So let me just preface my first Italy posting. As I write this, I am having a glass of Montepulciano from the local bar downstairs, sitting on a crystal white bed with the windows open listening to the mumerings and sing song drunkeness of Italian men and women are up late roaming the cobblestone streets, and muching happily on home made biscotti cookies made by the mother of the son who owns the B&B that Chris and I happen to be staying in.
Just sayin'.
Secondly, I apologize to the millions (heh) of those who read this blog. I couldn't blog last night, our first day in Italy, because if I had, it would have looked something like this:
alskdjfasidfjawilehfrowanjfoiagaodguaogkalsdjfljfoiajfoajlsdfja;ldfjal.
Oh yeah. I had jet lag yesterday and I had it BAD. I don't remember the last time I was that tired. I mean, that's taking into account New York tired. You know the kind--you get up at 4:30 AM to get to work at 6 AM to work until 3 PM only then to go to your next job from 4-10 PM, get home in (hopefully) an hour, around 11 PM to realize you haven't at all prepared for that audition at 7 AM. Oh yeah. Probably more tired than that. So again, I am sorry fellow friends and family who wanted to see a blog last night. I couldn't carry on past 10 PM Venice time, much less write anything worth reading or legiable for that matter.
Before I carry on, though, I am letting all of you know that due to my lack of blogging last night, I will be making the last two days in two seperate entries. So, think of this first one as my first full day in Italy, May 8th, 2011. I will talk as if this entry had been there the whole time. :)
We touched down in Italy around 10:40 AM and after a little confusion of looking for our boat bus, we found our way and soon to our hotel (more really of a bed and breakfast) entitled B&B3C. I swear to God, it looks just like the movies here. You know, where the girl wanders the cobblestone streets, has to find a mosaic in the ground (which of course, is ever so small and the directions tell you to take a right after the mosaic...that you missed three streets ago because you were so overwhelmed with the whole...well, everything...) and finds herself in front of a huge iron gate that could only be the place she is staying. When the door opens, just like in the movie I now feel like Chris and I am starring in, we see I flowers and vines hanging from either side and a stone staircase leading up to the front door. When the front door opens, as we stand on beautiful mosaic marble floors (which are, of course, throughout the entire establishment) we are greeted by our host, Fabio. A plumb Italian man with a geniune smile, a jolly laugh, tan and rough skin, and a very thick Italian accent. Even still, though, he speaks English well enough and brings us immediately to our room.
The room is, well, in two words: simply gorgeous. Simple white sheets on the bed. A desk. A couple of chairs. Green shutters that are ajar and allow for sunlight to stream into the room and bounce off the floors. The bathroom that owns the largest shower I have seen in a long time. Everything from the white towels to the simply elegant white sink has already taken my breath away. Just what you need, yet so perfectly placed.
Fabio then takes us into the kitchen/foyer entrance to get our passports to check us in officially. He asks what we are here for and when Chris replies that we are here for my 25th birthday, he looks at me and says, "Oh. Ok. Well, you come next year, for your 26th with your husband." With a blushed face, I laugh and then we all laugh. The akward moment luckily passes and he tells me and Chris, whilst pointing at a map, all about the island--how to get from place to place, things we may want to know, etc. I start realize what it must feel like for people from foriegn cities who do speak English to talk to a native American-in short, it's exhausting. I love listening to Fabio but it takes work to listen through the accent. I can only imagine how others must feel.
After a long introduction from Fabio, Chris and I decide to roam. Luckily, we had no where to be until 6 PM for a boat tour, so we took our time. In the first day, in the first hour, I can't get over this city. I mean, everyone who had visited Italy told me, "Oh yeah, Venice is nice." but that was it. Nice? Venice is nice? I know it's the first place we have been in Italy, but it's amazing. Beyond amazing. Cobblestone streets. The conversations in Italian. The history surrounding us. The flowers that hang from balconies-all balconies-in pinks, purples, and whites. The water. I could go on for days and I mean, Venice is nice?
We venture a lot of places whilst wandering. Most of which would be boring blog wise. And I would post pictures, but I was a very silly girl and left the chord to the camera at home with the bf. So, alas, you will all have to read my words, paint your own pictures and wait with bated breath until I return to get the pictures. Tehe.
While wandering along, we find the La Fenice. Another word for The Phoneix, which is known for arising from the ashes, due to the fact that this glorious and world famous opera house (which sometimes they show theatre in as well) has burned down three times. As we tour the theatre, I am amazed at everything I see. A ceiling painted in a brilliant blue. An over 1,500 seat house (where Maria Callas once sang) with boxes climbing to the top of the ceiling. Gold statues. A grandisoe black velvet curtain with over 1,000 gold roses delicately sewen on top. A royalty box with the best seats in the house that I got to sit in. And all I could think was, "Am I in a movie? Am I dreaming right now?"
