Because we didn't arrive until evening, each travel group headed straight for their lodgings to settle in, eat dinner, then call it a day. However, my group (which consisted of Crystal, Joy, Hillary and myself) was not so fortunate in our choice of hotel. First off, the location was obscure and difficult to locate. The information desk at the termini had given us directions but those led to a sketchy dead end down a dark, creepy alley. Needless to say, we turned right back around and called the hotel to get help. Well that phone call ended with both Crystal and I being yelled at over the phone by a grumpy voice on the other end demanding that we stay right where we were to wait for him to come and find us. Not fun. Figuring we were safe in our number, we followed his advice and waited for fifteen minutes without any appearance of the "gentleman." By this point it was almost dark, we had no clue where we were, and as four young women in a strange city without any means of getting where we needed to go, we felt quite vulnerable!
Finally we decided that he must have been unable to find us - the hotel was supposedly just around the corner, and as it was almost dark at this point we decided to take action. We asked a few waiters from a nearby restaurant for the location of our hotel, and they politely pointed us in the right direction and told us where to turn. We were there in about two minutes! We got there and knocked on the door, then peeked in the window to discover a delightful little establishment - but no one was there. The desk was empty, the door was locked, and there was no one in sight. Unsure of what else we could do, the four of us just waited in the alleyway for the owner of the grumpy voice to appear.
A few minutes later, appear he did - a tall, thin old man with a face that frowned from his brow to his chin and a pale blue jacket that looked cold and hard instead of happy like the blue skies from which it seemed to be inspired. He was so thin that I think I could have blown him away if I tried. We must have passed him on the street - and we still wonder how he could have missed four young American women with umbrellas and overstuffed backpacks - and naturally, tired as we were, found the entire situation highly amusing. Mr. Blue Coat on the other hand did not. His first words were (in what could have been a deliciously thick Italian accent but came off as overwhelmingly mean and positively dripped with sarcasm): "Nice, girls ... that was very nice of you!"
After a few more disparaging comments, he took off in angry Italian berating us with many an unkind word ("stupidoso" was one word I heard repeated a time or two). After we got inside he yelled at us about how we hadn't waited for him and told us to shut up everytime we tried to explain our reasoning for leaving our vulnerable position by the canal. It was horrible! The yelling continued for a good five minutes but felt like an hour. Hillary started to get really angry but managed to say in calm, firm voice, "Sir, we'd like to check into our room please ..." After she had repeated this two or three times he finally stopped his verbal rampage and asked for our passports. Then, instead of showing us to our room and filling them out later, he made us stand there with our bags while he took at least ten, maybe as many as fifteen minutes to fill out our paperwork and check us in to the hotel. To top it off, he demanded that we pay him for the night on the spot - 50 euros! - without our having seen the room. He had obviously never heard the motif "the customer is always right," and had his own ideas about how customer relationships should work.
After all the preliminary work was completed and the bill paid, he pulled out two keys - one for the front door and one for the room. He explained that he didn't stay at the hotel past nine, so we would have to let ourselves in after dinner and lock the door behind us. The silence was deafening and the concept of us being alone in a "hotel" (which was really more like an old house with extra rooms) without anyone around if we needed help was a new one for us to swallow. Then he marched us up the stairs and showed us how to unlock our door with the old skeleton key before leaving us to shake our heads at what had just happened. By this time Hillary was piping mad and Joy and I were in shock, but all of a sudden Crystal fell on the bed and burst into hysterical laughter. She couldn't believe that grumpy old man had just yelled at four people about to give him 50 euros apiece ... the nerve was absolutely mindblowing, but so funny after the fact! I calapsed on the bed in giggles and Joy broke into her infectious smile while Hillary declared (though with a bit more good humor than before) that Mr. Blue Coat's parents had never been married ...
Later that night, after a delicious dinner and some gelato to cheer us up from the lashing we'd just endured, we returned to the hotel, locked the front door, and then attempted to get into our room. Five minutes and four different attempters later, we were sprawled outside the door wondering how our gentlemen would react if he returned in the morning to find us asleep in his hallway. Thankfully we didn't have to find that out - a few more tries proved a charm and we made our way into the beautiful little room that in no way betrayed its owner's sour disposition. Yet we ran into another hitch when we tried to lock ourselves in for the night. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn't seem to get that door locked! In the face of unknown terrors we had to resort to second best ... propping an old red velvet chair under the door handle.
We were a bit unnerved by the entire evening and got to bed as soon as we could. While Joy and Hillary conked out almost as soon as their heads hit their pillows, Crystal and I could not get over the fact that we were alone in a hotel in Venice with a door that refused to lock. Unaware that the other was having the same misgivings, we continued laying in bed in silence until a sudden banging was heard downstairs. I ignored it the first time, telling myself that it was only my overactive imagination that is always driving me crazy with dreadful visions of potential horrors. But the second time I heard banging my heart began to race, almost pounding right out of my chest.
"Crystal?" I said.
"Yep."
"Did you hear that banging?"
"I did," she replied.
"I'm not going to be able to sleep until we lock that door."
"Me either!" she whispered, "I was hoping you hadn't fallen asleep yet!"
"Let's try the lock again then," I replied, and with that we both scrambled out of bed and headed toward the door.
