Day 18: September 19-21, 2015 –

When our train arrived in Venice, we walked out from the train station, to a sight that was just as magical as you would imagine. Iconic architecture lined the Grand Canal. There were boats and gondolas parked like cars on a busy street. The air was clean and the sky was clear and blue. The temperature was perfect. 

Similar to every other city that we visited, we knew that the best practice was to purchase a 24 hour transit pass. That way, we knew that we would be able to travel around the city fairly smoothly, the first day. We lined up at the ticket booth, but we were confused at the various options available. They had 1, 2, and 3 day passes for the transit boats, which would take you along the Grand Canal, and all the surrounding islands off the main “Venice” islands. We purchased the 3 day pass for $40 each (which seems excessive in retrospect, because there wasn’t anyone at the stops that checked your ticket). There were also 3 different museum passes for sale, each with different options for what churches and museums that you could visit. Before really reading which option was best for our trip, we purchased the cheapest one.

The B&B, that we booked the day before, was one stop away on the boat, at Rialto. Elizabeth and I crammed on the boat with hundreds of tourists like cows to slaughter, but we were lucky enough to find two open seats at the front of the boat. I jokingly told Elizabeth, that this was our romantic cruise down the Grand Canal, and that we didn’t need a gondola ride. It was a truly amazing site. Before you really have time to experience the sweaty tourists and bad food that becomes signature of Venice, this little boat ride is the moment in Venice, that you will always want to remember. There’s no describing how beautiful the city looks, as the sun hits the buildings. Nothing is cooler than seeing all the little boats, and watching people get around from place to place. All of the buildings are right up on the water, so you aren’t able to see the streets packed with tourists. The initial cruise down the Grand Canal was truly the highlight of my Venice experience.

When you dock at Rialto and get off the boat, you’d better have your directions ready, because you are going to instantly run into a shit storm of disorientation. There lots of shops, vendors, and slow moving tourists, who are in no hurry to get to where they are going. When you are carrying huge packs on your back, the first thing that you want to do is put the packs down. However, you can’t put them down until you get to your destination. I luckily had some data left on the mobile plan that I purchased in Florence, so I was able to bring up the Google Maps app, and get the street directions from the dock to the B&B.

When they built Venice before the Middle Ages, they probably didn’t plan for tourists to be packing the streets, and looking for hotels and accommodations, because if they did, they made it virtually impossible for them to get around. The street names are painted on the sides of buildings, but unless you are headed to San Marcos Square or Rialto, you have no idea where they may lead. It is best to stay off the regular touristy roads, if you are trying to get anywhere quickly, but once you get off the main walkways, you quickly enter a maze of buildings that all look the same.

We managed to get to where we wanted to go by following a little icon on the map, on phone, and just tried to head in the correct direction. We attempted to read the directions as list, but we struggled, because the streets are sometimes only a few buildings long. Then after you cross a bridge, you are on a different street. I managed to push through the streets, by muscling past the old people, and Elizabeth tried her best to keep up. We’d go down a wrong path, then have to backtrack, then try again from the previous spot. It got to a point where we just tried to approximate the route, and eventually we arrived.

The B&B was owned by a guy, whom Elizabeth said, reminded her of Mr. Bean, but I thought that he might have reminded me more of Poppy from Seinfeld. He said that he owned the restaurant downstairs and a restaurant on the other side of town, and that his family had lived in Venice for over a thousand years. We asked him, how many generations, he thought had lived there, and after he said that his parents and grandparents were both from Venice, Elizabeth concluded that it was at least 3 generations, and kept that in her log. Due to his expertise, we asked him where we should eat dinner, but since he owned the restaurant downstairs, of course, he wanted us to eat there. We asked him, if he could tell us of any other good restaurants, and while he said that he could name thousands, he didn’t recommend one.

He took us upstairs and showed us to our room. He gave us the WiFi password and then, basically just told us that the best way to experience Venice is, to just get lost in the city. I guessed, that he probably doesn’t realize that for the average person, that is the easiest thing one could do in Venice. The hardest thing to do however, is find a good place to eat, without spending too much money.