Shortly after the dream like tour of the theatre, we have our first gelato. Oh, and a chocolate pastry. Holy crap. No one was kidding when they told me that the gelato here was amazing. Like, indescriable. Holy moly! I could eat it everyday, all day. And as we ate gelato, mine chocolate chip and Chris's being vanilla, we sat on a staircase watching the blue water lap close to our feet and laughing along with the passing gondolier who jokes with us about how tasty our treats must be.
We then venture back towards San Marco Square (GOREGOUS btw) where we notice that there are irons gates making somewhat of a line on either side from the Basilica to the canal. When we ask a couple what is going on, they inform us that the Pope is going to exit the church and make it to the canal to float away..to wherever.
Okay, wait a second. The Pope. The POPE pope. Like, THE. POPE. He's not only in Venice but he's in Venice on my first day in Venice and he's going to walk by this area. Well, it is then that I start to freak out with excitement and Chris points out that we have a boat tour to get to. However, due to the Pope's departure everything is f-ed up in terms of getting from place to place (because, well, Venice isn't hard enough to figure out from place to place...).
Therefore, we decide to figure out how to get back to hotel from San Marco, then see the Pope, then run to the hotel, get the tickets, and RUN to the boat tour. After this briiant game plan, Chris then runs up to three police officers (we're in a hurry, ok?) to ask them for directions. The minute Chris reaches one of them, she immediately starts to spout of her questions. Without hesitation and without the slightest angry intention, the police officer holds up his hand for her to stop talking and in a welcoming, warm Italian accent he says in English, "Buon giorno." Chris, feeling guilty and well, American, apologizes and repeats back, "Buon giorno." "Now, you ask your questions" says the police officer. Amazing. Buon giorno. That's all he needed and that's all Chris needed to be put in her place to be told to relax. To calm down. Buon giorno. Mmm. Beautiful.
Anyway, we figure out directions and I realize pretty quickly that the Pope is due any second. Chris basically sends me away with a godspeed, knowing that I, little one, wants to be in the front. And by God, I am determined and get pretty close--like, in the second line. I am sardined in by people. We're all sweating in the blazing May sun and a woman beside me is ever so determined to get a picture of the Pope carriage that is suddenly wheeled out (which everyone applaudes for), by the way, which is basically a golf cart with an embelm on the side, leans her entire body on top of the woman in front of her to get a picture. Oh, determination.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. I decide almost to give up to see the man in a funny hat but then I notice on the huge big screen, which is playing live feed from inside the church, that the Pope is blessing people and singing. I know now that the end of waiting is near, the treasure is going to be seen and that there's a light at the end of the tunnel and now, although Chris is out of sight, I have officially decided that I have waited way to damn long not to wait just a little bit longer and that, even if it kills me and we miss the boat tour, I will, by God, see the Pope.
The Pope comes to Venice maybe once every thirty years. That means that around the next time that he is here, I'll be about fifty five years old. 55 years old ladies and gentlemen. And you know what I saw? I saw the Pope. And I didn't just sort of see him while trying to get a glimpse around big hair and big bellied Italian men. The woman who was standing in front of me knew he was coming out of the entrace (where we were standing), bent down, and looked back at me with a smile and said in Italian, "Can you see better now?" I smiled back and said, "Si. Graci, graci, graci!". She bent down so that I could see the Pope come out of the church, get in the Pope golf cart, wave to and bless the crowd with his hands, and drive away.
And I not only saw it. Oh no. I have it on camera. Hell yeah I do.
It's as he is driving away that I hear Chris's cries, "ADRIENNE!". I shut off the camera (thanks Matt!), throw it in my bag, and start running with her. We are zig zagging through streets and cobblestone paths and alleys (which are streets but just look like what Americans would consider alley!) trying to find the hotel. After we locate the hotel, run up the stairs, get the tickets, we are out faster than we came in, running through the streets. We would stop for a moment, Chris would ask me to read part of the map, I'd read, and we'd run. We knew we'd be late for the boat tour but quickly realize that strolling Venicians were not helping our cause. Chris finally had the brilliant idea and yelled out above each crowded alley way, "Hospitale!" and man, would those seas PART. People would completely stop for these two crazed adult women yelling for hospital, to allow us to get around them. What they don't know can't hurt them, right?
