Venezia, caffe and joy
Apologies for last night's fairly pedestrian post, but I was feeling a bit down. Had been for my first UK job interview, and while I had no experience in the area in either the UK or Australia and there wasn't actually a job open at the time, when I didn't get the non existent job I was still quite flummoxed. More fool them, I say! There is something about job interviews that ultimately is always horrifying. No matter how skilled you are or where you are in your career level, there is still always an element of tap dancing naked for people and asking them to throw money at you, which is hopefully not a career for which I am destined in the near future!
This is a completely non-related segue to Venice, but I felt obliged to say that even the most hilarious of writers have bad days. Indeed, I read in the London Times yesterday (I think) that an academic whose topic is Shakespeare thinks that Shakespeare may not have been a morning person and quite regularly wrote while hung over, leaving him to write an occasional clumsy sentence or introduce a character that goes no where. While I would tend more towards the excuse that just sometimes maybe Shakespeare just thought "oh for god's sake... can't you people find other hobbies than waiting for me to bang out another comedy/tragedy/sonnet". Don't know if that makes him a hung over non-morning person or human in my mind.
I am not a morning person... (and I am obviously a procrastinator... I will get back to travelling soon, I promise) and every so often will go on a detox diet to stop caffiene, smoking and sugar. Combined with the non-morning person status this is a lethal combination and one which would qualify me for the position of US postal worker more often than not.
So, our last port of call was Corfu, which was the alleged jewel in the crown of the Greek isles.
For me it was the straw that broke the camel's back. I was done. I needed to not be in Greece. I was becoming fractious and rude and generally not interested in anything. I also kept getting lost, which is not unsurprising as I have a woeful sense of direction and can't read maps, but as I was staying near the old port I figured how can you lose the ocean on an island not much bigger than my bathroom. I managed however. I guess I can add that to my now mounting skill set!
I also needed to be shot of what I can only describe as a bemusing and bewildering fascination with Justin Timberlake and Paris Hilton in Greece. Every shop I entered had Paris promising to show me hers and Justin promising to bring the funk back, or something similar. I neither wanted to see Paris' bits (which sort of seems like a strange promise in a song given there must be very few people in the western world who haven't!) and I would rather puncture my own ear drum than endure JT's funkiness. So, I was booked, I was packed, I was getting the hell out of Dodge.
Nothing particularly funny happened on the ferry trip, and so I'll spare you the mundanities and observational humour that won't be that funny quite frankly, so 24 hours later we pulled into Venice, Italy. Ahhh, Venezia.
The ferry had a courtesy bus dump us at the local water ferry terminal, which was great however my guide didn't have a large city map so I was none the wiser about where I actually was, and despite my best intentions to read the guide on the trip that didn't happen. So, pack on, guide in hand... I had a vague idea where my hostel was and I jumped on the first ferry. A note to future travellers, and this may be incredibly obvious to everyone. The vaporettos (water ferries) go up and down the canals. So I jumped the first ferry going down the canal when I should have been going up the canal. 4 hours later when I finally stopped my internal dialogue of "this is not right... wait til the next stop... this is not right... it may be right..." I had seen Murano island, several old forts, been up and down the grand canal but had not seen anything vaguely resembling my stop. So, I hopped off, got on a ferry going down the canal and found that my stop was quite literally 5 minutes walk from my original starting point. I am nothing if not clueless when it comes to direction.
I had booked 2 nights at one of the recommended hostels in one of the better known travel guides. The hostel, while in a great location, near Ponte de Guglie and Ferrovia was woeful.
Every morning a new round of disgruntled guests would line up to complain to the receptionist, who multi lingual skills rapidly diminished when people asked for either discounts or their money back. As a tip, do not stay here. It was not cheap, it was not clean, I didn't have hot water and the owners were less than disinterested in my persistent claims that I think hot water is a standard these days... so I moved. As a tip, I would suggest to everyone reading that they only ever agree to stay one or two nights so that if the first night you discover the place is loud, or uncomfortable or the walls so thin that you can hear your neighbours coital relations then you can bail without financial penalty. I moved to a place just up the street, and on one of the minor canals, called Hotel Hesperia which was fantastic. Cheaper than the hostel recommended in the guide, came with a great breakfast and charming and helpful owners ran the reception.