After he left us, we hung out in the room a little, unpacked some things, then got ready to explore. Unless you are overlooking a canal in Venice, chances are, when you look out your window, there a little plaza with a restaurant below, and we had the perfect one. When we became hungry enough, we decided to head downstairs, and just eat at the owner’s restaurant. On top of being close, he said that he would give us a 10% discount, off our meal.

We were trying to keep things a fairly thrift, but everything on his menu was super expensive, so we just decided to order a pizza. The pizza that we ordered was half salami and half potato. When the waiter brought the pizza to the table, half the pizza had French fries on it. From this point forward, we should’ve known that anything that says potatoes in Venice, means French fries, but we wouldn’t learn that completely until the next day.

Since we had skipped our night in Verona, we had a whole extra day to explore Venice, so we tried our best to get lost. We walked down alleys, where we couldn’t see any tourists, and around corners that we thought would lead to something hidden or secret, known only to the locals. Basically, what we found were streets that looked abandoned; without any stores or restaurants of any kind.

Like in every other city that we had visited, we were on the lookout for a grocery store, where we could find some cheap alcohol and food. We stumbled down an unmarked street, where we found a COOP (grocery store). Inside, we bought a couple of bottles of wine, then basically spend the rest of the night, walking drunk through Venice. We looked in store windows and wove through the tourists, and we even explored the corners of San Marcos Square.

After a few hours, we started to get tired, so we used the GPS on phone to guide us back to the B&B. When we arrived, we climbed up the stairs, and we settled down pretty quickly. Outside our window, which had been a quiet bistro earlier, was being patronized by drunken tourists, talking late into the night.

Day 19: Venice

In the morning, Mr. Bean/Poppy, the B&B proprietor served us a free breakfast, consisting of fruit and pastries. It was Sunday morning, and one of the things that we wanted to do on our trip, was go to mass at one of the old cathedrals. We asked Poppy, if we could leave our bags until after church, and he said that he thought that, it would be okay. As I said before, if you are trying to get to San Marcos Square, every building has a sign with an arrow pointing in that direction, to prevent tourists from going in their store, just to ask them the way. We followed the arrows and arrived at the church, a few minutes before mass began.

I had only been to a handful of Catholic masses in my life, and most of which had been for funerals. From my understanding, there is a fair amount of call and respond, so you sort of need to know your cue to come in, and what to say when it’s your turn. Since no one had handed us the program, we were sort of on our own. I could see that the people in front of us had the script, so I tried looked over their shoulders to cheat a little.

The church looked beautiful, and throughout the inside, it was completely covered with gold. It was a similar style of architecture as Notre Dame in Paris, but definitely decorated with a bit more flair. The mass lasted about 90 minutes, then we exited to the crowds of people that had been waiting to enter and take photos. We were told when we entered that no photos were allowed to be taken, so we respected the rule. Now only our memories know the church’s true beauty.

After church, we walked back to the B&B and gathered our packs and other possessions. The next B&B that we were staying at, wasn’t located too far off from where we were. Most of our previous accommodations, so far have allowed us to arrive a bit early to at least drop off our bags; so even though it was still 12:30, and our check in time was 2 pm, I assumed that it would be okay, if we arrived a little early.

Using the GPS on the phone, we traveled through the winding alleyways to the address that was listed. We walked back and forth, left and right, walked circles, and rang the bell when we arrived. A voice came down from the window above, and I told them that I had made a reservation.

We were buzzed in, and an young African woman from Ghana greeted us at the door. She definitely had a strictly business attitude, and wanted to know what we were doing there so early. “Check in is at 2pm”, she said. “I know that it isn’t until 2pm, but we wanted to drop off our bags and go to Murano. We were told that the shops there close at 3 and we wanted to see all of the beautiful glass.” I said.