And we made it. Twenty minutes late but we see a group of obvious Americans with a tall man, and out of breath we ask if they're the boat group, which, thank you God, they are. Chris, our American tour guide, (or Italian with an amazing American accent/dialect--I can't quite decide yet), points us to our boat which he later informs us that the Pope rides in when he is in the city. A very small wooden, covered boat, takes the Pope around? Apparently, the boat costs half a million dollars and the drivers for such boat are allowed to carry firearms. In the Popemobile, as Chris and I called it.
We have a wonderful boat tour. Chris informs us that he's originally from Arizona and in the day, a journalist. He used to live in Harlem in NYC, which we talk about for a time, and bounced between there and Venice writing for quite some time. We get to know Chris, and he and his girlfriend are soon moving to Rome which he seems very sad about. When Chris and I joke about moving to Venice forever, he says with a great deal of honesty, "It happens to the best of us".
And in an hour and a half tour, we see beautiful parts of the island and learn the history. Apparently, Venice used to be basically nothing until those who fled north of here, found this area, cultivated it and made it theirs. The island looks like a fish from birds eye view and the new comers to the island, to build upon this sandy earth decided to put (eventually billions) pieces of wood stacked close together. Although they had no way of knowing back then, putting wood (pine to be exact) that close to together, wih water covering it, does not allow for oxygen to be created and therefore, basically and naturally creates a cement. It is this "cement" that has allowed the city to survive hundreds of years and for the city to stay above water.
However, high water is a problem in the city. Chris, our guide, told us that at one point during a high tide, he had water lapping into his apartment entrance. Yet, low water is a problem as well. When the wood is exposed, oxygen seeps in, allowing for the rotting of the wood foundation, alas, causing the city to slowly sink.
Sinking or not, I freaking love it here.
So, as our guide continues to enlighten us, we close the top portion of our boat, it's cozy, there is warm conversation, and I realize how exhausted I have become. Beyond, really. And through the last half hour of the tour, I am constantly falling asleep. Unable to fight it any longer, after the guided tour, Chris and I accept defeat. We decide to eat on the way to the hotel and crawl into bed.
Of course, no meal is 'just a meal' here in Venice or well, Italy. So we find a place close to our B&B, an osteria, where we eat panini's, have my first glass of Montepulciano with Chris...and my second glass...and we have good conversation and deem this osteria our osteria for the next three nights we have remaining in Venice.
And we saunter home. Up the stairs. Into our beautiful room. I write a few words on facebook and at 11 PM Venice time, I pass out. I pass out and neither Chris or I wake for another twelve hours.
The second day, May 9th, soon to come.
Till then, ciao!
Love love,
Adrienne
Just sayin'.
Secondly, I apologize to the millions (heh) of those who read this blog. I couldn't blog last night, our first day in Italy, because if I had, it would have looked something like this:
alskdjfasidfjawilehfrowanjfoiagaodguaogkalsdjfljfoiajfoajlsdfja;ldfjal.
Oh yeah. I had jet lag yesterday and I had it BAD. I don't remember the last time I was that tired. I mean, that's taking into account New York tired. You know the kind--you get up at 4:30 AM to get to work at 6 AM to work until 3 PM only then to go to your next job from 4-10 PM, get home in (hopefully) an hour, around 11 PM to realize you haven't at all prepared for that audition at 7 AM. Oh yeah. Probably more tired than that. So again, I am sorry fellow friends and family who wanted to see a blog last night. I couldn't carry on past 10 PM Venice time, much less write anything worth reading or legiable for that matter.
Before I carry on, though, I am letting all of you know that due to my lack of blogging last night, I will be making the last two days in two seperate entries. So, think of this first one as my first full day in Italy, May 8th, 2011. I will talk as if this entry had been there the whole time. :)
We touched down in Italy around 10:40 AM and after a little confusion of looking for our boat bus, we found our way and soon to our hotel (more really of a bed and breakfast) entitled B&B3C. I swear to God, it looks just like the movies here. You know, where the girl wanders the cobblestone streets, has to find a mosaic in the ground (which of course, is ever so small and the directions tell you to take a right after the mosaic...that you missed three streets ago because you were so overwhelmed with the whole...well, everything...) and finds herself in front of a huge iron gate that could only be the place she is staying. When the door opens, just like in the movie I now feel like Chris and I am starring in, we see I flowers and vines hanging from either side and a stone staircase leading up to the front door. When the front door opens, as we stand on beautiful mosaic marble floors (which are, of course, throughout the entire establishment) we are greeted by our host, Fabio. A plumb Italian man with a geniune smile, a jolly laugh, tan and rough skin, and a very thick Italian accent. Even still, though, he speaks English well enough and brings us immediately to our room.
