OHMYGOSH. this is incredible. Its really hard for me to actually believe that i'm here. I wake up every morning and its like, oh my god. i am IN VENICE, ITALY. whoooooooooooo! its really as beautiful as everyone makes it out to be. the only problem is that theres a lot of construction going on, so the left side of St. Mark's Basilica and the Bridge of Sighs are all covered up with this weird billboard ad stuff... -SIGH- but for some reason, despite the billboard ads and the fact that there are more tourists than actual Venitians, i feel like i got plopped down in a fairy tale.
And yes, i got lost. several times in fact. My mother, god knows why, decided to let me lead the way even though my sense of direction is severely crippled by my sense of adventure. The first really bad time was in daylight, on our way back from St. Mark's Square. we ended up finally running into the Grand Canal, near the Rialto Bridge, so we could find our way back from there. But the last time was late, on the way back from dinner. I got us back part of the way, but got inevitably lost anyways. It was fun, though. This time, we ended up moving away from the touristy shops and restaurants, and into dark shadowy backroads. it took us probly twenty minutes until i magically got us to the Campo nearest our house. I was proud of myself, but i didnt really do much except decide which random direction to go in. the thing with venice is, its exciting to get lost, and if you wander around long enough, eventually you get to where you're going.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Europe Day One: the longest day in my history of long days
I’m gonna get cancer on this trip. No, really. EVERYBODY smokes here. We were sitting on a bench waiting for our train, and this lady sits behind me and is literally blowing smoke right on me. Like, excuse me, right? But its not weird here. Its totally normal, so I feel like some loser American with a stick up my butt for coughing like a maniac. For having such a reputation for being so clean and tidy, Switzerland sure has a lot of secondhand smoke. But whatever.
The worst part about today is that it drags on forever. I would say ‘dragged’, but technically its still going. We got up at five o’clock in the bright and cheery morning, and hopped in a cab to the san fran airport. The first flight to D.C. was five hours long, and wasn’t actually that bad. I was across the plane from my brother and stepdad, and my mom got to fly business class, the lucky lady. I sat next to a weird old guy who spent basically the whole flight staring at absolutely nothing. But we didn’t really bother each other much, so it was fine. I read a book and drew a weird picture of a girl with skinny arms and a huuuuuuuuuuuge head with eyes too far apart. Kathryn, if you’re reading this, you would laugh at me.
During our layover at the DC airport, my mom got us into the red carpet loungy thing, because she’s awesome. They had cheese cubes and cherry tomatoes and cookies. I was a happy girl. The second flight was longer, seven hours or so. That’s really not so bad, I’ve logged ten or twelve hours on planes before. This time they fed us crappy airplane food and these sugary pastry things. Again, Kat, you would either laugh at me or be proud of me; I took one bite of the thing and threw it away. Soooooooo I watched The Thief Lord to get myself into Venice mode, took some melatonin and tried to take a nap. But unfortunately, despite having five hours of sleep the night before and two sleeping pills under my belt, I still absolutely under no circumstances can ever sleep in a moving vehicle of any kind. I got maybe an hour and a half or so, but in short bursts, so that didn’t do any real damage. And the worst part is that flying to Zurich, Switzerland means that you miss a whole day, basically. Like, you get up at five, get on a plane, get on another one, and its dark outside- oh, did you want to sleep? Sorry, your brain thinks its lunchtime. Tough. Then you get to where you’re going, and brain time is midnight. miiiiidddddddddniiiiiiigggghttttt. but no, its nine oclock in the morning of the next day, silly! No time for sleeping. So I’m writing this at 11:45, swissy time. But there, in my lovely hometown of Alameda, it’s 2:45 in the morning of the 14th of June. I’ve been up since five in the morning of the thirteenth. And I’m not going to get to go to sleep for at least eight more hours. Lovely, isn’t it? All I’m running on right now is adrenaline and Jolly Ranchers. That’s why I’m typing this now, because I know when we finally get to Venice and a nice soft bed, all I’m gonna want to do is sleep. It’s a good thing I love traveling so much, or I’d go absolutely bonkers.
The one remarkable thing about the flight to Zurich for me, was the landing. It’s a small thing, really, but it made me laugh. I didn’t get a very good look from an aisle seat, but the small glimpse of land I got while landing looked a lot like Switzerland. I mean, rustic, yodeling Switzerland. Just how people seem to think Egypt is still ancient Egypt, we think Switzerland is old fashioned or something. Which is completely untrue. I mean, they have like, technology and stuff. But the funny thing is, even from an airplane, wayyyyyy high above the ground, I saw rolling hills and little cottages houses. My god. And right now, our train is stopped by this street that has fancy, shiny professional looking buildings in the back, and in front is a little pink house with four square windows that could be a gingerbread house. I mentioned this, albeit giggling, to my mother, and she said that theres no real need for them to change their buildings, just add new ones as the need arises, so all the old houses are still there. Its pretty neat.
So right now I’m on a train to Milan, but still gotta go through the Alps. Its really pretty, and I’d like post pictures but unfortunately my camera is stuffed at the bottom of my suitcase, and I don’t really wanna unleash the wrath of my compact packing skills on the sweet people in this train. On the other hand, my mom bought me a stuffed dinosaur. She’s now my official writing muse and traveling companion. Her name was Stacy, but I thought it was stupid so I renamed her Charlotte. I know, I use that name way too much. Shut up, Elizabeth. Stop rolling your eyes at me.
So, I’ll leave with this: my brother and I were looking for seats on a train to get from the airport to the actual train station, and there was this girl sitting alone at a four way seat thing. I asked her if the seats were taking. She gibbled something in German, and then I realized: I know enough French to probably get by, I know a couple spots of Italian, your basic pleases and thank you’s . But I know absolutely NO German. Not a smidge. What am I doing here?
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