Last night, I arrived at Treviso Airport from London Stansted at around 10 pm local time. I grabbed the last bus from the airport, headed to Venice. The trip took about forty-five minutes. When we arrived, I stepped out of the bus and was hit full force with the reality of my ill-preparedness. For those of you who don’t already know of my big mistake, I tho
ught my flight was one day earlier than it was, so I went to the airport a day early. Furthermore, I had a hostel booked for a night I ultimately spent in London. As if that weren’t bad enough, when I booked the hostel, I wanted to stay for three nights, but they only had the first and last nights available. So I gallantly declared I would stay out all night the middle night and tough it out. Well the middle night turned into the first night and when I stepped off the bus at the Venice bus station, I realized I had been pretty cruel to myself.My apprehension quickly turned to wonder as I looked at the urban landscape around me. My initial reaction was that it looked just like Disneyland, but far more real. I love this city. It is beautiful beyond belief, with its narrow streets, conglomeration of ancient architecture and emerald canals. I had no plan, so I decided I would try to find my hostel, just to give me something to do. I got on a ferry (it’s like a bus, but on the water! Amazing!) and rode down to Il Ponte di Rialto, the closest landmark to my hostel. When I got off the ferry, it had started to rain. Hard. Things were looking grim. I put on my raincoat, and put my rain jacket on my backpack, and began to explore the city. Seeking refuge from the rain, I ended up sitting inside a
small café for over an hour, nursing a chocolate pastry until closing time, around 1 am. When they kicked me out, I didn’t know what to do. (I found out today that the restaurant in which I took refuge from the rain is literally ten feet from the entrance to my hostel, and I didn’t notice it until the next day.)“Hey! You’re American!” I heard from behind me. I turned around and agreed wholeheartedly. It seemed the two girls who yelled the comment were also Americans, but unfortunately they attended Notre Dame. We spent the first fifteen minutes of our friendship discussing how awesome USC is at everything and how they wish we would let them win a football game once in awhile. I said I would look into it. It turned out they were staying in the hostel I was looking for, and, after talking to me and realizing what a nice, fine young boy I was, they were willing to let me stay in their room! Two parts dumb luck, three parts kindness of strangers, and my day was saved. We wandered around the city until around 3 am, then headed to the hostel, where I was given my very own bed in a room with a guy who thought he was sharing a room with a familiar female and not a frightening person he’d never seen before in his life. Mark, if you’re out there, I’m sorry you had to go through that. But Emily and Mary Kate, thank you so much for sharing.
Anyway, I got about four hours of sleep, getting up around 7:30 am because I figured I better be out of there before check-out time. I spent most of today with my new friend Emily. She and some other Notre Damners were planning on going to mass this morning, so I thought I would tag along. After one thing or another, it was her and I planning on going to the big mass at 10:30 am. I was hungry, and it was about 10, so we headed off to find something quick to eat before the mass. We walked down a side street, of which they are infinitely many in this town, and eventually spotted a pastry shop. I was just about to order when I smelled incense and turned to look behind me. In the narrow lane behind us stood ten clergymen swinging incense
burners, followed by twenty altar boys, followed by several men singing with guitars, followed by priests dressed in red, surrounding the bishop, followed by countless Venetians and tourists wielding palm fronds, all moving slowly in the procession to the church for the important Palm Sunday mass. It was one of the coolest things I’ve seen in Europe. I ordered my food and quickly ate it as we joined the procession to the church, which processed slowly into Piazza San Marco, making a loop before heading towards the church. We ended up sitting on one of the side areas of the cross-shaped Basilica di San Marco. The mass was delivered in Italian, but the guide books were in about five different languages, so I managed all right. Emily, who is studying abroad in Spain, was able to understand much more than I because she is fluent in Spanish. When speaking to native Italians, she speaks Spanish and they understand much of what she says, interestingly.We walked back to the hostel in order for me to check in, and once again, the kindness of strangers bails me out. Technically, I should have paid for: 1. the night I reserved and didn’t stay, 2. tonight, and 3. last night, because the proprietor caught me as we were leaving for the day and was wondering what the hell was going on. He started talking about some thousand euro fine and I was getting nauseous, but apparently he was saying he could get a hefty fine if he doesn’t record everyone who stays in the hostel. Crisis averted. He is actually a really nice guy. As it turns out, I paid a reduced rate for last night because the kind-hearted girls made space for me in their room, and I pay for tonight. All told, 35 euros, as opposed to the 75 it could have been had the man been a bit more strict with the rules.
This afternoon, Emily and I headed back out to explore, and we ended up taking a ferry across the bay in front of Piazza San Marco over to San Giorgio Maggiore, where we visited La Chiesa di San Giorgio Maggiore, a huge Renaissance cathedral built of white marble. It was breathtaking inside. We wandered around for awhile and I lit some candles for my family and friends (that’s you guys!) before heading back to the mainland.
Venice is a funny city. It can be extremely confusing to go anywhere. So far I’ve traveled from the hostel to Piazza San Marco at least six times, but I still don’t really know where they each are, in the broad scheme of things. This could be due to my utter incompetence when it comes to anything geographic, but it could also be due to the thin Venetian streets which seem to lead everywhere. Several times (at least five), I have been walking with my new friends (now old friends, because they’re all gone) and just when we think we’re lost, we spot a little piece of paper taped to a wall with the word “Rialto” written on it with an arrow. Or else it’s a hasty piece of graffiti which tells us which way to go. I’d say these ramshackle signs are at least as numerous as established street signs, and twice as helpful.
Now, I’m sitting on my bed in this hostel, pretty exhausted. So far, I love Italy.
The weather and the architecture would be enough to earn my eternal love, but on top of that, the people are friendly and happy. As we left the hostel this morning, there were three men outside, playing accordion, violin and guitar. They had an authentic, beautiful Italian sound, so I stopped quickly to take a picture. They saw me and they all turned towards the camera and smiled. It was awesome. A little later, we witnessed a whole patio full of Italians belting out their national anthem together, arm in arm, smiling without a care in the world. I’m having a great time.I’m not going to tell you where I’m going next. Partly because I don’t know myself, and partly because I don’t want to ruin the surprise.
No comments:
Post a Comment