“You can’t just leave your bags here, what am I to do with your bags? How do I know what is in your bags? I can’t have you just leave them here. I don’t even know if your room is ready!” she explained.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “We’ve been traveling for a few weeks, and most of the places that we have stayed, have let us leave our bags at the desk, before check in, so that we can see the city. I just came by to ask.” “You have a shared room for 3 people.” She said.

“How many other people are we staying with?” Elizabeth asked. The woman sort of ignored her and said, “Let me see, if your room is ready!” She shouted.

She spoke with another gentleman, who had just entered the room, and asked him if our room was ready. Elizabeth chimed in, “We can just go to the place that we were staying before and leave the bags there. He will let us leave them there.”

“Every things fine. Just chill out.” I said. Elizabeth was not happy that I told her to “Chill out”. The African woman sat down and looked in her computer. “What is your name? Do you have the booking email?” She asked. I told her my name and brought up the confirmation on my phone. “I will check your room.” She said sternly.

Elizabeth, anxious about the situation, says, “We can just go back and then come back here at 2pm.” The African woman snapped, “You are not very nice. He is nice, he can check in now. If I am dealing with you, I would check you in at 3pm!” Elizabeth was aghast. The woman brought up my reservation, in her system and told me that I had to pay with cash, even though I had reserved the room with a credit card. The price was € 99. I opened my wallet knowing that there wasn’t enough to cover it, and told her that I only had €30. I would have to leave to look for an ATM. Elizabeth finally chimed in and said, “I have money.” She hands the other € 70 to the African woman, who says, “I will take you to your room.”

While we thought that we were already in the same building as the apartment that we were renting, she took us down the steps, and into the street, then said, “Follow me.” We followed her down the empty Venetian streets, until we arrived at another unmarked building, with huge wooden doors. Along the way, I asked her questions about where she was from, and how long she had lived in Venice, and other chit chat. I wanted to sort of clear the air of the tension, which had risen in the previous apartment.

She handed me the keys and said, “This is the first key.” We walked through the large wooden doors, and down an open air hall, to the next door. “This is the second key.” She said and pointed. We then went up another set of steps. “This is the third key.” She said. “…and there is your room.” As she had said previously, it was a shared room with an extra bed. There was a table with a binder of important information on top, and a bureau against the side wall. She explained that there were blankets, if we needed them, and that any additional information was in the binder.

The room was painted bright orange, with a really sloppy paint job. It looked as though, it had been brushed in a way, that was supposed to look aged and authentic, but really looked cheap and thrown together.

Fifteen minutes later, we checked to see, if we were able to connect to the WiFi. Elizabeth checked her phone, and I looked in the binder for a password, but there wasn’t any information within. We called the number that she had given us, and asked if there was internet in the room. She said, “Yes. For €2” “€2, so do I bring it to you?” I asked. “Yes, but I am leaving right now.” She said, then hung up the phone. After already paying € 100 for the room, you would think that the internet would be included. If not, why didn’t she offer it when we were back at the other location? From where we were located, having no idea how to get back to the other apartment, I don’t think that we could’ve made it back to her in time.

Our next plan was to stop at the COOP grocery store, which we had passed along the way to the B&B. Then we would take a ferry to Murano (one of the other islands nearby). We walked back to the where we thought it was located, and ended up walking in a circle. We asked a waiter, who working at a nearby restaurant, and he started giving us directions, “It’s a left, a right, then another right, a left, and then just follow the road.” Which in English translates to, “Good Luck!”

So we started following his directions. Left, right, left and right, then somehow, we ended up at a different COOP than the one we were looking for. Everything in Venice is cheaper at the COOP. If you are visiting Venice and you want to buy a bottle of champagne for $4, COOP is the place. We picked up a few beers, some wine, and some snacks, then a few minutes later, we were on the boat to Murano.

