Venice

Guest writer continues....Jon Grayson
We left Rome and off to Venice
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The Ryan Airlines waiting area was pretty nondescript, evidence of the dirt cheap fares. We were touched by a son who accompanied his elderly parents to the gate, and waited until they were safely through security before he left (we hope both our boys are as loyal). We decided to adopt them and stood by them when we rushed into the long line to board another bus that would take us to the plane (we wondered just what else low overhead might mean in the way of safety or pilot inexperience). The crowds of Italians are not polite in any fashion, even toward elderly people with canes, and I caught my adopted mom as she was nearly pushed out of the bus.

Arriving in the tiny airport in Treviso, we walked all the way past security and the baggage claim, and had to sneak back in just to get our luggage.

The bus ride to Venice was relaxing, but I was nervous that nightfall would mean a tougher maze to the hotel (but still determined to take public transportation). The vaporetto (water taxi) ticket salesman was another big grump, and then I asked about our stop, thought he flipped me the Italian bird (the big #1), but I called the hotel and they did confirm it was indeed stop #1. Still, the dark night was confounded by a misty fog, which I remember in Shakespeare’s description of many nights in both Othello and The Merchant of Venice. Not to mention, it was eerily quiet and few had departed at stop #1. There are few lighted signs in Venice and it was too dark to decipher any of the other signage, which was minimal. We found a hotel near the stop, and thank goodness, the smiling clerk looked Scandinavian and gave us some easy directions to the Foscari Palace. I have never been more relieved, and wondered if our hotel was any better. And boy were we surprised. It blew me away, and I welcomed they bell boy to carry my bags and appreciated the orientation to our room (with two balconies, no less, and a full fruit basket compliments of the manager—hotel snobbery does have its privileges). The next evening, we were invited to the wine/cheese party, which included a harpist.

There were so many wonderful things about Venice and our hotel, but the best was a nearly quiet street with just the bump of a gondola, but no blaring police cars. The morning was a great awakening to everything we imagined, and more. The only complaint I can think of is that so many people smoke, but it is not allowed inside stores/restaurants.

Leaving Venice was a bit easier, but I wanted to take a different route and we had time to kill. So we took the train, despite Kristy’s grumbling (I told her to cheer up, that the Italian scowl was growing on her). I should have listened, as the conductor chewed me out for not validating the ticket on the time machine. Now I was glad we were leaving Italy. The only restaurant open in Treviso was McDonald’s and that suited us well. The town was shut down as most towns are on Sunday, so we went to the airport and read our books. It was another long, pushy line into the waiting area, followed by another pushy line into the bus which took us out to the plane. But we survived.