When in Rome: Day 7 (Well...When in Venice actually)

About a month and a half ago, four adventurous friends went off on an journey to Italy, in pursuit of delicious pasta and fine espressos and in pursuit of a break from the humdrum dullness of everyday life in Dakar, Senegal. One of those friends was selected to tell the stories of their adventures, like the bards of old (except, without the rhyming--you really don't want her to rhyme. She's dreadful at the rhyming stuff). And then she got bogged down by the ordinary parts of life when they returned from their Italian adventure, and although she tried very hard to write about Italy in a prompt and timely fashion, everything else pressed in on her attention, until now, when she decided to use it as an excuse to procrastinate from marking the 34 research papers she needs to grade in the next week and half.

This is the continuation of their story.

On the seventh day of their journey the four women went to Venice.

This is the famous clock tower of St. Mark's square, a tiny peek of St. Mark's Basilica, and the Doge's Palace. If she is allowed to boast a little bit, Danielle is quite pleased with this shot, and thinks that perhaps Venice should use it as a postcard, and send the profits to Danielle to help pay off her college loans.


They arose early in the morning to catch their 9:30 train. Danielle got up earlier than the others to shower, and so she was ready to go by 7:30. Everyone else was still getting up slowly—they didn’t have to leave until 8:30 or so, so there really wasn’t a rush—Danielle just wanted a hot shower. At 7:45, the doorbell rang: it was Marcello, the little Italian man who owned the flat, coming to pick up the keys. Kari had been trying and trying to get in touch with Marcello to arrange the key drop off, but to no avail. She’d finally sent him an email telling him we were going to leave the flat at 8:30. So, he arrived at 7:45. The doorbell buzzing was the signal for everyone to wake up. After the doorbell chimed, there was a tremendous scuffle from Alicia and Kari’s bedroom, and a cry of “Shoot!” from Kari as she leaped up, and rushed into the bathroom. Danielle calmly spoke to Marcello on the intercom, and buzzed him up. She wasn’t really sure what to do with him when he came—would he sit in the living room and watch all of them scurry about to pack up the various last minute paraphernalia? Anticipating an awkward moment, Danielle let Marcello in. Marcello looked about in some confusion at the still unpacked apartment.

“When are you leaving?” He asked.

“Um…8:30…”

“Oh. Okay. I will come back.” And he left. And Danielle was relieved that she didn’t have to entertain him politely for forty-five minutes till everyone was ready to go.

At 8:30, they stood waiting for Marcello outside the building. It was raining—the first day of bad weather the whole trip, for which the four were very grateful. It had been beautiful in Rome for six days.

When Marcello walked around the corner, he opened his arms wide and said: “Rome is crying because you are leaving her.”

This man was a charmer in his day.

As they waved goodbye, and walked away from Marcello, Kari mused: “I really feel like he wanted me to give him a hug. But I wasn’t sure what to do.”

Finding the right train was not too difficult, but finding the reserved seats proved a nightmare. Apparently, the four no longer had reserved seats, because the train was a different type from the one originally planned on. It was rather trying to figure out where to sit, and they were juggling hand luggage, suitcases, and the carryout breakfast they’d purchased to eat on the train. People looked askance at them as they wandered in bewilderment up and down the aisle looking for seats 101-105 on a car that only went up to seat number 95.

Eventually, the four found unreserved seats in another car, and settled in for the three hour journey, in which they started taking notes for these very travel logs.

Cori and Alicia on the train to Venice.


Kari and Danielle on the train to Venice.


The train took them directly to the Venice train station, but their hotel was actually twenty minutes outside of Venice, on the mainland. The Venice train station is on solid ground, but as you may know, the rest of Venice is not. They peeked out the main doors of the train station, and there was Venice, in all of its rainy glory—for the rain in Rome had followed them to Venice. Despite the rain, it was still lovely in a Romantic poet sort of way. Danielle imagined Byron musing on the rainy skies over Venice, and found that odd, because Danielle does not even like Byron. After taking in the view, they waited for the train to take them to their hotel, which was in a small town outside of Venice. Alicia’s parents paid for the hotel as a part of Alicia’s birthday present (for which Alicia’s three friends feel immensely grateful). The hotel was nice in a hotel kind of way, and they rested for only a few minutes before heading out once more for Venice, despite the rain and their weary feet. They stopped in a little diner nearby for lunch (it was nearly 3:00 pm) for they were famished and fainting from lack of sustenance.

