Ah, the stupid "review" will have to wait.
What can't wait, however, is the delightful story of the flight home that me and my companion endured. It was an epic of.. epic proportions.
Leaving from Venice wasn't too bad, given the Italian penchant for tardiness (see: ALL OF THEIR TRAINS). The airport was nice and new, it had a funky name (see: Marco Polo airport), and there was the standard abandoned luggage left in the check-in line. Picture me trying to explain to a guard after the security checkpoint that there's some abandoned luggage back there, in the Air France line.
Him: "Si - check in baggage at Air France!"
Me: "(sob)"
Eventually, I "en francais?" 'd him and we took it from there. Good thing, that geographical proximity to France - comes in handy sometimes.
We got to Paris, and we had about two hours to get from our gate over to the ghetto 50 year-old terminal that they've relegated Air Canada to once the new terminal had collapsed (oops).
Anyways, we stop for a bite to eat - it IS two hours after all. We finish, and find the place (it's not easy, signs point every which way) where the shuttle is supposed to arrive to take us to Terminal 1. Yay!
We get there and it's basically a giant circle made of cement. We keep running around the outside of what feels to be a cruel hamster-like experiment on humans until we get to the Air Canada counter. Phew! 35 minutes to go before the plane leaves!
Wait.. why is the line completely empty and why is there a guard standing in the way of the line?!
We somehow manage to get past the guard and talk to one of the desk clerks who are looking quite frantic, reasons unknown to us. He practically grabs us to his counter and we come to understand that people apparently must be checked-in at least one hour before the plane takes off. As he said, "L'avion est ferme!"
Well closed plane or not, we're getting on that fucking plane! But not in so many words.
Nice guy that he is, he starts ordering the other check-in people to do things so that we could fit on the plane - because, obviously, since we didn't show up early enough, our reservations had been annulled. It was actually pretty cool seeing them in action...
Guy: "I need row 36 open!"
Other #1:"Done! Go!"
Guy: "Gimmie seats A and C!"
Other #2: "You got it!"
After we get our boarding passes, he frantically yells at us to hurry, hurry hurry, because the plane is about to leave!
We bolt down the tunnels, cut in front of lines, the whole shebang. I can't be sure of this, but I think I accidentally conked and kid on the back of the head with my shoulder as I rushed past. If by some divine karma coincidence you're reading these words, little one, please know that I am sorry - but next time stand on the RIGHT of the freaking escalator, OK!? Geez.
SO: Get to the waiting area for the security. We're panting like made, hot, sweaty, and nervous as hell. The plane is leaving in 15 minutes! We stupidly get into the line that the sign tells us to go in. Luckily, some guy that heard us saying we were late and going to montreal, tells us that others going to montreal are lining up in that line, and we'd better go there too. Of course.
Obviously, the security gate is one and only one gate, and the guard is some woman who's making cooing noises at the baby one of the passengers is carrying. This helps our moods.
We get through the security, and RUN for the gate. We hand our pass, go through the tunnel thing and FINALLY, get to our pla...
A BUS?!
Apparently, the plane is not at any terminal - we need to be bussed to the tarmac and climb the stairs. Fine. At least we finally got on board.
Eight and a half hours later, a screaming bratty kid next to us, and an unexpected drop of the plane for 20 feet (and claw mark scars my companion left in my shoulder because of it), we arrive in Montreal.
Yay!
Hey, there's the carousel - let's go get our luggage.
tick... 15 minutes
tock... 30 minutes
tick... 45 minutes
tock! 1 hour!
Seriously ticked off at this point. Obviously our bags aren't here. We talk to the Air Canada baggage guy. Oh look, they're in Paris!
APPARENTLY, two hours is not enough time for the luggage to have changed over from the Venice-Paris flight to the Paris-Mtl one. Yay! No luggage!
Three days after the flight from 'ell, my bag is delivered. So soon?...
There are a few more pictures, but I'm too lazy to put them up now.
Soon. It's night time, and a tomorrow is a fabulous new day at my new university for me. New new new. And shiny.
It's the end. Booooo.
This will be my last trans-atlantic post for a while. Until the next trip anyways, whereever that's going to be to. But don't feel bad people - I'll still be around. Enough stupid things happen to me on a frequent basis that I'll never be worried about not having enough material to write about.
HEY! WAIT A TICK. I'M STILL IN VENICE!
