Day 26 - July 9 - a hiccup in the plan

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As I said, not every moment can be peaceful, or every day perfect. The key is to roll with the punches and not let it bother you - something I assure you I am not well practiced at, although my husband is a master.

We had been planning to head out of San Giminano before noon, hoping to hit Venice before 4pm. We slept as late as taking advantage of the delicious buffet breakfast would allow, then headed upstairs to eat heartily. We met a couple of fellow Canadians at the breakfast table and chatted a bit, then they rushed off to catch a specific train, planning to head to Rome. We lingered over breakfast, packed and then lingered until the last possible moment on our balcony, checking out at eleven on the dot.

We tried to buy bus tickets to take the bus down to the train station at a small tabbacheria, but the woman would not sell us any. She tried to tell us something, but we didn’t understand. We bought the tickets at another shop, then headed to a bus stop.

Low and behold, over two hours since we had seen them at breakfast, there were our Canadian friends! In with a group of five others. They explained to us that the buses were on strike, and they had waited an hour at the bus stop before learning this. A resourceful mother of two pre-teen boys had whipped out her cell phone and called taxis. One came, but there was only room for eight; we told everyone else, who had been waiting over an hour, to go ahead and get in. We would catch the next one. The cab called his friend and another cab came a moment later. It cost us $35 euro to get to the station, on top of the $12 euro we’d now wasted on bus tickets. I didn’t mind too much, because it was a pleasant ride to the station, chatting about travel with our cab driver, who had seen all of Italy and had all sorts of questions about Canada.

What was annoying was arriving at the station and finding the trains were also on strike. I suppose we should have figured that out, and probably that was what the woman at the tabbacheria was trying to tell us, but couldn’t the taxi driver, or anyone else have mentioned this? I took a breath and calmed down. There was really nothing we could do. We hunkered down with a bunch of other tourists from all over the world, and waited.

We chatted with others, read, had a coke, and mostly just sat on the ground in the heat at the train station, waiting and comparing options with everyone else. Eventually we got word that one bus would be coming, to take people to Florence. I was convinced that the Eurostar trains would still be running, having experienced a train strike once before when I was in France. I told our Canadian friends this - they didn’t believe me, because others were telling them the entire transit system was on strike. I attempted logic - yes, the national transit system, but Eurostar is owned internationally - but it was no use. Still, they decided to come to Florence anyway, figuring they would have a good time there if nothing else.

Of course, I was right - we got to Florence and they jumped on a train to Rome, while we bought tickets for the train leaving for Venice in an hour. We found some pizza and Panini at a place close to the train station, then waiting some more for a train. Once we got on it was a pleasant and quiet ride.

We hit Venice shortly after six, having been travelling since eleven. We immediately bought seven day Vaparretto passes right outside the station, but the Vaparettos - being part of the transit system - were running on quarter-staff. Each boat was full to busting and the line-ups, if you could call them that, at the station were very very long. I knew there was no way we were getting on a Vaparetto for a while.

I turned to Sam. “It’s a forty minute walk.” I said simply. He nodded. We waded out of the crowds, past the people with house-sized suitcases on rolly wheels useless in cobblestone streets, past the people trying to carry six bags, past the people with strollers and other paraphalia. We felt pretty damn smug about packing light and even shared a few smiles and laughs as we exited those stifling, miserable crowds at the Vaparetto stop near the station, crossed a bridge, and started walking the quiet back streets of Venice.

After the first twenty-five minutes, the pack felt like it was filled with lead. Venice was HOT, and humid, and there were crowds everywhere. On the other had even during this walk, the place felt magical. The canals and bridges were adorable, we saw laundry hanging from lines between windows, and the gondolas floating down the canals. We fell in love with Venice on that walk, despite our exhaustion.

After a few debates about direction, we found our hotel. It came down to following the signs to the Academia, and our hotel, Hotel Galleria, was right next door. Check-in was seamless, and we were so grateful for the mini-fridge with free water and orange soda. Our room was closet-sized, as we were expecting, but it had a perfect view out onto the Grand Canal and over the Academia bridge. We downed a couple of orange sodas while we watched the canal traffic pass.

We decided watching the canal was all we wanted to do for what was left of the evening. Consulting our guidebook we found a take-away pizza place about a ten minute walk away in the Campo San Marguarhita. We ordered a big pizza, took it back to our window, and ate it while enjoying the canal move from day to night.

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