Travel Tips

Just two days ago I was thinking how I'd like to be back, to be sleeping in my big bed, or Rob's big bed, without the hardships of the two twin mattresses we tried in vain to keep together. For ten days we struggled against the crack that formed every time we shifted or made love, we walked incessantly across bridges and uneven stone walkways until our burning feet put a painful grimace on our faces and tempers flared. I don't think I've ever walked that much. Ten days…seemed like an eternity in that watery land where tourists cram in droves up and down narrow alleyways-a sea of sparkling flashes reflecting off the waters as cameras capture the intimate details of scenes that we fear we will soon forget. All the places seemed familiar, and I found myself regrettably repeating what we did or didn't do last year. Thinking back, I wish that it had been my first time there. I wish I didn't have so many memories of Venice. I want to go somewhere with him where we both haven't been; a place that can belong to us. Still, by strange circumstance Venice and I will meet again, but that is a long story and I shall leave it for the end. After hearing all about his clever escape from the prisons adjacent to the Palazzo Ducale, curiosity got the best of me and I purchased volumes I and II of Casanova's notorious autobiography yesterday. Just about everything in Venice is named after this promiscuous Don Giovanni, and, according to our salacious gondolier, Casanova lived in over a dozen palaces around Venice. Our apartment was called "Casanova" and was located in the tiny Campo San Marina past the boisterous bar "Il Olandesse Volante" in Campo San Lio. For a person inexperienced in Venetian street navigation finding C. S. Marina [even from as close as the Rialto] is a feat of mental acuity. Take the Blue bus from Marco Polo to Piazzale Roma, then hop on the No. 82 to Rialto, get off and make a left, at the foot of the Rialto make a right onto a tiny street that takes you all the way to Campo San Bartolomeo where you are greeted by the familiar golden arches on the corner, cross the campo and go through the sotoporteggo with the neon sign of the "Rosticeria", cross the bridge, take a left, arrive in Campo San Lio, go past the Olandesse Volante, cross the bridge past Monica's succulent pastries, turn the second right and the first left and you will find yourself in Campo San Marina. I assure you that at night, when the "Rosticeria" sign is off and you are lugging two huge suitcases plus your carryon luggage over multiple bridges and down these tiny, crowded streets finding San Marina is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Add to that the exhaustion of having squatted six hours in JFK and then being on a plane for eight more and you have the recipe for utter despair. "Scuse, signora una domanda, dove posso trovare Campo San Marina?" The reply is always rich in humor and it goes something like this, "Vai dritto, dopo il ponte la seconda destra, e dopo sinestra." "Grazie, buona sera…" and then I realize that I will have to ask again. We arrived slurring, barely conscious at nine o'clock seven hours past the time we should have been there.

Lufthansa=delayed-- the worst plane experience to date. The cabin was hot, overcrowded with pubescent, giggling high school kids, the food was utterly disgusting and the air was so stale I thought my face was going to crack. Germans don't believe in leg room. "Vat is dis leg room? Eat your boiled cabbage and stop your complaining!" Looking down at the tray containing mystery meat I read, "Fouldenbrosten:no pork."Eh? "Excuse me, what is in this tray? Please, bring me more water." Vater! Vater! No vater for you!!! I want to scream, I want to fling this nasty tray of dog food and hit one of these kids in the face and watch that indescribably foul strawberry mousse drip like blood from their forehead. Rob is having convulsions and all we can do is laugh uncontrollably from helplessness. He looks at me about to burst out laughing and says, "I don't like this plane!" We can't help it, now we are beyond laughing and we are in pain, our stomachs hurt and we are hitting the seat in front of us from the laughter. We are making things up in imaginary German and the crones in front of us are in fear of their lives. The kid next to me sits in typical male fashion with legs wide open and elbows spread out and I have no armrest. This all makes me laugh, and then I realize, I really need some sleep, it's five in the morning and I haven't slept. I lean against Rob, we are cute together, and we can laugh together, poke fun of our misery together. I realize then that we will have a lot of fun traveling together, that it doesn't matter that the plane was delayed for six hours cause soon enough we will be in Venice, away from everything we deem stressful in our lives. No e-mail no computers, no cars and nice clean air, what else can we ask for? Well I wish the kid sitting next to me was less of an idiot but hey, you can't have everything, and certainly not more than the rationed water.

Frankfurt is clean, sterile, and efficient. The garbage cans are like works of art. They look like big chrome toasters. Someone makes a mistake and we land in business class. Nice! We get buttered bread and caviar, smoked salmon and wine. Rob has a cognac, we laugh some more when we think of the people behind us chewing on peanuts, Rob wants to throw them the scraps, and I remind him that will be us on the way back. He doesn't care, we nap for twenty minutes, and then we land. We don't go through passport control in Venice so we don't get Venice stamps on our passport. Rob is pissed. We have a Frankfurt one instead.

We get raped at the currency exchange counter-L. 2000 per $1 and a 15% service charge. I tell the lady in Italian that I'd like two bus tickets. I'm feeling good about this; confident. "Bisogno due biglietti per la numero cinque via Piazzale Roma." I probably sound like a jackass, but she understands. "Grazie!" I think Rob's impressed. Our valiggie weigh like 300 pounds. I don't recall packing all that lead.

In Piazzale Roma I help out an old lady who's totally lost. The driver of the bus asks me where I'm from. "Io sono Cubana." He likes that, tells me that it's a beautiful country that I shouldn't have left. I remind him that it's communist and we're on our way to the vaporetto. L. 12.000 for two one way tickets. I get two even though I know no one will ever ask to see the tickets. That's the way it is over there, people get on and off and I think most of them don't pay. Two old men laugh at the size of our suitcases. One of them comments, "Grande vestiti." Big dresses. Yeah. I smile. I'm just glad to be there. We are both dying for a hot shower, exhausted, but then, magically our spirits are restored by the sight of the Grand Canal and the approaching Rialto, pale blue against a black sea of reflections. Inside those Byzantine arches brightly lit glass candelabras illuminate large rooms, bustling brightly lit cafes line the canal and the occasional gondola makes way for the tronchetto. Beautiful. Brilliant. Magnificent. People in costume pass us by, some wearing hats, others wigs, others masks and cloaks and through this fanfare of activity we begin to drag our heavy suitcases.

As soon as we crossed the campo we saw the sign on the door. It read, "Mabe!!! We are home." And it made us happy. Allison came running down the stairs, she had been worried all day since we didn't arrive on time and she couldn't check her voice mail. I was happy to see her. Two big wooden doors with three locks opened to a spacious hallway, all-marble. The eroded stairs lined also in marble led up to a steep second floor where another set of doors opened into our spacious apartment. The ceilings were easily twenty feet and our bedroom had two French doors that opened to a balcony. The first floor had a large living room, kitchen, two bathrooms, a bedroom and a dining room. The second floor had like four bedrooms with three bathrooms and a large storage area. From one of the bathrooms upstairs you could climb to a rooftop terrace with a wonderful view. The back of the house faced a canal and a set of double doors opened directly onto the water. After unpacking we went out for a walk to San Marco. We bought some sandwiches and sodas along the way. The square was pretty dead and it was very chilly so we head back to the house where we joined the two twin beds, lit some candles and incense and took a shower. That was Saturday.