Plop, plop, plop.
"Eww!" I said as I poured the milk into my coffee, "Looks like another thing went bad."
I threw the milk in the garbage. It landed on top of every other dairy product my roommates and I decided to buy.
"Weird Italian refrigerators."
I honestly would not have cared, however, it was 3:30 in the morning and I was about to find a Taxi to take Emma and I to the airport. I'm starting to slowly figure out that this is not New York. People actually like to sleep here.
As I hit the pavement, the only thing I had was a backpack with two dresses, a toothbrush, some make-up, and an Ipod. For someone guilty of always over packing, this was monumental. I'm starting to find myself as more practical; more intuitive of what you need to get by. You know that stupid 'truth' question you always get? "If you were deserted on a dessert island and could only live with one thing for the rest of your life, what would you bring?" I feel like I could answer that now.
Universally, we can all agree that 3:30am is a very strange time. People are either doing two things at 3:30am. A) Drinking or B) sleeping. They are NOT traveling to Venice, the ultimate romantic get away, with their best friend of the same sex.
So obviously, Emma and I were off to Venice at 3:30 in the morning, on the ultimate romantic get away, with our best friend of the same sex, dodging belligerently drunk Italians and their open car doors along with crazy gypsies who like to collect dogs as hobbies. We were surrounded by disasters waiting to happen, so in a pure state of anxiety, we got off the sidewalks and ran into the middle of the street.
"Now what!" screamed Emma as the wind from the speeding cars swooped her hair into her face, "Where the hell are all the taxi's!"
So I guess Rome isn't anything like New York OR Chicago.
"Let me get out the number they told us to call!"
So now I'm in the middle of the road, at 3:30am, looking like a prostitute desperate for money. During the course of me digging through my backpack, whistles were flying out of car windows, men were coming up to us, and gypsies were staring us down.
"Chloe!" Emma said, trying to scream over the traffic that was passing by, "What now! Our flight leaves in an hour and there's no one to take us to Ciampino Airport!"
This was really bad. Not only could I find the number to call a taxi, but our flight left in an hour. Desperate times call for desperate measures; so right before I put my thumb out to head north, a little beaming light appeared in the distance.
No it wasn't god. But it was definitely a way of God saying, "Girls what the fuck are you doing in the middle of the street, in Rome, at 3:30 in the morning, surrounded by gypsies, homeless men, and their dogs, with backpacks on your back? Just take this damn taxi…"
We got in the man's car who was either severely lost or coming home from a heavy night of drinking, and headed toward Ciampino to make our flight.
After a few minutes of driving, Emma and I realized we were going down a million side streets.
"This is quite the way to the airport," Emma said.
"OHH!" said the Italian man, "I take you the ancient route. This the route all the ancient Emperors of Rome would take to get to Ciampino!"
"Chlo," Emma whispered, "Ancient route to Ciampino Airport? The great Roman Emperors of 78 b.c. used RyanAir to get around? I don’t think so."
Well his ancient route somehow worked and we got there just in time.
There's something so special about Italian flights. I'm going to talk about it briefly because it deserves recognition. First of all, you're allowed to use your phone when you're in the air. I didn't even know this was possible. As soon as you hit the ground a grand orchestra goes off with trumpets, percussion, flutes, trombones- The full Monty. You honestly feel as if you have a spear in hand and survived the last battle of Troy. People are clapping, whistling, and in worst cases, singing along with the music. This over enthusiasm may be a direct result from the caffeine the flight attendants load you up on while you're in the air. That’s right- you're served beautiful looking cappuccinos with a pastry of choice. Why are Italians so damn cool?
Lets fast forward to when we finally made it into Venice-the city built on water. For those of you who don't know, Venice consists of a million tiny islands that were put together by bridge and built upon by man. It used to be an independent nation, due to the major maritime power it had during the Middle Ages and Renaissance. What its most known for, however, is its opera, music, history, art, and famous architecture. Honestly, one of the most beautiful cities I've ever been to.
