Echo

The Other Venice

Hello from Italy! I’m in a little hotel just outside of Venice right now. We got in after it was dark when everything was closed so I have no idea what’s outside of these walls. I’ll have a better idea when the sun comes up tomorrow morning.

Trip Summary:

# of hours flown: 11 1/2
# of bad movies not slept through: 1 (I, Robot)
# of cities visited: 5 (Paris, Dijon, Lucerne, Milan, almost-Venice)
# of pictures taken: 14 (ran out of space on my memory stick. Bought a new one today)
# of times was acting inappropriate in a picture: zero (!!! Good job, Julia!)
# of times cussed: 1
# of times reprimanded by a stranger: 1
# of cute Swiss tour guides: 1
Getting hit in the face with cold water from a misdirected showerhead at 6am: Priceless

Trip Synopsis:

We spent all of Saturday on a plane to Cincinnati and then another to Paris, arriving on Sunday morning. We immediately met up with our tour guide and started the tour running, with a trip to the Louvre. Our guide said we only had an hour and a half because it took half of us 2 hours to get our bags at the airport (they were accidentally sent to another terminal). Michael was grumpy from not having eaten so we broke from the group to find him food. Then I lost my ticket so I couldn’t get back in. I was a bit upset but my mom hates museums and Michael just wanted to go back to the bus and sleep so she gave me her ticket and they headed back to the bus. I only had half an hour before it was time to meet and our guide said she would dock people a dollar for each minute late whenever they held up the group. I figured I would just find the Mona Lisa and then head back. Well, the Louvre is HUGE. It took me about 10 minutes just to get to it from the entrance. I’m not an art guru so I can’t tell what makes some paintings valuable enough to put in a museum while others are stock wall coverings for Motel 6’s. But the Mona Lisa is really interesting. She kind of looks…alive. I sprinted back to the bus, only knocking down 2 people in the process, only to have the tour group (guide included) return 15 minutes late.

Next we went to the Cathedral of Notre Dame, which is one of my favorite places in the world. I love the gargoyles and I love the energy of the place. There were priests in there who were open for confession. They sat in these little offices with signs saying which languages they were able to take confessions in. Today’s priest could accept confessions in: French & Japanese. I thought this was kind of funny. Like when you go to the New Age bookstores out here in LA and they always have a little board withe fliers of all the psychics who are currently available for walk-in readings, along with a list of their abilities.

Again, my mom and brother could care less about the cathedral so they rushed me out and we went to a little cafe across the street. The waiter looked eerily like Dr. Ethan, my head shrink friend in Ohio. Like a French doppelganger. Snooty Faux-Ethan.

As the sun set, we drove around and looked at the other tourist destinations. And by looked at, I mean literally–we would drove by and the guide would say, “To the left…” “To the right…” and the driver would slow down just a wee bit. Sometimes, such as with the Eiffel Tower, we would get out of the car as the driver left the engine running while he held up traffic and we would take pictures as the guide yelled, “Back in the bus! Back in the bus!” (By the way, I’ve seen the Eiffel Tower 8 years ago in the day time and it’s quite non-impressive. But by night, it’s gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. As I thought as I flung myself back into the bus.)

We had dinner at a little French restaurant across from a theater. I say “French” because when we walked in, it was filled with Asians. You know how they always say, if you walk into a Chinese restaurant and it’s filled with white people, then it’s probably not a good Chinese restaurant? So what does it mean when a French restaurant is filled with Chinese? The food was okay. I had the duck and a lot of table wine and kept urging the mild-mannered high school algebra teacher next to me, “Come, Natasha! Ve dance!”

I was determined to hit a Parisian night club. We arrived at the hotel, I saw the bed, I was out.

We left Paris at 8am the next day and headed to Dijon. We were told by the guide that we only had 1 1/2 hours. We looked at a church they had there for a few minutes but no one seemed particularly interested, so everyone headed towards the shopping area instead, towards exclusive French establishments such as Sephora and McDonald’s. The bus couldn’t park at the arranged meeting area so we ended up chasing around the city square for a while. I kind of wish I could have not been involved in that scene and was merely an observer. A bunch of Asian people lugging shopping bags while chasing a large tour bus around an ancient city monument must have been a bizarre site.

We headed out to Lucerne, Switzerland. I was tired from all of the running around and bus-chasing so I unfortunately fell asleep in the bus. From the bits and pieces I gathered about the trip from fleeting moments of consciousness, 1. the mountains were beautiful; and 2. our guide was conducting some acapella karaoke contest. Thankfully, sweet sweet sleep took me to my happy place.