My boss, John said, that Murano was about 30 minutes away, so, when we got there in 10 minutes, we were excited that it was a quick journey. Lots of people were on the boat with us, and they were all headed to see the famous Murano glass. We couldn’t find out what exactly made it special compared to other glass, but all of the shopkeepers said, that if you are from Murano, then you can tell the difference. There were lots of different pieces of blown glass, from spider webs to elaborate lamps. Most of the items in the shops were fairly affordable souvenirs, such as glasses and paper weights. Everything else was sort of catered to people with lots of money, who are able to afford the shipment of fragile pieces of glass, from these shops to wherever their mansions were located.

Elizabeth was fairly set on getting a watch on this European trip. After we had missed out on getting a watch in Switzerland, when she saw these watches with the Murano glass ribbon design, she had to have one. In one of the shops, we bought a 2 inch paper weight, and one of these cool watches, that Elizabeth liked. I was a little skeptical about whether or not the watch was actually made in Murano, with Murano glass, because it only cost € 15. I jokingly told Elizabeth, that it was probably just a sticker that looked like the glass. As the words left my lips, Elizabeth’s heart sank. The possibility that her authentic Murano glass watch was probably a sticker according to me, completely changed her giddy attitude to one of disappointment. Elizabeth was crushed. She kept asking, if it was really a sticker, and I told her that I didn’t know, but it is probably real.

At this point in our excursion, I had become really exhausted, and I just wanted to lay down. I had drank way too much wine and hadn’t had enough water to compensate. That paired with the humid temperature, caused me to feel rather dehydrated. Elizabeth ended up getting a glass of water at a little restaurant, whom probably assumed that we were going to be regular customers. Once we were more refreshed, we found our way back to the dock, where we would board the boat back to Venice.

Apparently, everyone else had the same idea, because when we arrived at the dock, there was a long line of elderly tourists, all waiting to get on the boat back to Venice, as well. Somehow in our haste to get on the boat to get back to Venice, we got on the wrong boat and ended up on a different strange island. This island didn’t appear very touristy, so there wasn’t much to do, but wait again to get back on the correct boat back. Both of these boat rides were easily a half hour and my exhaustion just continued to grow.

When we finally arrived back at San Marco Square, I just wanted to sit down and relax, while eating some amazing Italian food. Some fresh spaghetti, some Italian sausage, some garlic bread, just something that would put every expensive Italian restaurant in America to shame. If a dish costs $20 in California, then a €20 dish in Italy should be mind blowingly, amazing, because it’s authentic, right?

So, we started our search for the perfect Italian restaurant. We walked down the main streets and saw a lot of the same shops and cafes, that we had walked passed before. Then we would cut down an alley, looking for a secret locals restaurant, and see nothing. We would then continue down a street, that looked promising and see more of the same pizza shops and bars. I was really getting hungry now, and my instincts for picking the best restaurant were failing me, so I relied on Elizabeth to pick a place.

Asking Elizabeth to pick a place is like putting off eating for an additional half hour. Maybe we will find something that is great for her, but below average for me. There were two places, where we thought about going to eat. One was really busy and a little pricey; the other one that was fairly empty, but the prices seemed a bit more manageable for our budget, given the appeared quality of the food.

My low blood sugar eventually got the best of me, and the cheap imitation Italian restaurant was the establishment where we had we settled on. At the time when we arrived, there was a gentleman outside, hustling us to come in, whom I mistook for Italian, but Elizabeth said he was Indian. When we were seated and I wasn’t able to order a glass of water, but only purchase bottled water, I knew that this was going to be an interesting experience.

“I’d like to order a glass of tap water with ice, please.” I said. “We don’t serve that here. Only water in a bottle,” the Indian waiter said. “Why is that?” I asked. “We think that it’s rude.” I guess that, giving the customer what they ask for isn’t rude? So I paid my €2 and received a bottle of water.

The way that these places function, is you can order “the menu”, in which you choose 2 courses out of the 4 that are listed that day, and you choose one of two different desserts. If you don’t like what is listed in “the menu”, you can order your food items, a la carte and, receive a lot of different items. I don’t know why I got the impression, that what I was ordering was special or a signature dish, which the chef had taken pride in, but I did.