For future travellers to Italy, ordering coffee is like a test. The large milky drinks like cappaucino are for tourists or children. A guy ordered a latte once near me and the barista genuniely laughed at him, and so the self-respecting italians will only order espresso shots or a machiato. As I like drinking machiato, I passed the test, invariably with a benevolent smile from the barista and some chit chat that I never really understood.
I think it was about the machiato anyway, the italians were fairly effusive all the time and not at all concerned about crashing and burning! But more of that later...
This is a completely non-related segue to Venice, but I felt obliged to say that even the most hilarious of writers have bad days. Indeed, I read in the London Times yesterday (I think) that an academic whose topic is Shakespeare thinks that Shakespeare may not have been a morning person and quite regularly wrote while hung over, leaving him to write an occasional clumsy sentence or introduce a character that goes no where. While I would tend more towards the excuse that just sometimes maybe Shakespeare just thought "oh for god's sake... can't you people find other hobbies than waiting for me to bang out another comedy/tragedy/sonnet". Don't know if that makes him a hung over non-morning person or human in my mind.
I am not a morning person... (and I am obviously a procrastinator... I will get back to travelling soon, I promise) and every so often will go on a detox diet to stop caffiene, smoking and sugar. Combined with the non-morning person status this is a lethal combination and one which would qualify me for the position of US postal worker more often than not.
So, our last port of call was Corfu, which was the alleged jewel in the crown of the Greek isles.
I also needed to be shot of what I can only describe as a bemusing and bewildering fascination with Justin Timberlake and Paris Hilton in Greece. Every shop I entered had Paris promising to show me hers and Justin promising to bring the funk back, or something similar. I neither wanted to see Paris' bits (which sort of seems like a strange promise in a song given there must be very few people in the western world who haven't!) and I would rather puncture my own ear drum than endure JT's funkiness. So, I was booked, I was packed, I was getting the hell out of Dodge.
Corfu town, sunrise before catching ferry to venice
Nothing particularly funny happened on the ferry trip, and so I'll spare you the mundanities and observational humour that won't be that funny quite frankly, so 24 hours later we pulled into Venice, Italy. Ahhh, Venezia.
The ferry had a courtesy bus dump us at the local water ferry terminal, which was great however my guide didn't have a large city map so I was none the wiser about where I actually was, and despite my best intentions to read the guide on the trip that didn't happen. So, pack on, guide in hand... I had a vague idea where my hostel was and I jumped on the first ferry. A note to future travellers, and this may be incredibly obvious to everyone. The vaporettos (water ferries) go up and down the canals. So I jumped the first ferry going down the canal when I should have been going up the canal. 4 hours later when I finally stopped my internal dialogue of "this is not right... wait til the next stop... this is not right... it may be right..." I had seen Murano island, several old forts, been up and down the grand canal but had not seen anything vaguely resembling my stop. So, I hopped off, got on a ferry going down the canal and found that my stop was quite literally 5 minutes walk from my original starting point. I am nothing if not clueless when it comes to direction.
I had booked 2 nights at one of the recommended hostels in one of the better known travel guides. The hostel, while in a great location, near Ponte de Guglie and Ferrovia was woeful.
Not a bad part of town for a ghetto. Ponte De Guglie
Every morning a new round of disgruntled guests would line up to complain to the receptionist, who multi lingual skills rapidly diminished when people asked for either discounts or their money back. As a tip, do not stay here. It was not cheap, it was not clean, I didn't have hot water and the owners were less than disinterested in my persistent claims that I think hot water is a standard these days... so I moved. As a tip, I would suggest to everyone reading that they only ever agree to stay one or two nights so that if the first night you discover the place is loud, or uncomfortable or the walls so thin that you can hear your neighbours coital relations then you can bail without financial penalty. I moved to a place just up the street, and on one of the minor canals, called Hotel Hesperia which was fantastic. Cheaper than the hostel recommended in the guide, came with a great breakfast and charming and helpful owners ran the reception.
For future travellers to Italy, ordering coffee is like a test. The large milky drinks like cappaucino are for tourists or children. A guy ordered a latte once near me and the barista genuniely laughed at him, and so the self-respecting italians will only order espresso shots or a machiato. As I like drinking machiato, I passed the test, invariably with a benevolent smile from the barista and some chit chat that I never really understood.
I think it was about the machiato anyway, the italians were fairly effusive all the time and not at all concerned about crashing and burning! But more of that later...