We arrived at Lucerne after it was already dark but I was determined to go out that night. I asked the guy at the front desk if there were any fun bars or clubs in town and he said the town was dead on Mondays so I may as well stay in the hotel. I went with my mom and brother to walk around and we found a small grocery store and went in and looked around. I asked the cashier, “Where are the good looking guys around here?” He directed me to a bar across the street. I headed out. The place was PACKED. Damn lying front desk guy. It was called The Roadhouse and it had kind of an American theme. Decent music. One of those places those traveler’s guides would deem a “cozy expat hang out.” Was harassed by a total doofus who thankfully couldn’t speak English. I made no attempt to use charades to communicate with him. Was finally rescued by a couple of nice German mechanical engineers. They wanted to know what I thought of Bush (I apologized profusely). I wanted to know about Dirk Nowitzki (“Yeah, he’s very good. He’s from Germany.” “Yeah, he’s definitely very good.” long awkward silence). Finally this cute guy in a baseball cap who’d been lurking all night comes and talks to me. He too wants to know about Bush. Again I apologize profusely. He asks me what I think of David Hasselhoff. I tell him that we make fun of him a lot in the US. He says, we do too. Because he has…[he does the universal gesture signifying “manboobs.”] I immediately like this guy. He tells me he doesn’t like horror movies. I figure he’s a Pisces, later confirmed. He’s exactly 9 months younger than me. If you think about it, if both of our mothers were exactly on time, then he was conceived the day I was born. Shout out! The bar closes down and he gives me an impromptu tour of Lucerne. Very sweet. I think I like Swiss boys.

We leave at 7am the next morning and do a walking tour of Lucerne. This place is GORGEOUS. Cobblestone walks, quaint little shops and structures, surrounded by snowcapped mountains. With the nicest people around. I tell the tour guide that I think that the people here seem very intelligent. She says that they’re very proactive, as they’re always voting on something, every few days. It’s too bad we couldn’t have important the Swiss in time for this year’s doofus election.

We had a lunch of fondue and then headed out to the mountains. To my chagrin, the mountain we wen
t to was called…Titlis. YES. I kept telling my mom that’s what it was called but she wouldn’t believe me. We took the longest ride up ever, consisting of a lift, a gondala, and a rotating lift (which rotated the people inside so you could get a 360 degree view of the outside.) The mountain was absolutely majestic. Near the summit, we were so high up that we couldn’t even see the ground. We were completely shrouded. The place was incredibly beautiful. In fact, we took a picture up there that looks like we’re standing in front of a cardboard backdrop of a “Swiss Mountain Scene” because it looked so unreal.

When we finally make it back down the mountain, it’s dark already and in the lodge, there are skiers and boarders sitting around fire pits drinking beer while a DJ spun records. Like a ski retreat lodge party. In Europe. The stuff that fantasies are made out of. But of course, I couldn’t stay because we’re on this crazy strict schedule and I have to run my butt back to the bus before I get fined.

This morning I managed to miss my wake up call and have 15 minutes to get ready and out the door. Somehow, the shower nozzle ended up facing outward and when I went to turn on the water, I got hit in the face and chest with some seriously freezing water. It was probably the worst way to be woken up that I can possibly imagine. Lucerne was beautiful in the morning as dawn broke and it was sad leaving. Switzerland is beautiful. There’s something about it–maybe it was the swans in the lake, maybe it was the feeling of safety and calm emanating from the surrounding mountains…it’s definitely a place everyone must try to check out before they leave this earth.

We headed out to Milan, Italy, where we saw the most amazing work of architecture I’ve ever seen. I think it’s called La Scala but I’m not sure because our guide does most of her guiding in Chinese. She got into a little cat fight with another tour guide who told her that she would be arrested for “guiding” inside a church, which was ridiculous. She went off on our guide in Italian and I couldn’t help but notice how catfights just sound a certain way, no matter what language they’re in. All she had to give was the universal sign of “The Hand,” and it would have been the complete experience.

I found this little market that looked like the Fish Market up in Seattle, except it was filled with more pastries than I’ve ever seen in my life. They were stacked in open cases the way the fish are stacked on ice in Seattle. I boughta cannoli because it made me think of Jake (“Have a cannoli, man”) and that thing was like eating a slice of heaven. I don’t like cannolis but wow…WOW.

We hoped back onto the bus because of course, we were only given an hour and a half to hang out in Milan (this tour is crazy…it’s the traveling equivalent of speed dating. I feel like I don’t really get to see things and I’m sprinting through places, spending most of my time just trying to catch the bus). We drove out to Venice were we ate at…at Chinese restaurant. What the fuck? We flew all the way to Europe and we’re eating at a Chinese restaurant? A lot of the people on the tour were really, really pissed about that. Apparently, we’re going to be eating at another Chinese restaurant in Rome as well…on New Year’s Day. Oi vey. Freakin’ Chinese people. They’re really stubborn about that. I went to Mexico once with my family and they insisted on eating at a Chinese restaurant. I personally believe in sampling what a culture does best, especially if I take the time and money to travel–I want to have what I can only get there. But my parents will always want bad Chinese food over no Chinese food. So it was weird. Anyway, I’m really really hoping that I don’t end up spending New Year’s Eve in a Chinese restaurant in Rome. I don’t want to sound spoiled, but that just seems like kind of a waste.