I ordered a menu consisting of spaghetti with meat sauce, a chicken breast, and fried potatoes, with tiramisu for dessert. When the first plate arrived and a saucer sized dish of spaghetti was placed on the table, I started to get skeptical whether I made the correct decision. When the chicken breast arrived, along with a plate of French fries, my mind couldn’t understand, how this restaurant was passing for Italian. Nowhere in America do they call French Fries, “fried potatoes”, so I guess that this was my lesson in Italian.

Elizabeth ordered another pizza and requested flaked hot peppers, to sprinkle on top. The waiter arrived back at the table, and to my surprise, there was a tiny cup the size of a shot glass with Smurfette on it, filled with flaked hot peppers. As I looked around, I couldn’t believe, what I was seeing, compared with what I was expecting. I came in for authentic Italian and I received a melting pot of cultures serving the most boring dishes of food in the world.

I couldn’t believe that more and more people continued to enter the restaurant. How was this Indian host wrangling in all of these unsuspecting tourists into this establishment. Was everyone walking in expecting French fries and Smurfette or was it just me? I felt robbed of my Italian experience. I received my delicious tiramisu, but it was too late. This sweet dish could not balance, the sour taste of this restaurant. Any illusion that I had about Italians in Italy knowing anything about food was ruined. Forever will I wonder, if there was any delicious foods in all of Venice. Throughout America, I usually can tell by the sign outside of the restaurant, what quality of food I am going to receive, when I walk inside. However, this place truly proved that you can’t judge a book by it’s cover, sometimes the cover is really nice, and the book is boring.

After we finished eating, we were ready to head back to the B&B. Somehow, we managed to arrive at our destination with minimal input from the GPS on the phone. When we arrived outside of the B&B, there was a girl standing outside, who looked as though she was trying to enter. I unlocked the large wooden doors, then we asked, if she was supposed to be staying there. She said, that she was meeting her friend, but didn’t know which button to press to ring the buzzer, or the phone number of the person that she was staying with.

She was an Australian student, who was spending the week in Venice on her school holiday. She had just gotten off a 20 hour flight, so she was confused and tired. We told her, that if she isn’t able to make contact with her friend, that she might be able to sleep in our room, instead of in the streets. For now, she insisted on staying outside and just sitting against the large wooden doors.

We went up the stairs to our room, entering through the two other locked doors. We could see the girl below, talking to someone on the phone, but we still checked on her every few minutes, to make sure that she was still out there, and had not been taken. After a half hour, Elizabeth told me that I should go down and invite her to stay on our extra bed. I went down the steps, through the locked doors, and as soon as I opened the last door, there she was standing. I told her, that if she wanted to stay in our room, that we had an extra bed. She said, that she could hear her friend talking upstairs, and she was coming down to let her in. Seconds later a young Asian girl came to her rescue, and as I walked away the Australian girl relayed her adventure to her friend.

Day 20: Venice

In the morning, we woke up and I headed to the shared bathroom. Moments later, there was a knock at the door. After I finished my shower, there was another knock. When I finally finished up and opened the door, there was a line of people waiting to use the bathroom. I went back to the room and as Elizabeth peeked out, she couldn’t believe the line that had formed. She began peeking out, every few minutes, to see if she could sneak in when no one was looking.

It was our last day in Venice and we had to exit the B&B by 10am. We were scheduled to leave on the night train to Vienna at 8:45pm, so we decided that we needed to do something with our bags, so that we wouldn’t have to carry them all day. We figured, that if we headed back to the train station, they would most likely have lockers, like other stations had in the cities that we had visited. When we arrived at the train station via the Grand Canal, we followed the luggage signs, but instead seeing lockers we approached a long line up to a bag check. There was probably 50 people lined up ahead of us and it took about an hour for us to make it to the bag check desk. We thought about shipping out our tent, and some of the other unnecessary items that had been weighing us down. However, without boxes, we figured that we wouldn’t have anything to ship them out in.

