Stepping off the plane in Venice was tiring; it had been a long day already and I haven’t even gotten off the jetway. But the sun was shining and the weather was beautiful, and after a few deep breaths of the fresh air, I started to wake up. I had a good feeling about this trip even though I knew it would be different from my others. Normally, I tend to prefer all-inclusive resorts with swim-up bars and a good oceanfront room. This trip would be something different.
Walking through the airport in Venice was quick and painless. A comfortable airport, even if I can only read half the signs. (God bless symbols that are universally recognized, like ‘toilet’ and ‘exit’). Once I cleared the baggage area and everything else, finding the water taxi stand and was fairly easy. In all fairness, my travel companion Cristina had told me exactly where to go. What she didn’t warn me about however was the 15 minute, 1 mile walk from the airport to the dock where the water taxi would be. Granted the instructions to get there were very easy: exit the airport, follow the bridge, and stay on the white covered walkway until you get to the dock. Not too difficult. But after a few minutes I was convinced that I’d gone the wrong way. I stayed the course and eventually found the taxis, exactly where they were supposed to be.
Once I got to the taxi, the driver was very friendly and spoke great English, however his conversation with me was kept to a minimum because, as far as I could tell, he was running a side business while he was driving the boat. The entire time that we were in transit, he was on the phone with one person or another, taking notes on a pad of paper as he drove. While this would normally be terrifying in a car, out on the open waterways of Venice it wasn’t quite as nerve-wracking. Every few seconds he glanced up to see if there was anything noteworthy around and he would go back to his conversation. And it was quite nice to be in a speedboat, cruising along the open water around the city, the wind blowing through my hair. I took a few selfies (which I am generally not inclined to do) because it was just such a great feeling. Then again, that could be the jetlag talking. The driver dropped me off at a dock just a few yards from the Carnival Palace Hotel.
The hotel itself is very modern and very well appointed. It is also quite expensive. It’s in the Jewish ghetto section of Venice which sounds far worse than it actually is. Based on what I saw, I’m assuming that it is a historical name and not a modern reference. The hotel was right on one of the canals but near the outskirts of Venice which was probably the best location we could be in. It gave us very easy access to the waterways if we needed to take a taxi anywhere, within three or four minutes we could walk to the Grand Canal, and, because we were off the beaten path, all of the local cafés and restaurants usually had a table or two open, which meant we could always stop for a drink and a nibble.
After checking in and exchanging pleasantries and getting caught up briefly, Cristina and I went for a walk. She had landed several hours before me, and had already spent a few hours exploring bits of Venice so she had some idea of the lay of the land. But me being me, I had to do it my way and we proceeded to get lost. Fortunately, we both had a map from the hotel’s front desk, so we weren’t in too big of a pickle. There are parts of Venice that seem a little unnerving; the dark alleys, the narrow streets that don’t seem to go quite straight. But no matter where you are, if you keep walking you’ll almost always find water and when you find water you’re on your way out of whatever lost mess you found yourself in. The people that we spoke to were all very friendly and I tried to use my pidgin Italian to the best of my ability. I assume that they noticed that Cristina and I were speaking English or they heard my accent because they always spoke English with us regardless of our Italian efforts. It was a little bit annoying because I had practiced my Italian for several months, but ultimately it worked out well, since my Italian was still crap and their English was pretty solid.
Once we got a little less lost, we decided we needed food. The first restaurant that we went to was a tiny little hole in the wall pizzeria called Ae Oche, with a few tables outside presumably some on the inside, and a lot of locals standing on the street nearby. It seemed like a good place for us to kick back, relax and see what Venice had to offer. We ordered a carafe of the house red and a couple of pizzas. I remember the wine being a little dry, but it paired well with the pizza. We split the pizzas in half and tried a little of both. As we ate American-style, I looked around and noticed that most of the people speaking Italian were using a fork and knife with their pizzas. Apparently that’s how they do it there. I stuck with what I was familiar with. As the old adage goes, “When in Rome, do like the Romans do. When in Venice, eat pizza like an American.” (The second half of that phrase has been long since forgotten, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it said originally.) Italian pizzas are very different from American pizza. Growing up, we’d go to Pizza Hut once in a while and I still remember their pan pizza with fond memories. A thick, buttery crust, crispy on the bottom, layers of cheese and toppings. So many flavors that you couldn’t name them all without looking at the menu. Yeah, that’s nothing like Italian pizza. The simplest pizza will be dough, pizza sauce and some cheese. But the dough is much thinner than American pizzas and the crust isn’t puffy. It looks more like they just didn’t push the toppings all the way to the edge of the dough. Any toppings you get are spare and simple. Rather than overpower you with a dozen toppings, they’d rather you taste the 1 or two toppings that they use and allow you to enjoy the subtleties of the flavors. I have to admit, as much as I enjoy my pizza, I think I like their way a little better. I don’t know if it’s the difference between a mom-and-pop pizzeria versus the American chains that I’m used to or whether they just have better ingredients.
The first night ended with a walk along the canal to the hotel. Very romantic if you’re inclined to such things. There were a lot of tourists and a lot of locals out and about. A lot of people were standing on bridges along the Grand Canal taking pictures of the moonlight reflected in the river or of themselves with the Venetian buildings in the back. We headed back to the hotel and decided to call it an early night, since we knew we had a lot of walking to do the next day.