You know what that means: post-time!
---
We got to Venice by train, as usual. What wasn't usual was the type of train that we took to get there. We just couldn't believe it - our jaws were hitting the ground, flabbergasted. Was there something wrong here? It couldn't be right. This type of thing just doesn't happen.
Looking around, we shrugged our shoulders, took a step, and boarded the air-conditioned train.
At the Venice train station, we gaze outside to see what everyone expects to see, but is still surprising the first time - there's a canal right in front of the station, with vaparettos milling about this way and that. It's cool, even if the water looks toxic. Mmm, dark khaki green.
Standing in line for the tourist office, which is about the size of a broom closet, and walled with bronze diamond pegs (who knows, maybe this is the latest in Venetian interior decoration), we are approached by a man holding a few pamphelts.
Now, with all our baggage, and the ever present obvious-tourist-giveaway of craning our necks to look around, I can understand why this man came up to us and asked "Scusi, looking for accomodation?".
Now, there are many ways to answer such a innocent inquiry. Since this had happened to us before in other train stations, I answered in what must have been one of the most decisive "No's" that I ever uttered. It was one of those No's where the voice starts low, and proceeds to descend to an even lower tone of voice at the end of the word, and then end abruptly, decisively and powerfully. The meaning is not debateable. So it was surprising to hear him continue the conversation:
Him: "Maybe?"
Me: "Arrrgh!"
And that's when I killed him, your honor.
Moving on, we had to take another train (20 minute ride) to the suburb north of Venice (Quarto d'Altino) where our hotel was. We were slightly worried, because we had no idea how to get to the hotel from the train station once we got there - we hadn't had time or access to information to figure it out.
We we then relieved to find, right over the fence for the train tracks, a giant red building with a prominent sign - Holiday Inn! Nice!
The only problem was finding out where the hell you're supposed to cross the tracks to get to the freaking hotel, because we didn't see how we were supposed to get there. Finally, however, we found the crossing a ways down the track, and then trekked back up to the hotel. We were very impressed. The entrace was marble, giant rotating doors, the desk was swanky and marble as well, the works.
All this for 30 euros a night?! Fantastic!
When the concierge greets you with an air of snobbyness, you clue in that there's a possibility something may be wrong.
"Do you have a reservatione"?
I give him my name.
"So sorry. It's not here. Are sure that you did not book at the Express Holiday Inn?"
I'm like: "Yeah! That's the one - Holiday Inn right?"
"There are two Holiday Inns around here. The Express is 2 km from here."
BAH!
We get directions, lug our stuff out the freaking marble entrance, and start walking. We get to the train station, and because the guy's directions included fabulous accuracy as "go down the long road", it took a while to actually find it. It's not a bad walk when you don't have luggage, and since we didn't know exactly where it was, we didn't know if we needed a cab or not. Anyways, after much sweating, we got there. Not as fancy, obviously, but very nice nonetheless. We got to the room, crashed into the beds, and slept. Ahhh...
We took the train back to Venice to get some supper at the Iguana, a "Tex-Mex" place. Yes, I know, tex-mex in Venice? Well, our book reccomended it.
In keeping with the tradition of taking pictures of transportation cars that we have to ourselves, here's one on the way to Venice.
At the Iguana, which was quite good, by the way, I blanked out for a moment on how exactly to use food utensils. Laurie thought this would make a good picture. I relented.
Venice is very cool at night, albeit a tad creepy. I'll get to that in a sec.
We spent a lot of time trying to get to the restoraunt, and we learned that Venice is entirely laid out in a mind-boggingly maze-like dark-alleyway fashion. During the day, it's annoying, but at night, it's pretty freaking creepy. There are alleys we saw that I wouldn't even have gone down at home, let alone in a city I didn't know. And this is just the way the city is organized - alleys are streets. Some are one-person wide, and they're often the only way to get to a certain place. Street signs are few and far between, and half-eroded "helpful" signs dot some of the buildings. It makes for a harrowing and exciting journey at the same time.
The next day, we visited the glass island of Murano.
No, the island isn't made of glass.
It does, however, contain a lot of glass factories and a glass museum which we went to. The museo isn't that big, but it's still pretty cool what they can do with glass, and they also explain a little how they do it. So it's slightly educational, anyways, even if I'm on vacation.
We took a vaparetto to get there - yay!
