros for a half-hour gondola ride?  Total bullshit.

I had passed on the whole gondola-thing when it only cost TEN euros apiece per half-hour ride.  That price was steep enough for thirty minutes riding in a 40 degree downpour with horrific wind gusts.  Nothing about that sounded fun in the slightest.

My group was disappointed, but we tried to make lemonaids out of AIDS and moseyed our way back to the Piazza de San Marco. . .

Basilica of San Marco

Doge's Palace

There we decided to see the inside of the famous Basilica of San Marcos (St. Mark's Basilica), the heart of Venice.  After waiting in line for about twenty minutes (in the freezing rain), we were turned away by a belligerent doorman who reeked of liquor.

As it turns out, no cameras or backpacks were allowed in the Basilica.

With students, outside the Basilica.

We were going to leave then and there, but the two moms in our group really wanted to go inside.  Since we had just been turned away - and once they had handed off their packs to us - the doorman let them cut to the front of the line and enter the church.  After fifteen minutes, they reemerged and demanded we switch places.  So, camera-less and pack-less, we entered the Basilica.

I have never seen a more beautiful church.  Every square inch of the building was adorned with sculptures, mosaics, frescoes, or stained glass.  High vaulted ceilings supported by gigantic stone arches, and eerily silent despite the dozens of visitors inside.  Like I said, cameras aren't allowed inside, but here's some random pictures of the interior, courtesy of the World Wide Web:

Coincidently, today - I'm pretty sure - was Palm Sunday. . . I'm assuming this because it's the Sunday before Easter and they were giving out branches of some kind when you entered the sanctuary.  I took a silent moment of prayer in an alcove reserved for those praying (never hurts) and exited the church.

In the terrible, wet cold, we spent the next hour ducking in and out of shops, trying to stay warm.  by that time, it was time to meet up with the rest of our group back near the Grand Canal.  Of course, on the way back, our group became lost and it took us a lot longer than it should have.

Rendezvous Point

Once back at the statue, we counted heads and boarded back onto our boat. . . this time occupied by two other EF groups (well over a hundred high schoolers).  Consequently, I opted to stand in my soaking wet - and cold - socks for the thirty-minute boat ride back to the mainland.

Not awesome.

As we stood around like a bunch of idiots, waiting for our shuttle back to the mainland, a cruise liner the size of my hometown began to slowly make its way through the canal. . . 

Once on shore, the weather had grown worse (we didn't think it possible, but it had).  With the high winds and choppy water, our passengers were barely able to walk down the gangplank to the dock below (many times it almost blew over into the water).  Fortunately the bus was warm, and most of us drifted off to sleep on the way back to the Hotel Colombo.  Those that didn't - namely the large number of high school girls in our group - kept the rest of us soundly annoyed with their incessant clucking and OHMYGOSHhing.

Back at the Colombo, we had about a half an hour to wring out our ice-cold socks before heading down to a dinner of fettucini in a ham and pea sauce, the usual bread rolls, and pork and potato wedges.  Followed by what I can only assume was Flan.  I don't know - I'm not big into Flan.

I accompanied some of the group next door to the hotel's Wine Bar after dinner, and had a couple much-needed chardonnays and some Italian birra (that tasted identical to Heineken).  By that point I was practically dead on my feet, so I trudged upstairs to my room, repacked my bags for the next day's adventure, put my shoes next to a radiator heater, and promptly fell asleep.

- Brian