HomeEighteen hours in Venice
31. Mar, 2010 
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Although I’d only booked one night in Venice, I was looking forward to finally seeing the legendary city and visiting the nearby island where factories produce the world’s sometimes gorgeous (although often gaudy) Murano glass. But my eighteen hour trip to the city of grand canals, narrow streets and stylish Italians, was one of misconceptions, and by the time I awoke the morning after my arrival, I wanted nothing more than to get out of Dodge. So I skipped the factory tour and took the first train to Florence. What happened? Keep reading true believers.
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Misconception #1
I was told that even the most fool hearty tourists can wander leisurely through the narrow labrynth-like streets without getting lost, that one could simply follow the many signs like breadcrumbs. Such a narrative dovetails nicely with my tendency to visit places with little preparation, but as I discovered the moment I disembarked from the train, I was more fool hearty than even the most fool hearty. It seemed that the various Venezians were working in concert to confuse me. The woman who runs the little trinket stand just outside the train station on the Grand Canal claimed to not know my hotel, but she advised me to take the #2 water taxi. Which sounded like an excellent idea until the unfriendly cabby quoted me 60 Euros. I refused to pay nearly $100 for a ten minute cab ride (even if it was a water taxi), so I was back to square one.
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The Venice train station.
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Annoyed but lost, I turned on my phone and immediately found a for-pay citywide WIFI service. Unfortunately, the service, if it even existed, didn’t give me a user name or password, so approximately twenty dollars poorer, I was forced to rely on the poor 3G signal to access Google Maps. I plopped down on my suitcase to study the map (never my strong suit), but then my phone lost power, leaving me utterly confused about how to reach my hotel. Despite having a room already booked, I was exhausted physically and mentally, so I finally decided to throw in the perspiration drenched towel and just book a night in the first room I could find, which happened to be the two star Hotel Eden. Located just off a major street in a quiet courtyard, the Hotel Eden seemed like it might be paradise. Recognizing my cluelessness, the front desk clerk took pity and encouraged me to find my actual hotel, which he said was reasonably priced and in a fun neighborhood. He proceeded to patiently explain exactly how to reach the public ‘bus’ boat. Figuring out where or how to pay for the water bus offered another lesson about being prepared, but I finally reached my intended stop only to find more narrow, maze-like streets.
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Misconception #2
I always assumed that Americans traveling abroad would be naturally inclined to help each other, but one night in Venice proved my naivety. When I heard a woman working in a gelato shop speaking distinctly American English, I thanked my lucky stars and asked if she could point me in the right direction to my hotel. Evidently she had forgotten what it felt like to be a lost stranger in a foreign land, because even though her shop was empty, she literally refused to help me. “I’m not a tour guide,” she said flippantly when I inquired politely about whether she could help me locate my hotel. It was a shame for both of us that she took that tact, because in addition to Gelato, they sold Coke Lite, and I was thirsty. But no. Just no. At that point, I desperately wanted to take the bus back to Trenitalia and skip Venice altogether, but as it turned out, the last train had left the station already, which gave new meaning to the term tourist trap. Finally, I found the hotel, but as of this writing, I literally cannot access the memory as to how that happened. I do know that when I ultimately did arrive, I pushed the wrong buzzer and wound up standing in what looked like a small city council meeting.
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Note:
I stopped in to the gelato shop later, because as it turned out, my hotel was located right around the corner, and I just had to share just how nearby it was (in case somebody ever asked again), but as it turned out, the American already knew that. “Yes, the little place over the bridge,” she said. “As I said, I’m not a tour guide.” You might be glad to know the short exchange culminated with her screaming, “You’re an ass!,” words which never sounded so sweet.
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Misconception #3
This misconception’s about me. I’d thought that years of periodic meditation, travel and interacting with many kinds of people had left me impervious to the sort of crazed frustration I felt during my entire eighteen hour stay in Venice, and I never would have expected I’d spend thirty minutes crying, not the occasional sniffle but an entire thirty minutes of balling (punctuated by a guffaw or two)(I’m not entirely humorless) over Skype to a sympathetic friend back home. Although he listened patiently, he later confessed he wondered if he’d heard a genuine break down. (Over the Internet no less. How exciting!) My teary lament (which is also the name of my upcoming novel) ended when my room’s WIFI connection stopped working and Skype abruptly cut us off, at which point I ventured back out into the chilly streets to take a few photos and try to find someplace to eat. I do have to ask: what kind of traveler has their breakdown in Italy for God’s sake? Would you believe I’ve wanted to climb Mount Kilimanjaro since I read Michael Crichton’s book Travels in grade school? What do you think folks? Is adventure travel something I should attempt?
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Misconception #4
Contrary to what many people had told me, Venice did not stink. Although I was only there for 18 hours, I detected nothing more foul than a slight mustiness I found somewhat pleasant.
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What’s the lesson? The takeaway? I’m still trying to figure that out, but so far, here’s what I learned:
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1. Get plenty of sleep. As Carol, a longtime reader and commenter recommended, stay off the booze and caffeine and get some sleep! Even something as easy as finding a place to eat became exponentially more difficult when I was sleep deprived. If anybody has advice about combatting jet lag, please let me know.
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2. Pack a lighter suitcase. I’m a heavy packer, so I’m not sure I’ll follow this one, but lugging around a backpack filled with a laptop, magazines and books, a separate camera case and a humongous suitcase nearly killed me.