Once our bags were safe behind the desk, we took the boat down the Grand Canal, back to the San Marco Square. We ordered some ice cream and watched the people play with the pigeons, then went on a tour of the Palace. The Palace completely surrounded the square. The inside of the Palace contained the history of Venice. We entered rooms where nobility met, courts proceeded, and prisoners were held. Lots of the rooms probably served a civic purpose at some point in time, but now housed amazingly beautiful pieces of art. Most rooms had a painted ceilings or an intricate chandelier. The one piece that really stood out was a large etching, of a bird’s eye view of Venice. The print was about 6 or 7 feet wide and was hung on the wall, with the plate laying flat in front of it. The tour of the palace took around 2-3 hours. After the tour, we walked out to the square and chilled out on the steps a bit, before heading back to down the bustling streets towards the train station.

What we found that was so important about San Marco Square was that it felt like every great artist had painted or visited the location at some point in time. Most notably Salvador Dali and Leonardo Di Vinci, who have work depicting the square. The plaza was just swarmed with pigeons and people feeding the pigeons. As gross as it seemed to us to feed or even touch the birds, some peoples aim was to get the birds to crawl all over them, just to take a ridiculous photo. It was definitely interesting to think about the Alfred Hitchcock movie, The Birds, and imagine, that if at that moment the birds turned on the humans, all of these people would literally be consumed.

We were still destined to find an authentic Italian restaurant, before we left the country, but we didn’t want to be disappointed by the food or the price. We started walking back toward the Rialto dock, where we would take the boat down the Grand Canal, one last time, to the train station. All the shops and restaurants blended together, but after walking through the narrow streets this last time, we had finally begun to get our sense of direction. At this point, we probably could’ve actually gotten lost, and felt relatively confident, that we could get to our destination.

As we got hungrier, to the point where we were going to pretty much settle for anything, we ended up back at Mr. Bean’s/Poppy’s, where we ordered a few dishes of food. The food was definitely better than the night before, so I wasn’t completely disappointed, but at the same time, I was so tired and grumpy, that even if it was delicious, I was sort of over Venice.

After dinner we rode the ferry one last time, back to the train station. Elizabeth’s 3-Day ticket had expired, but there wasn’t an attendant, and we didn’t have any cash, so we broke the honor code, and just rode anyway. The sun was beginning to set, and it was absolutely amazing seeing the lights of the buildings along the canal. In spite, of the crowds of people slowing us down and getting in our way, Venice is definitely a site to see once you are on the water.

We arrived at the train station about an hour early, then went to the bag check. We were next in line after a couple and we waited patiently. A few seconds later, a different couple entered through the exit door and began waiting. When the clerk had finished with the first couple, he called the couple waiting at the exit door over to his desk.

“Excuse me,” Elizabeth said, “We were here first!” The clerk ignored her, then went to the back to retrieve the other couple’s bags. He apologized and then called us to the desk. The clerk looked at our ticket and typed our number into the computer. Then he said “I don’t think that we have your bags any more.” He went to the back closet and looked around for a moment. “Yeah, I can’t find any bags with your ticket. Do you have the ticket that he gave you?” We both said, “Uhmm, yeah, that’s the ticket that you have in your hand.” “This ticket is blurred and I can’t read the numbers, do you want to come back and look?” He said.

At this point, with our luck for losing things, I wouldn’t be surprised if our bags weren’t there. Though I knew that this trip had hardened us and if we needed to just live off the clothes on our backs, we could do it. He invited me to the back room to look for myself, and just as I walked around the corner, there they were, our massive packs. I carried them back to the desk and he said, “€19”. Confused as to why the price was so high, but wanting to conclude this interaction, I just paid the man, and walked away.

Typically, the departure boards in the train stations have 10-20 different departures listed. In most cases, however, we discovered that the track number isn’t revealed until 15 minutes before the train departs. We found a seat on a bench, where we could see the departure board. We sat down next to a woman from Norway, who was also traveling through Europe by train. She was attempting to take the train to Munich, where she would transfer to a train to Hamburg, then at some point a train would take her to Norway.

