The Road to Venice

A few months ago, the six of us, the two Mexicans, the two Greeks, Saori and I, were sitting having drinks at night outside of a city center bar. Paola was nursing a bright orange cocktail called Aperol spritz, and the conversation turned to Venice, from whence the drink was known. We decided there to plan for a trip, to see the city and the architecture biennale.

So, after scrambling like mad the week before to finish a competition, with little sleep and less planning, I threw together a backpack and met Rafa, Paola, and Apo in their car downstairs around 5 am friday morning. The five of us jammed in to the small BMW, Paola's car, and we took off in the darkness out of town.

I have a hard time sleeping anywhere but my own bed, let alone jammed in awkwardly to a European backseat, so there was not much sleep for me on the way there. We stopped a few times for gas, to pee, and once for food, at a McDonalds outside of Innsbruck. This McDonalds was the most beautiful one I've ever seen, a huge curving restaurant perched on the hilltop with an amazing panoramic view into one of the alpine valleys. It was also packed with Germans also on holiday.

Our route took us from Stuttgart, past Ulm, and into the land of mountain castles, to Innsbruck, where we cut south to cross the Alps via the Brenner pass. Passing through one of the mountain tunnels into Italy, the sky opened up, and gray gave way to warmth and sunshine. I am not taking poetic license here: it was actually sunnier and warmer the moment we crossed into Italy.

From the Brenner Pass, it was another four hours or so to Venice, highways all the way. The music on the radio was terrible. Worse in Germany. As Americans, we never stop and wonder what happened to all that terrible pop from the 1960s-1990s. What happened was it was all exported to central Europe. I heard a solid contender for the worst song. Not a bad song, the worst song. Even I was impressed.

 We finally crossed the causeway and pulled into the parking garage about nine hours after we left Stuttgart. Rafa had a reservation for the garage, which is apparently necessary here. For all the visitors and commuters to the city of Venice, there are only two or three parking garages, and only one small area which is drivable. Venice is a lot like Disneyland in this way. Actually, a lot of Venice reminded me of Disneyland- a fantasy city, dazzling to explore, exorbitant prices, mediocre tourist food, and packed, packed packed.

We booked an AirBnB apartment in Cannaregio, close to the train station, and across the canal from the Jewish ghetto. It was a bit far from the main attractions, across the entire island from St. Marks square, but many more locals lived here and north of here on the island. We didn't mind the distance so much actually, since the city itself it the main attraction, and the best way to see it to cross it by the less populated routes.

This was not my first time to Venice. I remember as a backpacker that after I got over taking photos of everything, I was not that impressed with the city, its lack of things to do and see, its expense, and the hordes of tourists. This trip, I fell in love with the city again, perhaps with the distance of seeing more cities around the world, and with older eyes.