And some pics of the museum:
Taking pictures of glass sure is tiring. I recharged in the glass garden (which by the way, is a lie - those plants aren't made of glass!)
We then walked around Murano a bit, trying to find a glass-making furnace that we could go watch. We got lucky, and found one down a small alleyway with a guy still working on things. I give you the progression of a horse from start to finish. This guy was a master, it was freaking amazing. Keep in mind that from start to finish, the object he made took about a minute to make, and all he used to make the horse was a pair of metal tongs which he used to pull, bend, push and pinch the molten glass.
Being a spectator to a master is hard work. So we stopped for Gelatto. One of many of our trip.
Here's a picture where I look like an insect with legs that never end. It's also a nice background shot.
The next day (today!) we headed for S. Marco's Piazza. No, that's not a type of Italian dish. On the way there, an opportune shot of a goldolier with a gothic theme:
At St. Mark's, or should I say, Flying-Rat Central. Ew:
Not wanting to miss out on making so many brid friends, I extended my arms out to them in a gesture of friendship and love. Sadly (as is so often the case), I was rejected.
The cathedral was nice too. Big. Also big: the line. We didn't go inside.
The day ain't over yet, but this post is - we leave tomorrow morning back to Montreal. As it was when we left 18 days ago, the weather is stormy and ominous. It's a nice little closure to the trip cycle.
The trip might be ending, but I still have one more hurrah to go. NEXT: MY REVIEW OF FRANCE AND ITALY!
Beware, all those waiters who treated us like shit. Your names will appear. MUAHAHAHA Sweet Sweet Revenge.
Ciao Bella!
Ah, Firenze. The city of.. stone.
It's gots lots.
Honestly, I don't think I've seen another city with so little greenspace. There are small roads and buildings as far as the eye can see. Not that it's a bad thing, it's just very different from what I'm used to.
We got off the train station, and it was pretty hot outside, so we were frustrated by not being able to find the supposedly easy-to-find bus station. The book we have with us says go to the right when you exit the station, but of course the station has multiple exists, all which have buses milling about outdoors, confusing, nay, tricking you into thinking that the bus station information booth is nearbinteriy. Ooo, those clever Italians...
Finding the right bus, we climb aboard and dump all our bags on the floor on the sly, which makes people take pity on the poor overencumbered sweaty travelling students and offer up their seats for us. Damn straight.
We get off at the right (thankfully) stop, and look around. We see a giant iron gate with the name of the hostel written on it. I guess this is the place. We walk in up the path. And we walk. And we walk some more. With our bags. Up the inclined road we go.
Twenty minutes later, we get to the inner courtyard. Yep, there's a courtyard! The place really has character - there's stone work everywhere, and the place has a sort of frontier-like quality to it. Here's the view from my room:
We did quite a bit here, but we started out with the Ponte Veccio. On our way there we first encountered what seems to be an obession with the Italians to name one street multiple names, and also change the street name from across an intersection. It makes for easy-to-get lost times, let me tell you.
Back to Ponte Veccio:
Neat - it was like jewlerytown. Nothing very interesting for me, but Laurie wanted to live here. Dying of boredom, I chose to end my life.
Luckily, a local city official stopped me before I could og through with it, and pointed me to the nearest tourist attraction to spend my money. He obviously was looking out for me. And so: Palazzo Pitti!
Once inside, you're greeted by an array of statues in the staircase. I was surprised to find that I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, because I was obviously in what passes as a strip joint in the city of stone. I was agahst.
Thankfully, the pornography ended there (at least for the male statues), because it's a little known fact that some Pope, I forget who, believed a long time ago that the display of the male genetilia was too inciting (no comment on the naked breasts though) to the clergy, and so they must be all cut off with a pickaxe. The result, as you can see, is mildly hilarious.
A artistic tradgedy to be sure, though. Ahem. (suckers!)
I also learned of some strange custom of the Italian museums. There's a toilet guy (a.k.a. "Janitor") that you're supposed to tip when you exit the toilet. Here's what I found inside the stall:
Notice anything missing? Maybe you need to rent the seat or something. Anyways, as always, I improvised. It was uncomfortable, but it worked ;).
The gardens were in the back of the Palace. They were very nice to look at, but it was hard to judge what the overall layout was like from the ground. Where's a helicopter when you need one, dammit?