There was also a gentleman playing piano next to our bench, at one of the random piano locations that were found in train stations in Europe. His playing was decent, but he was really sloppy in his technique. You could hear him playing something that sounded right for awhile, then you might hear some unnecessary jazz chords placed in the tune, which just sounded off. Perhaps, it was a bit too avant garde for my ears, but the Norwegian woman was really getting into it. She would look over at me and nod her head, when she was really being taken away by the music, and I would nod back in politeness.

I started looking down at my ticket and noticed that there were lots of numbers, but I didn’t know their significance. I wasn’t sure where our seats were going to be on the train, but I assumed that the numbers could tell us. I went to the information office, and then took a number ticket. There was a aimless woman standing in the office, who clearly hadn’t dealt with the ticket system. When my number was called, she rushed to the desk. “Where is your number?” The clerk said. “I don’t have a number, I was just waiting.” She said. “I need number 235.” He replied. “That’s me.” I said. I approached the desk.

“Uhmm. Do you speak German?” I asked. “A little. What do you need?” He replied. “I see a bunch of numbers, do you know where we are supposed to sit?” I asked. “You are in wagon 285, beds 34 and 35.” He pointed. “Thanks.” I said. Now, it was clear. I went back to the bench and told Elizabeth that I found out where our seats were located. “Good.” She said. “Did you find out the track number?” The Norwegian woman asked. “No, it has not been posted yet,” I said. We sat quietly for a bit, listening to the gentleman’s crude piano playing, and waited for the track number.

When the track number popped on the screen, we got up and headed to the train. Outside the train car, which we were supposed to get on, there was a crowd of people talking to the conductor. “Is this where we are supposed to get on the train?” I said. “Are you trying to go to Munich?” A random gentleman asked. “No.” I said. “You’re fine then.” He said.

Elizabeth and I walked to the other door of the train car, and squeezed through the narrow corridor to our compartment. The beds of the couchette were already in place, so Elizabeth and I stretched out and made ourselves comfortable. Before I could get too relaxed, a German conductor knocked on the door and enters our compartment. “We need to adjusted the bench, in case someone else comes from another station.” He said, in a very strict German way.

Moments before the train was about to leave a young man and an older woman looked through the window in the door. With a confused look on their faces, they leaned in the doorway. I got up from my bed and helped them clarify their seat numbers as marked on their ticket. Elizabeth and I had requested the bottom bunk, yet unfortunately, our cabin mates were stuck sleeping on the top bunks. They looked up in horror, at the height that they were going to need to climb. There was an unstable rope ladder, which they were going to need to climb up.

We began talking and the young man, explained that, he and his mother had been doing a small tour of Italy, and they were heading up to Stockholm, where he was living. They were stopping in Vienna, along with a few other destinations, so they packed a lot of luggage for their trip. The young man, whom I would find out was named Julian, had brought one of the large packs, similar to ours. His mother on the other hand, was carrying a large wheelie bag. He tossed his bag up into the top bunk. Then he tried to place her large suitcase into the netting between the two top bunks. The suitcase was too heavy and practically ripped the net off of it’s hooks. The suitcase crashed to the ground, and for the next few hours they would kept it on the bed with her. Later, they would place it on the floor in between the bottom bunks, where it would stay for the rest of the trip.

Rick Steves, and other travelers, had warned us of the dangers of pickpockets and thieves on overnight trains. So, as soon as we arrived in our compartment on the train, we pulled out the bare essentials from our bags and then strategically placed them under our seats. The train conductor had made me put the middle bunk up, so when I laid down, it was like I was laying in a coffin. There wasn’t much to do on the train, considering there wasn’t free wi-fi, so I basically just laid back and rested until I was too tired to fall asleep.

Elizabeth and I began talking about our thoughts on our experience in Venice. I began mentioning things that I thought would make the experience better. Mainly, that in places like Venice, which is like a huge maze, it would be better, if you knew someone on the inside. A person who knows which alleys to take you through, and the good places to eat and drink, the way that Jeremie guided us in Brussels.