Here are a few of the places we visited accompanied with some pictures:
Basilica San Marco
Ca' d'Oro
Santa Maria di Salute
Ponte di Rialto
Piazza San Marco- A video of what the square looks like during the day
As soon as we got off the fairy we were starving so we sat down at a cute cafe called 'Snack Bar Cafe' and asked for a menu. To our suprise there was no menu.
"I-a Make you whatever it is you-a want!"
Oh buddy, thats a dangerous thing to say. Especially when you're saying it to Emma and I. With that offer I was beyond tempted to say 'two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun', but something told me they would get it terribly terribly wrong. So instead, we stuck it out with omelets.
There's something very serious we must discuss and that is the Pigeons in Italy. They have absolutely no shame. They're not like the pigeons in the US that are crazy in the sense that they won't move if you approach them. They're crazy in the sense that they will actually come and land on your head while you're eating. They have the nerve to dive bomb onto your meal and take the whole thing. Luckily there was none of that when Emma and I were eating (probably because we ate so fast and because we would have thrown a knife into if it ever tried), but we had pieces of bread stolen and our feet pecked at! To make matters worse they stand on one leg to make it seem as if they're missing the other one. I swear, even the pigeons try to take advantage of American tourists. Don't try to bullshit me pigeons, I KNOW you have two legs you little bastard. No bread FOR YOU.
After lunch we decided to check out our one star hotel with no bathroom or shower. A perfect way to kick off our romantic weekend, don't you think? After hours of exploring Venice/getting horribly lost, we found Locanda Silva. What a beauty...
To be honest, for how much we paid, and for being a three minute walk from San Marco Square, it was more than we could ask. If you're ever staying in Venice and want a cheap stay, this is the place to go.
However, you have to keep in mind that the people are a little crazy.
Emma and I had the maid who thought it was perfectly ok to just come into our room whenever she pleased. One time, we were just about to lay down and fall asleep when...
DUN DUN DUN...
We heard the lock turn and the door creek open.
"OH HELLO!!!"
"JESUS WOMAN!" we said in a panic, not knowing who was coming through our door, "Can we help you?!"
"I need to-a give you TOWEL," she said hunched over and scurrying like a rodent inside a pot, "I also give you BUG REPELLANT!"
Emma and I looked at each other.
"Bug repellant?"
"OHHHH! YES!!! We get a lot of bugs at night."
She then made a buzzing noise, flapped her arms, causing her sausage-like italian arms to giggle, and then smacked her hand as if a bug bit her. She plugged in what seemed to be an air freshener/poisonous gas, and left the room.
You can only imagine how well we slept that night...
That night we had dinner at a beautiful place on the water.
This was where Emma and I decided that we have an over consumption problem and needed to start watching our expenses. So we racked up a close to 100 Euro meal and said we'll start tomorrow...
After somehow surviving our first night at Locanda Silva, we decided to go to a 9:00 mass at San Marco's church. If you plan on going to Venice, you must do this. Although the service is Catholic and strictly in Italian (some people may have a problem with both), it gives church a completely new experience. Listening to the priest recite stories of the most famous saints, and then glaring at their faces perfectly contrived with gold tile on the churches walls - walls that date back close to Christ, is what makes San Marco one of the most amazing churches in the world.
After lighting candles and giving the church its 'moses skirt' back (Emma's dress was too short so she had to rock a HOT peasant outfit),we took the fairy to Marono, a little island off of Venice that's known for its glass blowing. We got off the fairy and were immediately bombarded by beautifully blown lamps, crystalized jewelry, half cracked church bells, and the smell of Saturday brunch, rising from every plate and into the Venetian sky, condensing with nothing but elegance. It wasn't long before our deserted ferry joined the thousands of gondolas, which by habit, race through the waters of the Mediterranean every given Saturday. Hundreds of people hung over the bridges Marco Polo and his preprocessors embarked through hundreds of years ago to see the men slice through the rapid waters and onto the finish line. It was beautiful.
After buying a few pieces of jewelry (I got a beautiful venetian watch and a glass pendent), Emma and I were still feeling the love. So what's better than to take a romantic Gondola ride through the Canals of Venice? Of course there was a story...