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3. Do your research. First, the basics: know what your hotel is named, and know the address. In fact, write it down on carbon paper and keep both copies in separate places. Batteries lose juice at the most inopportune times, so do not count on your phone.
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4. Download Skype. Just in case you need to phone a friend back home.
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That’s it, so . . . arrivederci. (Please go easy on me). Please check out Strange Closets Facebook page for miscellaneous tips, additional photos and/or to follow my mental status updates.
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The view from my room at the Hotel Ateneo.
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That’s my room from the outside. Very Rear Window.
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Venice was pretty though.
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See what I mean about Murano glass? It’s kind of pretty and kind of ugly.
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Apparently rhino’s have always been big in home decor. Globes too. How little things change huh?
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In my depressed state of mind, this gorgeous square felt just a bit too Eastern European for me to really appreciate.
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Now they tell me!
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I want the blue pair!
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So perhaps this is insensitive of me, but your trials and tribulations were totally worth it for these gorgeous pictures.
Also, eff that American bitch.
Thank you Tasha. That’s very sweet. I’m glad I had the experience and now have the photos, and I agree with your every other point.
Tate,
Thank you for being so honest with your story! I just love that you have les boules to be honest about breakdowns and vulnerability in your trek for the ambianza fabulossa (words made up) of Italy. Maybe it was the narrative, but I feel like I can tell the pix were taken in pain. At the point in the story with the second visit to Ms. Gelato, it read like a good movie script.
I have had my share of travel breakdowns, and can relate. Maybe this has nothing to do with your point in the story, but I went to Venice last year after years of longing to know it and was utterly disappointed. Nothing like the city of my expectations and dreams.
Great point about Murano glass, kinda pretty kind of ugly!
Toodles
Jill
Tate, I remember vividly, and with a touch of adrenaline rush, being in Rome for a few days to run a meeting, staying in a very old hotel at the edge of St. Peter’s square, and waking up in the morning–the day of the meeting–in a panic. Could not work the phone (in Italian), could not call the desk–had no idea what time it was–lost my calling card, could not speak Italian, feeling slightly ill… My life was saved by my sweet husband calling me from the states (he is European) who told me what time it was, gave me instructions on how to call out, how to get the desk, etc. I got in the shower, got dressed, knew where to go, what to do… Really horrible experience tho… Best to always be with others abroad. And if you can take someone who knows the place, all the better! YOU DID GOOD!
Thanks Jill and Kathee. I don’t know if I did good, but I made it out alive and with my dignity. Or at least alive.
I agree with Tasha. I’d trade your nervous breakdown for these gorgeous photos anyday.
Sorry.
You might feel differently if you’d been on the receiving end of the Skype call Jan.
I’m sorry Venice was not the charming place it can be–your photos all seem to have that grim Eastern European air to them, although intriguing nonetheless.
My favorite Venice quote: “Streets full of water; please advise.” Sent by Robert Benchley to his editor, I think sometime in the 40s.
Hi, Tate, I finally got to read this today, May 1. Several comments follow:
1. You may have felt “fool hearty” but you were actually foolhardy = foolish + hardy (bold) from Old English. Despite your feelings of foolishness you were bold enough to persevere, and eventually you did reach your goal. Congrats!
2. Under MC2, you said the American girl “took that tact”, a Freudian slip if ever I have read one. She treated you with anything but tact. The phrase is actually “take that tack” meaning angle of approach, from sailing. I’m sure you felt like she had jabbed you with a tack when she made her useless comments.
3. Your “Eastern European” square may be exactly that, as it looks like it might have been built by the Turks during one of their brief periods of detente with their competitors in Venice. Most of the rest of the time the two were at war.
4. I, too, have had a travel breakdown, when my visitor card and work visa in South Korea were confiscated at the airport as I departed Seoul during my work contract for a short visit to Japan. “No re-entry visa, lady, you get out! No come back without proper visa!” the immigration inspector cheerfully screamed at me. I was dragged to the departure gate for Tokyo by two big security guards, whom I clubbed with my two carry-on bags at every step. They were probably black and blue for days. (ha ha ha) When I got to Tokyo I broke down to my pal Sean, an experienced international traveler, on the phone. He was very helpful and told me to go to the Canadian Embassy, where I was assured I could get back into Seoul (and to my job!)on a tourist visa, but just for 6 weeks. So after that I had to go home, finishing up just 8 months in South K. instead of a year.
5. Please be assured that adventure travel is much better managed than tourist trips to Venice. People may actually get hurt during adventure travel, so the agencies go out of their way to prevent this. Let me know when you want to go climb Mount Kilimanjaro, and I will go with you. I have already studied several safari / mountain trip packages to Mount K listed on Vacations to Go.com.
oh gosh!
I feel your pain (& love your photos)
A long, long time ago in Paris, I was inadvertantly separated from my friend at the Louvre. I was able to figure out the train ride from there to the metro stop 3 blocks or so from our hotel. I wandered for hours (I am not kidding, yes, pathetic sense of direction) in every imaginable direction trying to find my way “home” to the hotel room with the leaky shower & gross soggy carpeting. My friend, I later found out couldn’t figure out the train, but had the street smarts to find the hotel. If only we had each other to find our way back together! oh the misery! oh the relief!