When in... Venezia!

Seven girls trudge along the streets of Lido Beach, Venice with sandy towels, sunglasses and flip flops in tow. The aroma of sweat and sand leaves a trail of something to be desired. It was an exhausting day of historical tours in 100 degree weather, hassles of catching the water boat and the enormous crowds surrounding us on Lido beach left everyone feeling drained and tainted. Separating from the larger group, the set of seven girls stayed behind to grab something to eat and would find their way back to the Hotel eventually. No one was in any rush to return to rooms with no air-conditioning and mosquito infestations.

Later they would find out how much of a mistake this original idea actually was. After a quiet dinner of margherita pizza and spaghetti at one of the cafes along the beach, being careful to scope out cheap prices and atmosphere appropriate for our beach cover-ups and salt water crusted hair, we mustered up enough energy to head back to the Hotel. As we approach the water boat station, there is an overflow of people waiting to push their way onto the next taxi. I immediately separate the anxious crowd into two groups depending on their facial expressions. Confused tourists with a look of bewilderment and native Venetians snootily annoyed and superior, but all together pulled out their red and white tickets to swipe by the electronic machine. This standard transaction was indifferent from any other American subway or train ticket, but the means of travel was completely exotic to us foreigners.

I push my way through the hot, sweaty crowd onto the dilapidated number 51 water boat along with my other six partners in crime. We all scatter as we enter the lower deck, searching for a seat or room to stand. The air in the lower cabin starts to make me feel nauseous combined with the waves rocking the boat. After trying to remember the route on the way there, we all decide that in order to reach the Hotel it is only two stops away from Lido. The sun is setting in the distance over the Lagoon, painting a picturesque picture that one only seems to see in postcards. After enjoying the breathtaking view, we exit the boat onto the swaying, unstable dock.

Only to find out after a few seconds after setting foot on dry land that this stop is an hour away from our intended location. A sense of fear and tiredness spreads throughout the seven of us as we realize were stuck, without another ticket to get back on the water taxi. I plop down on the dock and watch my counterparts search for directions. I have never been much of leader, mostly an observer. I watched them try and decipher different directions and clues in order to navigate our way back. All of a sudden a group of natives start arguing about which way is the best. Even though I couldn’t understand their language, I grasped the context of the situation. Each person wanted to be the one to “rescue” seven American tourist girls. In a way… each of these Venetians was our knight in shining armor.