The last time I was in Venice I remembered three very specific things about the Gondola men. One: they take you to the most historical sites in Venice, such as Marco Polo's house. Two: They sing and try to live up to every Venitian stereotype there is by singing, dressing, and decking their boats out in an overdone Venitian way. Three: They rip you off.
So when I went to the first Gondola shack that was infested with little Italian men wearing 'Where's Waldo' shirts and little sailor hats that barely fit their heads, I went up to the first man I saw and asked him for a price.
"80 Euro signorina," he said, "80 Euro for the full tour."
With a big gulp he finished the last of his gelato and pointed to his boat.
"80 Euro!" I said pushing my sunglasses to the tip of my nose, "You're going to have to do better than that!"
Suddenly I realized my mother had come out in me. Not only was I trying to bargain with a ridiculously dressed Venitian sailor, but I was now bargaining with a ridiculously dressed Venitian sailor in a Jersey accent. My mind then flashed to China Town, where I would witness my mother at a very young age, trying to strangle poor chinese men in order to get a good price on jewelry for her store .
My father always said, "Chloe, take a good look at your fiancee's parents because one day they're going to turn into one of them." I think I'm slowly turning into my mother...
"This-a iz my job!" he said in a thick Italian accent that took me all the way back from China Town to Italy, "That-a is-a dee beeest-a price you get!"
"Ok then! We're out of here!"
Emma and I looked like two kids who had just dropped their ice cream cones on the hottest day of July. We came to terms with our over consumption problem. Didn't they say that was the hardest part? What about withdrawal? We're freaking bored! Why is budgeting so boring? With our heads bowed down, we walked back to the beautiful Locanda Silva, until.....
"OHHHHHH LAAAADIESS!!!!!"
"Huh?" Emma said turning around before I noticed a wild and crazy Gondola man running toward us, "Did you hear that?"
"YEEEEEEEWHOOOO! OVER HERE LADIES!!!!"
"Oh dear God," I said, "We have an offer."
"I GIVE YOU GONDOLA RIDE FOR 35 EURO!"
Now something inside of me should have known that something wasn't right. Then again, we were desperate, and like a crack addict being offered crack after his first day in the looney bin, we were willing to settle for desperate measures.
"OH YOU AMERICAN GIRLS! I SO LUCKY! You know," he said turning around to face us with a big goofy smile on his face, "I give you a Gondola ride for free at 22 o'clock if you come back! My best friend FRAAAANCO would come too! He SO MUCH FUN!"
Emma and I looked at each other and couldn't help but cry. It was so painful. We were trying so hard to hold in our laughter.
That day we learned another very important life lesson: you get what you pay for.
So as we approached the dock we saw the biggest, most ridiculous, Gondola known to man kind. Do you remember those cheesy, romantic boat rides they used to have at carnivals? The ones decorated in lace, filled with pillow shaped hearts, velvet seats, and other nasty things you don't want to know about?
That is exactly what Emma and I had to ride in.
As we sailed off into the Vanitian waters, with Danielle at our backs, rowing us away to god knows where, we became scared for our lives.
"I GET MY HEART BRAKED."
"What?" we said, "What are you talking about, Danielle?"
"My-a heart a HURT!"
"Why Danielle?" Emma and I asked sympathetically. The further we went the more we got to know about Danielle and his life.
"I BRAKED UP WITH-A MY GIRLFRIEND. SHE DO NOTHING FOR ME. I ROW ALL DAY AND GIVE-A HER THE MONEY TO BUY EVERYTING. I ASK HER TO RUB MY BACK ONE DAY AND SHE SAYS NO! WE GET INTO BIG FIGHT. SHE GONE NOW."
He is still smiling profusely. We're starting to wonder if he even cared. We're also wondering if he ever DID stop smiling.
"YOU AMERICAN GIRLS DOW. YOU BREAK HEARTS TOO. YOU SO NICE. ITALIAN GIRLS NOT NICE. YOU GIRLS FUNNY! FRANCO WILL LIKE YOU!"