Julian, who had finally managed to climb to the top bunk, popped his head over. We introduced ourselves and began talking about our backgrounds; where we were from and where we were going on our trips. He mentioned that he had been to Venice a number of times, and since this was his third trip, he was able to manage getting from place to place quite well. Julian worked for a company in Sweden, but was originally from Chile. He said that this company offered him a job to move him overseas. He told his previous employer in Chile about the amazing opportunity, and they told him that if things didn’t work out, that he was welcome to return to work. He had been living in Stockholm for a number of years now, and this arrangement had given him the opportunity to travel throughout Europe.

We had mentioned that we were staying at rental apartments and couch surfing. He was a major advocate for both. He said, that he had been couch surfing for a number of years, and had met lots of people around the world, whom he had stayed in contact with for years. There was people that he met in Chile that had moved to other countries that he would stay with and he made it seem like he had friends all over the world. He brought up what I said about experiencing life from the perspective of locals. He said that going to museums is fine, but actually experiencing the things that are happening now, is like going to a museum in the future. He went on to say, that even when we look at photos from 50 years ago, everything looks different, so we should experience events and places while they are happening, for ourselves.

Julian said, that the way that he meets up with people overseas, is that he will contact local couchsurfing groups in a city. He will look to find out if there are parties or events that he can attend when he arrives, that way he can get to know even more people. He explained how easy it could be to have a “real” experience in a new place. It required a lot of trust and optimism, combined with the ability to just let go of what you had planned and just go with the flow. Before jobs, marriage, and moving across the country, all those attitudes seem simple, but now that I am 35, I feel pretty locked in my life, so that holds me back alittle.

I was really enjoying talking to Julian about traveling, Chile, and Argentina. I started thinking about how I read the Motorcycle Diaries by Che Guevera, which takes place in Chile and Argentina. I wondered what Chileans thought about him. I asked him, if he had been to Machu Picchu, which he had. I also asked him if there was racism and classism, between different countries in South America. He said, that he hadn’t really experienced it. Any rivalry was that was still in place was probably just playful ribbing. At one point in the conversation, I got so enthusiastic, that Elizabeth told me that I was getting too loud, and I needed to quiet down. I was so self-conscious that, I eventually just stopped talking.

Sleeping on the train, even horizontally wasn’t comfortable for me. I was able to sleep a bit, once the lights were dimmed, but between the rocking, the train noises, and the lights outside the compartment, I couldn’t get settled. At one point in the night, I flipped my head to where my feet were, and tried to sleep that way, but I pretty much just lied half asleep the entire night. As was to be expected, as soon as I fell asleep, the train conductor came back to our cabin and woke us up, to asked if we wanted coffee or tea. We all barely responded and a few moments later he brought us coffee, water, and two pastries each. As we arrived closer to Vienna, we slowly woke up, and eventually began talking again. Julian showed us some photos of some of his drawings that he had on his phone. His art focused on social issues and politics.

> Next Chapter

Barababao
Campo San Giovanni Crisostomo, Cannaregio 5835, Venezia, Italy
While we originally ate at this restaurant, because we got 10% off for staying at the bed and breakfast upstairs, it was the first place that we ever had french fries on a pizza. There are hundreds of little restaurants with patios and pizza in Venice, but if you are looking for a nice place to stay, with free breakfast, then this restaurant stands out on booking.com. We came back on our last day in Venice and had more delicious pizza.

Pizzeria Birreria Barbanera
5356 Castello, Venezia, VE 30122, 30122, Italy
While this probably isn’t the worst restaurant in Venice, it certainly lowers the standard of what you would consider good. On first look, this place doesn’t seem so bad, but with bland food, mediocre service, and a Smurfette cup full of dried peppers on the table, you may think twice before stopping in for a second time. While the food is edible, the taste and presentation is lackluster. If you are looking for an authentic Italian experience in Venice, keep looking.