Silently praying that Jesus would allow the key to perform its duty and secure the lock, I slid the key into the hole as quietly as possible and slowly began to tinker with the lock. Crystal obtained a nearby flashlight and pointed the beam into the hole. A few moments later a small click caused a wave of relief to flow through my pulsing nerves. "Thank you Jesus!" I squealed! After we double-checked the lock to make sure it had really worked, we climbed back in bed and tried to calm the adrenaline rush spawned by our fright. Needless to say, we were supremely thankful for that little skeleton key, but I'm afraid I will never be filled with a romantic sensibility for them again. They are pretty and enchanting in movies and books, but in real life they can be a real pain.
The next morning a new adventure ensued. Hillary, who had been feeling a bit under the weather before, woke up with a full-fledged case of strep throat. Thankfully, she had an Italian nonna (grandmother) to take care of her. The woman in charge of breakfast (whether she was Mr. Blue Coat's wife - heaven forbid - sister, or of no relation we do not know) took sick Hillary under her wing and made her drink warm tea to soothe her throat. She spoke very little English, but I was able to converse with her enough to aquaint her with the problem. It was so cute! She kept feeling Hillary's head, exclaiming in Italian, and checking back to make sure she was taken care of that morning.
Meanwhile Crystal went down - brave girl! - to ask Mr. Blue Coat for directions to the nearest pharmacy so we could get Hillary a prescription (acquiring drugs is different in Italy). Ignoring her protests he dragged Crystal down to the pharmacy with him (which was kind but abruptly handled in what seems to be his only mode of speech) and got the prescription himself! We had no idea that it had happened until Crystal turned up with the medicine!
We were out of the hotel by 10:30 - a deadline we were reminded of at least three times that morning - and relieved to be out of the establishment for good (though we would miss our Italian nonna's kind ways and endearing spirit). We hopped on a vaporeto (the equivalent of a bus in any other city) and road the canal down to St. Mark's Basilica, the only site we had decided to see in light of Hillary's illness.
The water was not as clean as I had anticipated, and to be honest the city as a whole was abit disappointing. Unlike all the other old cities we had seen, Venice did not seem as well preserved and came across as being quite run down. It also felt very touristy and I nearly suffocated from the lack of genuine Italians.
While the idea of a city floating on water was highly appealing to my romantic sensibilities, I'm afraid my own imagination spoiled Venice for me. My visions of it had been quite different from the real thing, and while I see how it could be very enjoyable for those traveling with their soul mate with nothing else to think about, the city was not pleasant to me as a student interested in genuine Italian culture. This trip has taught me just how much of a city girl I am not, and showed me how greatly I value the small towns and real Italian hospitality that I have seen in places like Sansepolcro and Anghiari.
Yet despite its flaws, the city did possess some truly grand sights. Though I was thoroughly grossed out by the tourists who ventured among the masses of pigeons in St. Mark's Square (even letting them perch on heads and arms and bags!), I was awed by the beauty of both the square and the basilica.
St. Mark's Basilica was breathtaking with its walls and walls of mosaics. The entire structure is covered with them inside and out and the effect is remarkable. We were not allowed to take pictures inside, but I bought postcards from the giftshop of the inner walls and look forward to showing you all when I get home!
As I took one last look at Venice I was filled with mixed feelings. As unimpressed as I may have been, I know that the events surrounding our hotel mishaps and Hillary's illness affected our impressions of the fair city. I would love to go back sometime in the future (along with a second visit to Rome, Florence, etc) in the hopes that my first impression might be changed by a more pleasant second experience.
Now, on to pictures of VERONA ... a far more pleasant visit! Again, I'm running out if time, but I will post brief captions and then hopefully be able to update them later.
Verona is the town where Romeo and Juliet supposedly took place, and the town has capitalized off of that legend greatly! Yet it was a delightful town to visit and I wished we'd had longer to take it all in! Strangely enough, it felt a lot like Raleigh to me ... just Italian :)
The arena was similiar to the Colosseum of Rome but much smaller and better preserved. In fact, the city still uses it on a regular basis for concerts and other entertainment events.
Hanging from the arch is a whale bone that will supposedly fall only when someone who has never lied walks beneath it (and as Joy said, killing the truthful individual - not much insentive to be lieless!). As you have probably already surmised, all of us are alive and well and have not had any whalebones fall on our heads ...
We also visited Juliet's house - obviously a fake, but fun to visit regardless, especially since all four of us are English majors!
Juliet's balcony
Me and Will
The four of us on Juliet's balcony - we asked an older Greek man to take our picture and he literally pushed everyone else waiting in line out of our way for us! Embarrassing at the time, but hysterically funny to witness. We kept apologizing to the other people in line - he would not listen to our attempts at reason and politeness!
A few from Juliet's upper window ...
Me sitting on a gnome stool - this picture is for you Catherine Davis!
Another shot of the arena ...
The grande piazza in the evening ...
The beautiful fountain at the center of the piazza ...
Me and my girls on a bench resting our feet ...
The ride home on a bus that leaked like mad ... note the umbrella! I've never had to use one inside before!
Post-travel laundry madness! Isn't our drying method lovely?
That's all I have time for now! More later - I hope!
Much love and baci -
Bekah
1 comment:
Hey Bekah
loved reading your blog today, first time I've gotten around to it. pics were great too!!
I'll check on you again. Try to keep dry and out of scary alleys. so glad you figured out how to use the key! : )
love ya
Peggy
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