Upon returning to Venice, they needed to make a rather difficult decision: which vaperetto tickets to buy. Perhaps you scorn. Perhaps you say: “Pssh Posh.” Perhaps you say: “What’s a vaperetto?” A vaperetto is the “bus” system in Venice—there are no actual automobiles in Venice: it's a bus boat. There is no other way to get around, other than walking or taking a Gondolier. You don’t hire a gondolier to get around for ordinary traffic—you take a vaperetto. And, because Venice is essentially a giant tourist trap, waiting to take all of your money, the vaperetto is remarkably, incredibly, exorbitantly expensive. After deciding to sell their future first-born children to the city of Venice in order to be able to pay for the 36 hour vaperetto pass, the four women lined up to purchase the pass from the vendor.

In this photograph, Danielle, Alicia, and Kari are looking at the vaperetto sign, and pondering: "How badly do we really want to ride the vaperetto? Is it possible to just walk, rather than selling our future first born children?"


The automatic machine did not work, and Danielle informed the man of this problem.

“I am better than machine.” He told her with a wink.

When Kari went, she asked him where they could catch the Number 1. He told her “You want #1, you come to me.”

Apparently, he has been working on his English.

It was still cold and rainy, and they huddled in the vaperetto shelter, waiting for it to arrive. Of course, by the way, they huddled in the wrong shelter for fifteen minutes before realizing that they were in the wrong shelter. Eventually, they found the correct one, and the correct vaperetto. The plan was to ride the vaperetto all the way up the Grand Canal to take in the view of Venice, first. Venice was crying—hopefully not because of their arrival—but, as stated, it was lovely in that dreary, poetic sort of way that inspires the Anne of Green Gables of the world to write poetry or re-enact “The Lady of Shalott.”

They took the vaperetto to nearly the end of the line, just past St. Mark’s Basilica, and then decided to walk around. Rick Steves told them that the most remarkable sight of Venice was Venice. Rick Steves, once again, was correct: Venice is indeed the most remarkable sight of Venice. As evening came on, and the rain drizzled down upon them, the lights of the small streets cast a comforting warm glow on the whole scene. Someone in the group suggested that they “follow the warm glow” as the guide for which streets to explore, and so they did—drifting down side streets and up alleyways, guided by the streets with the warmest glows. It was a perfect way to explore Venice, and their meanderings led them to St. Mark’s square—which was practically empty because of the rain, past tiny cafes closing up for the slow tourist night, to dead ends that emptied into side canals, up and over countless bridges and walkways, guided entirely by the glow.

Rain and pedestrians in Venice.


Views from the vaperetto ride down the Grand Canal.






A wet piazza.


Follow the Warm Glow!


For some reason, when Cori walked over a bridge, someone suggested that Cori needed a bridge song. So, every time Cori walked over a bridge, she “tooted” Pomp and Circumstance. Every single bridge that they crossed in Venice.

Every single bridge.

There are many bridges in Venice.

Once again, they attempted to find a place to eat that did not exist, or which existed in some parallel universe of the author of the guidebook, and they ended up walking and walking for miles and miles, as they had in Rome. At long last, they settled on a little place that looked welcoming, if not quite the example of the nightlife or youth culture one might want in Venice. They settled into their seats, foot-weary after a long cold day of walking in drizzling rain. The restaurant was mostly staffed by international waiters—there didn’t seem to be any Italian employees, although the restaurant served delicious Italian food. They spoke some English, but there were a few translation difficulties.

At the end of the meal, over dessert, the main waiter approached our table. This was just after he got excited about Danielle’s t-shirt—she was wearing a Dakar Academy shirt, and he probably thought it said “Dkaka”—he looked like he could be from Bangladesh (sometimes mail sent to Dakar ends up in Dkaka). He set his tray down, and crossed his arms, and then uncrossed them. He gestured to the group, but began to address Cori.

“You make take this as insult, or you may take this as compliment.” He began. We all looked at him with interest. “But, you look like…Dazed and Amazed.” He told Cori. Cori started.

“Me?” She asked, in confusion.

“Yes, Yes. All the others, they are looking wide awake, they are looking like alert. But, you, you are dazed and amazed. Dazed and Amazed.”

At this point, Kari and Danielle were struggling to hold in their bubbling laughter, and the waiter made his exit, fortunately. The four women spent the next couple of minute laughing so hard, but unable to laugh out loud, because they didn’t want to draw attention to themselves, or embarrass the waiter. The man must have realized that the four friends didn’t quite take his comment as he may have intended (how is one to take that comment?) and he avoided them ‘til they finally made eye contact long enough to ask for the check.

For the rest of the night, as they made their way back to the train station, and back to the hotel, they quoted the waiter to Cori: “You look like…dazed and amazed. Dazed and Amazed. Dazed and Amazed.”

They crawled into their beds, each one of them feeling dazed and amazed after another long day of tourism. As much as they had enjoyed Italy, Rome, Venice, Pasta, Espressos, and each others company, they were really ready to get home to the ordinary, humdrum dullness of everyday life. Vacation had begun to take its toll. Fortunately, they were going home very soon.