AUTHOR'S NOTE: A few years ago, when I worked as a Flight Attendant in Dubai,Venice started out as an email to my folks and friends back in India, describing our maiden flight to a new destination in Italy. I was lucky to be rostered for Emirates' debut flight to Venice that involved a 48 hours layover (later got shortened to 24 hours). People who read the mail told me that it made an interesting piece of travelogue with some useful touristic information, hence I'm sharing it here, in case any of you do make a trip to Venice:-)
The day began like any other, with me resisting the impulse to smash my alarm clock into a million bits, roll over and forget that I’m an employee with Emirates Airline. The Almighty planned otherwise, and so I found myself in Briefing with thirteen other Venice virgins.
Lets cut straight to the destination, as the flight was like any other; a zillion people, all shapes, sizes and color, clamoring for more food, more wine, and flooding our toilets!
We were told that the weather would be smooth and sunny. Au contraire!
Be warned, all you frequent flyers; never believe the Captain’s Passenger Announcements, especially the smooth and sunny ones.
On arrival, we drove through a few winding lanes, a couple of cornfields, and some canals with gondoliers gently bobbing along before we reached the hotel. Plans were made very quickly at Check-in, namely, what time to meet downstairs, how many umbrellas we had between us, and where we would go. We didn’t arrive at any conclusion for the last one.
That’s the quickest change into civilian clothes I’ve ever made. A shower be damned! I had just one very small umbrella with me…supposed designer wear from Nagoya in Japan, and shockingly expensive. Doesn’t really protect one from much except perhaps an occasional spray of water from a toy pistol. Perhaps the Designer featured in Gulliver’s Travels?
And so armed with two crew umbrellas (my Lilliputian included), two very large hotel umbrellas, and a map, eleven of us set out to explore the wonders of Venice.
We had no clue what the name of the town was. All we knew was that if we rode the number 4 bus it would take us to where the food and wine existed in plenty. (We’re all passengers at the end of the day eh?)
By now it was pouring cats and dogs. And raindrops…many, many raindrops. We found ourselves amidst a colorful throng of tourists, all winding their way through narrow paths along the Canal Grande. Trying unsuccessfully not to get too wet,we followed them. And then the Almighty said, “Let there be raincoats”! One of the stalls selling masks, trinkets and etceteras, also sold bright red poncho-like raincoats.
Our first stop was at a quaint little inn to eat the famous Italian pizza. Shared wine, gossip, plans for the next day and once again, us happy campers set forth to make new discoveries: The Bridge of Sighs, Murano glass factory, a couple of cathedrals and several cobbled lanes replete with colorful shops. Some of the houses are still built on plinths over the canal and each house has its own private boat. Quaintly posh, innit?
We made our way back to the hotel, minds and souls enriched with the sights and sounds of lovely Venice, and bodies trembling with fatigue. We still had another day to spend exploring Italy.
The next morning I was startled by the phone ringing right in my ear, reawakening that alarm clock aggression. Turned out it was my Captain calling from Reception to enquire whether I was ready. Ready? Ready?? Dear good God, ready! I’d forgotten I’d made plans the previous evening to go to Verona, along with the flight deck and a couple of other crew. Well, once again, shower be damned. Did manage to run a brush and some paste through my teeth and squeezed in some potty time as well! Pardon the gory details.
And so we set off, this time armed with umbrellas, red ponchos and many maps. The day was bright and sunny. (Scouts honour this last detail was the truth)
Verona is one of the old cities in Italy and also home to the romantic legend of Romeo and Juliet. At least, we thought it was a legend. Figures out, those two lovebirds really did exist. The train ride to Verona took close to two hours, but was very enjoyable. Invigorating countryside and a much-needed breath of fresh air after muggy Dubai.
On arrival at the station we were torn between joining an organized tour, and exploring the city ourselves. The latter won and we hopped a bus to the closest tourist point. Turned out to be quite a popular spot as it housed the famous Opera Arena, the Tomb of Juliette and the House of Juliette as well. We skipped the Arena. Weren’t too impressed by it. A Colloseum wannabe…a modern day ruin.
A few gelatos later (Italian ice cream is the best. Calories shouldn’t be counted whilst in Italy), we set forth to Juliette’s tomb. Quiet, dank and sodden with musings from the past, one can actually feel the presence of those ancient Souls that may have sat beside a now dried up fountain or trod down a cobbled garden path. I loved it. Wish I could turn the clock back.
Our next stop was lunch at a wayside café on wheels. A few quick bites at Italian kebab and we were off. This time to Juliette’s house. With the flight deck navigating (and examining the map upside down most times) we lost our way off course. But this turned out to be a blessing in disguise. We got to see more of the city and its daily life.
Finally! La Casa Di Giulietta. The House of Juliette. More like a shrine. Hordes of tourists (most of them Italian) thronged the courtyard, posing beside the life-size statue of Juliette and grabbing a breast. A modern day myth; that holding her breast brings romantic luck. (Side note- Men/Boys reading this, please don’t attempt aforementioned maneuver on anything other than a statue…no luck to be gained, only painful bodily injury).
The house was interesting enough, many floors, rooms and some very Spartan pieces of furniture. Uncomfortable. Severe. And off course, the famous balcony. Quite picturesque. Although, every room had a balcony, and our captain brought up a valid question: how do we know it wasn’t one of the other balconies? Well, we just have to accept what historians have written and yes, that particular balcony was a little closer to the ground than the others. Plus I really can’t picture Romeo climbing any great heights in those awful tight leggings that they seemed to wear in that period. So there!
I forgot to mention the Bubblegum wall that adorns the entrance to the house. Two walls flank the big iron gates, covered with real-time bubblegum and band-aid graffiti. I was unfortunate enough to rest my self against one of these walls on our way out and had a brief feeling of static around my head. I romanticized that perhaps one of the carefree spirits of yesteryear was trying to commune with me; one of the vigilant crew warned me that detaching bubble-gum from hair was painful! Tourists sure do find innovative ways to show their devotion. Well, all's fair, I guess, in Love and Wall!
Our adventure ended with another much-needed gelato, an interesting browze through the colorful stalls selling Venetian masks and whatnots (I bought one of the masks, couldn’t afford the whatnot) and thence to the train station.
Our journey home was no less adventurous. Having missed several trains whilst trying to figure out how to work the self ticket kiosks, we finally found ourselves on the wrong platform (again, a Flight-deck decision), raced down, and then up two flights of stairs (worked off all those gelato and kebab calories), jumped on a train just pulling out of the station without checking whether it was the right train. All we knew was that it moved in the general direction of Venice Maestrae, which was where we were supposed to go.
Our compartment was empty except for one other Nigerian traveling home from work. We swapped interesting stories with him, gained an insight about the economy of Italy, the reasons for why we all leave our beloved homes to seek our fortune elsewhere, and discovered that we all had something in common; finding Dubai expensive! It was an interesting end to our adventurous day, what with the Nigerian taking a much calculated guess at our nationalities. He figured out that Danielle was Kenyan (she’s actually from the Seychelles), Charol was Hawaiian (she’s from the Philippines), that I was Brazilian or Latin American (hmmmm), Omar, our First Officer, drew a blank (he’s a local from Dubai) and off course he couldn’t go wrong with Iain, our Captain, whose strong Australian accent was a dead giveaway.
Brazilian? Brazindian? I quite like the sound of that!
Ciao☺