Lifelong Dream - Venice!

Saturday, we did one of the highlights of the trip: Venice! We met Jacob's co-worker, Changduk, at Centrale, the train station, and the 5 of us took the 2 1/2 hour train ride to Venice, where we walked our tails off. And there's not much tail for me to talk off, so I have none left, but it was well worth it. Actually, my leg was hurting a bit, but again, I didn't care. That city is so captivating and, as Jacob put it, other-worldly. It's like something out of a story you simply have to experience to fully appreciate. It seems so practical, so plain and real while you're there, and once you're back into the typical city, like Milan, you look back and think, "Wait, was that for real?"






The water was, in fact, fluorescent green and smelled a little funky, but I didn't mind, and it was a nice color against the architecture of Venice, so I could deal with the funk. The hokey tourism was totally escapable for long periods by going off into the less-traveled alleys and squares. And there were fewer gypsies bowing in the most heart-string-tugging prostration away from the tourist areas. Apparently, they've taken a marketing class or two 'cause those folks are rather effective, even if a little over-the-top theatrical.








I have no idea how anyone finds their way around that place. The alleyways look mostly similar, and it feels like an endless maze. But being lost in this labyrinth was spellbinding. Of course, I ended up taking 4,283 pictures of alleyways which all look similar.








We played with pigeons in Piazza San Marco. They landed on our heads and shoulders. They pecked at us. They pooped on us. We bonded. Greg and I especially bonded with an albino pigeon outside the San Marco that was choking on a bit of something large. The poor thing was bobbing it head violently and shaking it side to side almost panicky. Other pigeons occasionally came to try to steal the morsel from its mouth, but it was projective of its prize and would not allow it. So it kept struggling. We watched somewhat helplessly. Short of grabbing it and performing the Heimlich, there was little we could do but cheer it on and say, "hang in there, little buddy!" Fear not, though, readers. The story ends happily with a gulp and a satisfied strut.















The scene around the Piazza seemed almost legendary. I loved the lamps in the square, with their energy-saving bulbs. And the gondolas lined up at water's edge gently bobbing made an excellent opportunity for relaxing while taking in the sounds, smells, and vista across the water.











We also had some of the best pizza I've ever had there. Deep-dish. I had gorgonzola. It was amazing. Apparently, we all had a little trouble getting it out of our teeth.




We also ran across some things of a less classy variety...




But I also found the most perfect romantic dinner spot ever. One to file away for potential future use.



After walking deep into Venice and down who-knows-how many alleys that ended in drop-offs into the water (fortunately, nobody actually dropped off), we rested on the stairs of a church or two, stretched out, and grabbed a water bus back to the train station. It was a relaxing ride.








Even some of the more mundane scenery in Venice had seemed somehow captivating.


















After returning, we met three of Jacob's friends from church (Liliana, Rafaela, and Susanna) to go dancing (I went along just to see what dancing in Milan looks like). We met in the Cathedral Square, where there was a huge crowd gathered with a soccer game being broadcast on a giant screen. Italians like their soccer.





We went to a place that defied our expectations. It turned out to be a sort of pretty-people's urban lounge full of late-twenties or early-thirties singles with no room for really dancing, so everyone sort of bobbed from side to side in the coolest way possible. Greg was not in the mood for white man's overbite dancing, and I don't like dancing, so we hung back and people-watched and let Jacob and Austin and the girls do the dancing.

So, on Sunday, we were telling someone else what we'd done Saturday night, and they asked where we went dancing. We told them we'd gone to the G-Lounge. We were then informed that the G-Lounge is a gay lounge. We had a good laugh about that. It explained a lot. We had noticed an inordinate number of such clients. And it probably explained why, though Greg and I felt a little stand-outish about sitting and people-watching without girls, nobody else seemed to think it was very unusual. Well, that's comforting.