The room is, well, in two words: simply gorgeous. Simple white sheets on the bed. A desk. A couple of chairs. Green shutters that are ajar and allow for sunlight to stream into the room and bounce off the floors. The bathroom that owns the largest shower I have seen in a long time. Everything from the white towels to the simply elegant white sink has already taken my breath away. Just what you need, yet so perfectly placed.
Fabio then takes us into the kitchen/foyer entrance to get our passports to check us in officially. He asks what we are here for and when Chris replies that we are here for my 25th birthday, he looks at me and says, "Oh. Ok. Well, you come next year, for your 26th with your husband." With a blushed face, I laugh and then we all laugh. The akward moment luckily passes and he tells me and Chris, whilst pointing at a map, all about the island--how to get from place to place, things we may want to know, etc. I start realize what it must feel like for people from foriegn cities who do speak English to talk to a native American-in short, it's exhausting. I love listening to Fabio but it takes work to listen through the accent. I can only imagine how others must feel.
After a long introduction from Fabio, Chris and I decide to roam. Luckily, we had no where to be until 6 PM for a boat tour, so we took our time. In the first day, in the first hour, I can't get over this city. I mean, everyone who had visited Italy told me, "Oh yeah, Venice is nice." but that was it. Nice? Venice is nice? I know it's the first place we have been in Italy, but it's amazing. Beyond amazing. Cobblestone streets. The conversations in Italian. The history surrounding us. The flowers that hang from balconies-all balconies-in pinks, purples, and whites. The water. I could go on for days and I mean, Venice is nice?
We venture a lot of places whilst wandering. Most of which would be boring blog wise. And I would post pictures, but I was a very silly girl and left the chord to the camera at home with the bf. So, alas, you will all have to read my words, paint your own pictures and wait with bated breath until I return to get the pictures. Tehe.
While wandering along, we find the La Fenice. Another word for The Phoneix, which is known for arising from the ashes, due to the fact that this glorious and world famous opera house (which sometimes they show theatre in as well) has burned down three times. As we tour the theatre, I am amazed at everything I see. A ceiling painted in a brilliant blue. An over 1,500 seat house (where Maria Callas once sang) with boxes climbing to the top of the ceiling. Gold statues. A grandisoe black velvet curtain with over 1,000 gold roses delicately sewen on top. A royalty box with the best seats in the house that I got to sit in. And all I could think was, "Am I in a movie? Am I dreaming right now?"
Shortly after the dream like tour of the theatre, we have our first gelato. Oh, and a chocolate pastry. Holy crap. No one was kidding when they told me that the gelato here was amazing. Like, indescriable. Holy moly! I could eat it everyday, all day. And as we ate gelato, mine chocolate chip and Chris's being vanilla, we sat on a staircase watching the blue water lap close to our feet and laughing along with the passing gondolier who jokes with us about how tasty our treats must be.
We then venture back towards San Marco Square (GOREGOUS btw) where we notice that there are irons gates making somewhat of a line on either side from the Basilica to the canal. When we ask a couple what is going on, they inform us that the Pope is going to exit the church and make it to the canal to float away..to wherever.
Okay, wait a second. The Pope. The POPE pope. Like, THE. POPE. He's not only in Venice but he's in Venice on my first day in Venice and he's going to walk by this area. Well, it is then that I start to freak out with excitement and Chris points out that we have a boat tour to get to. However, due to the Pope's departure everything is f-ed up in terms of getting from place to place (because, well, Venice isn't hard enough to figure out from place to place...).
Therefore, we decide to figure out how to get back to hotel from San Marco, then see the Pope, then run to the hotel, get the tickets, and RUN to the boat tour. After this briiant game plan, Chris then runs up to three police officers (we're in a hurry, ok?) to ask them for directions. The minute Chris reaches one of them, she immediately starts to spout of her questions. Without hesitation and without the slightest angry intention, the police officer holds up his hand for her to stop talking and in a welcoming, warm Italian accent he says in English, "Buon giorno." Chris, feeling guilty and well, American, apologizes and repeats back, "Buon giorno." "Now, you ask your questions" says the police officer. Amazing. Buon giorno. That's all he needed and that's all Chris needed to be put in her place to be told to relax. To calm down. Buon giorno. Mmm. Beautiful.