The garden was huge. So I took a nap.
If you squint it kind of looks like a cross section of the ground, and that I've been buried alive. Always a pleasure.
At the top of the gardens, there's a nice little view of the city.
We made our way back into the city, and passed along the way another funny looking car. We obviously had to take a picture of it!
A shot of Ponte Veccio from another parallel bridge.
On our way back to the Duomo, a wonderfully impressive HUGE cathedral, we found this really really cool wood-toy store, which had an entire wall filled with clocks ticking away. Looking at the wall long enough was enough to cause you to lose focus, and drool a little.
Wiping the spittle off with our sleeves, we continued on ourr way to the Duomo. Hey, did I tell you? It's pretty grand.
Side shots:
Frontal shot:
The inside was actually less impressive, but it was still frikin' huge. Here I am being solemn (and sacriligeous.. hehehe, wrong faith, suckas!)
Sorry about the blurriness, it was pretty dark in there, and the flash makes it look strange.
Other interior pictures:
All that praying was tiring, so I took a nap. You can see the holy spirits hovering around me. Surely this is proof of my healing powers. Bring me your babies, everyone.
And here, for no apparent reason, is a absolutely humongous grasshopper that some hostel lady made me fling out onto the porch because she was too scared of it. It was about the size of a swiss roll people. Holee.
There's more, but unfortunately my time is running out, and I can only say so much. I'd like to tell the whole story, but that'll have to wait until storytime, children.
NEXT (AND FINAL DESTINATION!): VENICE!
---
P.S.:
I took a few more pics after visiting the internet cafe on the last night in the hostel. Not to deprive anyone of such fabulous photographs, I present them to you know.
At the hostel they have a bar, which sells nicely cheap beer and other things. It allows one to taste beers from all over europe, because those are the customers that stay there. I also learned that (even though I would never disrespect canadian beer), there is another, better-sized beer bottle that I believe would be a muc better standard for canucks. I give you the 660 ml:
It's the size of my freaking head.
Finally, and I'm including this because I didn't mention it before, is a picture that will allow you, dear reader, to realize how well you are taken care of when staying in a hostel. We had thought that because it was such a cheap place to stay, then the level of care would somehow be less. Well, I stand absolutely corrected! Heeeerrrre's breakfast!
Honestly. Breakfast was bread. I should mention, though, that the second piece of bread on my plate (front) was stolen from the bread-bin, and the fruit you see I had secretly stashed overnight when it came with last night's dinner.
/end p.s.
CinqueTerre, or 5earth as we liked to call it (incorrectly), consists of a series of 5 cities hugging the coastline of the northwest of italy. Which is actually the correct meaning of the name, because terre means town, so: 5 towns. Ah, the light bulb turns on.
A fantastically beautiful region, as much for the coastline as for the houses hugging the cliffside in their pastel-color fashion.
We took the train (in the right direction!) to Riomaggiore, the closest of the five towns and supposedly and nice one to look at as well. There, feeling hungry, we had some pizza! I also think it's important to note here that the boredom we experienced in La Spezia was note a complete waste - it allowed us to significantly learn some simple phrases in Italian!
It's a very nice town. Lookit!
We were entertained during our meal by a couple playing raquetball in the street. It seems like a good idea for some jolly good fun, until you look down and realize that the ground beneath your feet is in a 30° incline. Miss the ball and down it goes.. all the way into the train station.
We passed this along the way. Apparently those Riomaggionrians know how to diversify their business!
We then proceeded to take the path from Riomaggiore to Manarola. Lover's Lane, they call it.
You can SEE the love. (squint.)
I fell in love at lover's lane. You can see how happy I was.
Unfortunately though, the relationship was stifling, full of conflict and tiring. So I broke the whole thing off and took a nap.
If my sister is out there, there's a tale of due (that means two) "Elenas" that I must share. By a strange coincidence, the hostess at the the B&B in La Spezia where we stayed was called Elena! ALSO, look what I found on Lover's Lane!
You can tell I'm excited.
Ah, the end of the lane. Such sorrow. But such fantastic scenery.
Manarola!
Another beautiful pastelly city clinging to the rock face, hanging on for dear life. You can see how close and how steep the hill on which the town hangs on is, in the background.
On our way to Corniglia (a look back):
Is that a postcard or what?!
