Let me start by saying that I do not, in fact, despise Venice. But boy did I come pretty damn close.
The story started before we even got to Venice. Our flight to Paris was scheduled to depart at 12:15. We decided to leave the apartment at 9:30 to give ourselves enough time. Except here’s where we went wrong- We get lost in Paris. And prior to this day, getting lost hadn’t seemed all that bad. I had really enjoyed it, actually. However, when you don’t really know where you’re going in the first place yet you have a deadline to make it there by, getting lost isn’t so good. So we walked the wrong direction a few times, frantically found our way, watched the clock like little hawks, and sweat more than I would like to admit. With ten minutes left until the cutoff for check in, we got to the airport and ran around towards our area. The guys checking us in with Transavia were, I’m convinced, angels in little green suits. They took us right to the front of the line and explained our predicament to the ladies at the counter. I think that’s what they did, anyway. Either way, it sounded beautiful. Long story short, we had a bag issue, were out 30 euros, but on our way, on time, to security. Up until this point, I was still at the top of my game. Happy to be alive! Bubbly! Full of adventure! Now, you may know that on my layover in London, security took about 90% of my liquids…. moisturizer, shampoos, etc. etc. So me and airport security aren’t exactly the best of friends. It seemed to be a breeze, until I watched my backpack come out of the x-ray machine, go back in, come out, go back in again, then come out and get sent down a separate path. I was running on approx. 4 hours of sleep (time zones were really killin’ me) so I was on edge to say the least. Then some sweet, slender, French man kindly asked me if he could rummage through my stuff and actually waited for me to answer. As if “no” was going to be an option? Obviously, I nodded and rolled my eyes because I was pretty salty about this whole thing. Then his stupid, gloved hands unzipped EVERY. SINGLE. POCKET. of my backpack. Including, but not limited to, the area that holds my undergarments. As my mother would say “Andi, I’m sure he sees underwear every single day.” Well, ya know what? I DON’T CARE HOW OFTEN HE SEES THEM. STOP TOUCHING MINE. It’s a little odd to watch a stranger unpack your stuff while another stranger pats you down. Best part– Guess what he found? NOTHING. Why? Because I’m not a terrorist, that’s why!
Moving on. My poor, exhausted brain fell asleep before the plane even took off. I awoke when we landed in Venice. I completely forgot about my hatred for European airport security, and we boarded a water taxi to our next beautiful destination. Our directions said “Your stop will be Zitelle.” That’s pretty much it. So logically, I took a screenshot of the map that Airbnb gives and we went along our merry way, got off at Zitelle, and asked around for “Calle del Orti”, where our apartment appeared to be, based on the map provided. First person we ask has no idea. Second person we ask, not really sure but he goes to check and comes back to tell us to go straight and then right. So off we go, right? Well, Venice is basically a bunch of small island-type things, so it wasn’t long before we hit the edge, with no “Calle del Orti” to be seen. So we ask a few people hanging around outside their houses, they have no idea. They LIVE here, and still have no idea. One says that they think it’s just down a bit, towards the stop before Zitelle. Off we go, again. Keep in mind that we each have 35 or 40 pounds on our backs. So we arrive at what seems like would be the place. Just a little passed a stop called Redentore, we find the street that the host mentioned when we called her from the store shop 20 minutes prior. Here’s the kicker- she didn’t speak English. So we referred back to the map and asked more people. Here’s where it gets good. They tell us to get BACK on the water taxi and take it straight across to some completely new station. So, we do. The handsome taxi attendant turned out to be a real, excuse my French, asshole, but we hopped off after one stop and ran off without paying. Sorry Venice, but I’m not sorry. Then we walked. And walked. And walked. But streets were looking more familiar now. And by “familiar” I mean some of them showed up on my map. But where the hell were we?! If I’m comparing areas of Venice to Chicago neighborhoods, we were in the South Side. It was dead with a capital “D”. We followed the street signs and finally made it to Calle del Orti. Man, this place was a dump. I mean that in the nicest way. We passed a stray cat along that way, and even IT looked sad to be there. Then we sat down. It had now been nearly 3 hours since we got off the plane. 3 hours with backpacks the size of small children. Did I mention it was starting to rain? I was convinced Venice hated me. So we plopped down on some stairs and waited to be met with keys to the apartment. And waited. And waited. Finally we called (a call that probably cost us 4 million dollars) and were told that-wait for it- WE WERE IN THE WRONG PLACE. THE WRONG PLACE. I looked at AJ. I think I saw a tear. I looked at my mom. Her mouth was quivering and her nose got red. We all cried a quiet little exasperated sob, picked our things back up and went off on our way towards THE PLACE WHERE WE JUST CAME FROM. Finally, we arrived back at the stop we had come from an hour ago, were met by some woman with a terrible attitude, and led to our apartment. The sun has pretty much set at this point, all we’ve eaten all day is a pastry at the airport, and it’s actually raining at this point, I just want to sit down, connect to wifi, and reassure people that I am, in fact, alive. But nope. I paid for an apartment that advertised wifi, only to find it has been “down for a few days.” (I call BS on that one.) So we went to eat at some restaurant close by. The food was fine. We came back. I laid down on the wood floors, put my head on someone’s bag and passed out. Hard. I woke up and dragged myself upstairs to the bed, put on some music, and knocked out again until check-out time.
So that was my miserable day in Venice. I went to bed convinced that I hated this place.
I was wrong. I woke up (about 5 minutes before check out, leaving no time to shower or anything, really) and packed up and we embarked on the mission to find the bus stop. As soon as possible. None of us were particularly interested in staying in Venice any longer, and our aching bodies were back to carrying the 35 lbs bags around. BUT, alas, we couldn’t help it. We fell in love. Just on the walk across the main island to the train stop, Venice won us over. Granted the walk was easily an hour, but still, that’s all it took. I had to stop every 30 seconds to take a picture of a beautiful canal that I’m sure looked very similar to every other canal, but was gorgeous for it’s own unique reasons.
Unfortunately, I don’t have as many pictures as I would’ve liked. We didn’t get any from the first day, unless you count my useless screenshot map. But the few pictures I did get serve as excellent reminders for why I NEED to come back someday and give Venice a fresh start.
Sadly, we said goodbye to Venice and headed off to Verona, which is a whole other blog post in itself. So until then, ciao!!
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