Anyway, we figure out directions and I realize pretty quickly that the Pope is due any second. Chris basically sends me away with a godspeed, knowing that I, little one, wants to be in the front. And by God, I am determined and get pretty close--like, in the second line. I am sardined in by people. We're all sweating in the blazing May sun and a woman beside me is ever so determined to get a picture of the Pope carriage that is suddenly wheeled out (which everyone applaudes for), by the way, which is basically a golf cart with an embelm on the side, leans her entire body on top of the woman in front of her to get a picture. Oh, determination.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. I decide almost to give up to see the man in a funny hat but then I notice on the huge big screen, which is playing live feed from inside the church, that the Pope is blessing people and singing. I know now that the end of waiting is near, the treasure is going to be seen and that there's a light at the end of the tunnel and now, although Chris is out of sight, I have officially decided that I have waited way to damn long not to wait just a little bit longer and that, even if it kills me and we miss the boat tour, I will, by God, see the Pope.
The Pope comes to Venice maybe once every thirty years. That means that around the next time that he is here, I'll be about fifty five years old. 55 years old ladies and gentlemen. And you know what I saw? I saw the Pope. And I didn't just sort of see him while trying to get a glimpse around big hair and big bellied Italian men. The woman who was standing in front of me knew he was coming out of the entrace (where we were standing), bent down, and looked back at me with a smile and said in Italian, "Can you see better now?" I smiled back and said, "Si. Graci, graci, graci!". She bent down so that I could see the Pope come out of the church, get in the Pope golf cart, wave to and bless the crowd with his hands, and drive away.
And I not only saw it. Oh no. I have it on camera. Hell yeah I do.
It's as he is driving away that I hear Chris's cries, "ADRIENNE!". I shut off the camera (thanks Matt!), throw it in my bag, and start running with her. We are zig zagging through streets and cobblestone paths and alleys (which are streets but just look like what Americans would consider alley!) trying to find the hotel. After we locate the hotel, run up the stairs, get the tickets, we are out faster than we came in, running through the streets. We would stop for a moment, Chris would ask me to read part of the map, I'd read, and we'd run. We knew we'd be late for the boat tour but quickly realize that strolling Venicians were not helping our cause. Chris finally had the brilliant idea and yelled out above each crowded alley way, "Hospitale!" and man, would those seas PART. People would completely stop for these two crazed adult women yelling for hospital, to allow us to get around them. What they don't know can't hurt them, right?
And we made it. Twenty minutes late but we see a group of obvious Americans with a tall man, and out of breath we ask if they're the boat group, which, thank you God, they are. Chris, our American tour guide, (or Italian with an amazing American accent/dialect--I can't quite decide yet), points us to our boat which he later informs us that the Pope rides in when he is in the city. A very small wooden, covered boat, takes the Pope around? Apparently, the boat costs half a million dollars and the drivers for such boat are allowed to carry firearms. In the Popemobile, as Chris and I called it.
We have a wonderful boat tour. Chris informs us that he's originally from Arizona and in the day, a journalist. He used to live in Harlem in NYC, which we talk about for a time, and bounced between there and Venice writing for quite some time. We get to know Chris, and he and his girlfriend are soon moving to Rome which he seems very sad about. When Chris and I joke about moving to Venice forever, he says with a great deal of honesty, "It happens to the best of us".
And in an hour and a half tour, we see beautiful parts of the island and learn the history. Apparently, Venice used to be basically nothing until those who fled north of here, found this area, cultivated it and made it theirs. The island looks like a fish from birds eye view and the new comers to the island, to build upon this sandy earth decided to put (eventually billions) pieces of wood stacked close together. Although they had no way of knowing back then, putting wood (pine to be exact) that close to together, wih water covering it, does not allow for oxygen to be created and therefore, basically and naturally creates a cement. It is this "cement" that has allowed the city to survive hundreds of years and for the city to stay above water.
However, high water is a problem in the city. Chris, our guide, told us that at one point during a high tide, he had water lapping into his apartment entrance. Yet, low water is a problem as well. When the wood is exposed, oxygen seeps in, allowing for the rotting of the wood foundation, alas, causing the city to slowly sink.
Sinking or not, I freaking love it here.
So, as our guide continues to enlighten us, we close the top portion of our boat, it's cozy, there is warm conversation, and I realize how exhausted I have become. Beyond, really. And through the last half hour of the tour, I am constantly falling asleep. Unable to fight it any longer, after the guided tour, Chris and I accept defeat. We decide to eat on the way to the hotel and crawl into bed.
Of course, no meal is 'just a meal' here in Venice or well, Italy. So we find a place close to our B&B, an osteria, where we eat panini's, have my first glass of Montepulciano with Chris...and my second glass...and we have good conversation and deem this osteria our osteria for the next three nights we have remaining in Venice.
And we saunter home. Up the stairs. Into our beautiful room. I write a few words on facebook and at 11 PM Venice time, I pass out. I pass out and neither Chris or I wake for another twelve hours.
The second day, May 9th, soon to come.
Till then, ciao!
Love love,
Adrienne
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