And the path we took to get from Manarola to Corniglia:
It was rocky, and often involved "godforsaken stair-like rocks!". You can see the city we came from on the outcrop back there. Far, eh?
Tired (and crispy), we decided to call it a day. Three out of five Terres ain't bad. But how to get to the train station? There must be a sign around here somewhere...
Oh. There's the train, moments before it hit me in the crotch.
Phew! Two posts in one day!
Next: Florence!
Crap, I'm so behind. I'm in Florence, and here I am about to start talking about La Spezia. I've got like two cities to catch up on. All in due time. Sigh.
SO: Here's La Spezia, or: How to fall asleep in a port town.
First off - there's nothing to do in this place. It's a port town, and it has nice surrounding hills and houses, but it's majorly just a place to live for the people there. For tourists, (cough), it's only valid use is as a base town for visiting the surrounding CinqueTerre region.
We got to La Spezia, and took a taxi to our B&B - Locanda Il Torchio. Of course, the B&B was 5 km from the city center. You know, if you think about it, even 5 km is not very far to go. A long walk, perhaps, but by bus (which existed) it should be no prob at all.
Of course, then you take altitude into account. And how the city is about 2-3 km in diameter. We were high enough to "Make your ears pop as you go up the road", so quoteth Laurie. Ah yes, the road. The insane, 180° turn road that takes you up from town to the B&B.
The road literally climbed up the side of the mountain. Of course, a straight path to the top would be slightly too inclined, so the path goes back and forth, turning completely the opposite way at each end, with no rails to keep you from plumetting into the gorge off the side. Add into this mix the Italian mantra of barelling down anything with pavement, and it makes for a white-knuckle ride of your life.
Although the air was thin, I did manage to take a few pictures from the stratosphere.
The food here at least was good, (especially the "Grill Meat" [sic]) and it turns out that Il Torchio is a pretty happening place when the sun goes down for the local mountain people. You think I'm kidding when I call them that - well, I'm not. These people live in the mountain, and go down into town when they get food and stuff. No cable to speak of. They call this a life?!
So the city's boring. Not such a big deal - you can walk around and get to see a little bit of the italian way, right? Well yes, you can, if you have a way to get into town! Being in the stratosphere, it presents itself as somewhat of a problem.
Wait, what's that? You say there's a bus that comes up here? And there's a driver crazy enough to brave these roads? Sign me up!
So we take what will be known as the insane bus from hell from the momment we step on the infernal machine. Moments before the bus came, I was foolishly content.
The bus was old, squeaky, small and feels like the breaks or steering (or probably both) could give out at any momment. We hang on for dear life as it barrels down the flip-flop turns, honking the whole way (because you see, every turn is a freaking blind turn, and the road is only about 1.5 car widths wide, and honking is the only way to let the oncoming cars know that they're about to become part of an accident).
We arrive in town. Alive. Limbs ok too. We decide to use the first day to plan the next day, and to figure out how the bus system works. Again, the honor system is prevalent. I'm sure that Laurie and I could have easily not paid for about 80% of all the travel expenses we incurred on the trip, simply because no one checks.
We get a bus map, but really, the map was the one the tourist office gave us of the city, with a line drawn in red pen by the bus office lady who was indicating the route of the bus we had to take to get back home. Useful, that. So, with an afternoon to burn, we hit the food and the commercial district. The food (this means pizza) is teriffic, as expected. We' taking advantage of our time in Italy - pizza is often on the menu for us.
The "downtown", however, is slightly more dissapointing.
F***ing siesta.
Oh I know! I have an idea! Let's open our shops at some strange time like 9:18 am (honestly) and stay open until 12, and then, we can open again at 4:30, and close at 6! Isn't that a great idea!? That way, we only need to put in 6 or less hours of work a day!
F***ing siesta.
With all the shops closed, and the bus we needed to take for some reason having different routes at different times of the day, we waited. We participated in that most exciting of all tourist activities, reading. We chilled in the park. Where we saw the communists.
We finally got back home (a fun ride!), and during the night we were visited by the Ghost of Vacations Present.
He fortold that we would soon be out of this boring, boring city (but with good food and cheap wine and a nice place to stay!), and that the next day would be filled with beautiful scenery and happiness and specialness.
He also predicted that a lizard would show up in our room. And lo!
It came to pass! The next day must have held some greatness in store.
I wonder if it did?.. :D
