In the late 1700s, European nobles used to embark for months on the Grand Tour of Italy – Rome, Florence, and Venice. This may be news to some folks, but we’re not European, and we’re certainly not nobles.
But, we essentially followed their route, although we spent less time getting from place to place, but spent far more for food. While the switch to Euros has made life simpler for simple travelers, the downside appears to be food inflation. We were shocked by the price of food in Ireland, and there are no bargains to be found in Italy either.
Anyhow, the train ride was smooth, easy, and a good way to get from Florence to Venice. There’s no point in flying, and it gave everyone some relaxing downtime.
We took a water taxi from the train station to the hotel. We were met at the station by a person who handled getting us to our taxi. She had a sign that said “Bolger” and “Russell.” We were seasoned travelers with relatively small bags. The Russell family (from Texas) had huge, two ton suitcases. That’s smart way to travel. We had done laundry in Rome and Florence, so by packing for three-four days, we’re able to travel fairly light.
(In Florence, when we asked at the hotel for a place to do laundry, Casper the Unfriendly Desk Clerk was disdainful, but he relented and we got our laundry done. Carol struck up a conversation with a Canadian woman living in Norwich, England, who was there with her husband and two young ‘uns. The husband wasn’t so chatty, but I ended doing two conference calls while the washer and dryer was going. I go to the laundry NOT as a consultant, but as security and aide de camp to Mrs. Iron Tourist, who – shockingly – does not like to hang out at laundromats alone. My record as security guard at these places remains 100% successful.)
Meanwhile, back in Venice. . .
With luggage, water taxi is the way to go to the hotel. There is a vaporetto, but you pay 6 Euros per bag. With many stops. And not directly to the hotel. We took back canals to get to the Grand Canal, and the girls were utterly entranced. Our hotel, the Metropole, is just past St. Mark’s Square and fronts on the lagoon. So we motored right down the Grand Canal, past the classic views of Venice – the Doge’s Palace, the Campanile, and St. Mark’s Basilica, Santa Maria Salute, and one other church whose name escapes me (my money is that it is called Santa somethingorother).
Pulling up the smaller canal right beside the hotel and disembarking from the boat and walking right into the hotel is pretty cool. La Dolce Vita.
Our rooms weren’t ready, but the hotel is clearly well-positioned in Venice, and tries to pay some overdone homage to Marco Polo (which is fine – everything was good, the antiques in the hallways were neat, but the red velvet gave it a Graceland feel.)
We walked through St. Marks, and since it was lunchtime, we walked out of the Square and found a place to eat. Not an auspicious choice. It was easily the worst meal of the trip. Stuff happens.
Doubling back to the Square, we went up the Campanile. It’s not like Florence or San Gimignano – they have a lift. Despite the line looking long, it moved on a regular basis and our wait wasn’t long. You get great views of Venice from up top – but there is not the feeling of satisfaction from climbing up a tower, gasping for air and wanting to throw up over the side on the unsuspecting tourists below (actually, I’m not in that bad of shape, but it is good fun to imagine doing).
We then jumped in a relatively short line for St. Mark’s. The line moved quickly. After some confusion on where to check the backpack (somewhere near Florence, best I can tell), we walked around. Again, chunks of the church were closed because Good Friday services and Easter, so we didn’t get the full brillance of the church). However, the best thing to do is pay the 3 Euros and go up to the upper level – where you get stunning views inside the church, and you can walk out onto a balcony-like front part of the church, basking in the views of St. Mark’s, the Doge’s Palace, and out into the lagoon. It’s clearly a money spot to hit in Venice.
Finally, we paid our money and went into the Doge’s Palace. (The Doge was the executive of Venice, elected by the leading nobles, he served until death) The highlight is hard to figure – maybe it is the personal apartments that are quite grand, the various executive rooms where functions of state went on, or maybe the prison next door. It is neat to walk over the beautiful (from the outside) “Bridge of Sighs,” so named for the sounds the prisoners made while being led from court into prison.
(So, near the enclosed bridge of sighs is another bridge over the same canal that nearly every tourist crosses at some point – and we had to cross it to get to the hotel. Everytime we did, I looked toward the Bridge of Sighs and starting sighing loudly, whining things like, “sigh, I want gelatto, sigh.” Julia turned to me and noted that’s probably not what the prisoners were sighing. “Oh,” I said, and then went back to sighing for gelatto. Mission to get her goat? Successful.)
It was a successful afternoon in St. Mark’s Square, so we headed back to the hotel to regroup and grabbed some gelatto (of course) on the way.
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