Again with Franco! Who the hell was Franco? Was he the sea monster Danielle was planning to feed us to?
Suddenly we heard, "FRANCO!"
Danielle was now waving his oars, missing our heads by a centimeter, and waving to who we now knew to be Franco.
Franco's boat was filled with American tourists who looked as if they were aboard the Titanic and heading straight for the iceberg. I've never seen faces so petrified in my life.
Emma and Chloe: HEY FRANCO!!!
FRANCO: HAYYY!!!!
They sail away. Thank god.
To change conversation, Emma casually asked, "So Danielle, how many accidents have you gotten into?"
"Oh me!" he was now standing at the end of the Gondola with his arms wide open as if it were Jesus Christ himself and said, "I am THE BEST Gondola driver in dee world! I get into no accidents!"
"Ok Danielle," Emma said, "How many accidents have you been in."
"Oh. Ok. Maybe four."
The next twenty minutes got even better. Danielle found it necessary to have Emma and I steer the Gondola. I don't know if Danielle knew this, but he was about to get into his fifth and sixth accident...
After almost wrecking everything in sight we were told to sit down and wait for Marco Polo's house. Being the geek that I am, I was actually really excited to see the house. I had learned a lot about Marco Polo since the last time I was in Venice and was ready to experience it all. However, it wasn't long before we realized we were actually nowhere near Mr. Polo's house.
"Chloe," Emma whispered to me, "this definitely isn't Marco Polo's house."
"Of course it is! It has to be."
I looked around. The only thing I saw was underwear dangling in the wind and towels from the clotheslines above. I saw curtains and flowers. I saw people looking out from their balconies. There were people living in there. It COULDN'T have been a historical site!
"This guys full of shit!" I said, "This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever experienced in my life. Emma-he's making everything up about everything we've seen so far!"
We both turned our heads to see what in Gods name he was talking about now, and there he was, all smiles and not a care in the world. Danielle. Our Gondola Man.
"You know my little American Girls," he said staring down at us, "The last American woman I-a drove in-a my gondola was dee Posh Spice and David Beckham!"
It would be completely and utterly our luck to not only get the Gondola man who has been in four accidents, but who is a full blown compulsive liar.
"She no like me," he said, "American girls just don't-a like me!"
And with those final words from Danielle, the 'love gondola' hit the dock and was never to be seen by us again. Even at 22 o'clock. Whatever/whenever the hell that meant...
So I put in my 17.50 and so did Emma. Phew. We were done!
Until....
"Scusi Ragazze, but dis is only-a 35 Euro!"
Here we go.
"You told us 35 Euro buddy," Emma said back to him, "35 Euro is what you're going to get."
"OH NO!" Danielle said, "I say thirty five-a EACH!"
Now kids, what was the third character trait that all Gondola men possess? The one we talked about before? Good! THEY RIP YOU OFF.
I was in no mood for arguing. I honestly wanted to get off that stupid boat so fast that I could have emptied out my wallet right then and there.
"Lets just give him the stupid money and get out of here," I told Emma, "This is just going to be bad if we try to argue."
"One problem," Emma said in a voice that was destined for disaster, "I forgot the rest of my cash back at the room."
To make a long story short, because once again, the story is quite long, Emma had to run around Venice for twenty minutes trying to find an ATM while I watched Danielle the pathological liar of the sea give the same shpeel to every pretty American girl who didn't want to pay 80 Euro.
At the end of the day, Danielle got his money, and Chloe and Emma got drunk.
We had a great last dinner at one of the restaurants by Ponte di Rialto. If you go to Venice definitely eat by this bridge. Its such a beautiful area. The night ended off with Emma asking to use the bathroom and our waiter sending her over the bridge a mile down the road to find it. He thought this was funny. Luckily we've caught on to how funny it is to Italians to mess with American tourists. I still don't understand those pigeons though...
Until next time,
Chloe
PS--> I'm going to try to write more so my entries aren't so long. The next one will be about my trip to Capri, Naples (pompeii, Mount Vesuvius), and Sorrento. Ciao!
