Venice was nice. Nice was nice too.

So I figure that until I receive the photos of Ireland from Chris, I am going to write about the third week of my adventures. I don’t really need the photos, but they would assist in creating a better narrative of the trip (plus they look better than mine).
My trip to Venice and France really began on a Saturday Night (the 28th of October to be exact) in Belfast. Because I had a 6:30am flight from Dublin to Venice on Sunday Morning, I decided to take a 1am bus out of Belfast to Dublin, rather than be in the airport for six plus hours. This may sound illogical, but I had no intention on sleeping anyway.
As Chris and I were waiting for the bus to arrive, a fight broke out at the nightclub next to the bus stop. Being as it was Halloween weekend, this just wasn’t any fight – it was a fight involving a kid dressed up as a priest, another as a woman, and others as lamer costumes. I don’t really know how it started, but I do remember bottles being chucked against the side of the club, a fire hose being used on the said kids, and someone getting punched and kicked in the face. Oddly enough, I wasn’t afraid. Not to be crass or macabre, but it was actually comical. Perhaps because one of the assailants was wearing an exposed fake breast set that flopped out of a torn flower decor dress, and the other kept shouting “I’m a priest!!” It was surreal.
Anyway, I was able to get on the bus and avoid the fight. I slept the entire two-hour bus ride, and arrived to the airport at 2:30am. I remember it was now daylight savings time, so I had another hour to kill at the airport. So I made the best of it and slept on the floor. After an hour of sleep, I found a gal that had been at the hostel in Belfast with me, and we went to the check in gate at 4:00am. You’d be surprised how busy airports are at such ungodly hours; it is almost disturbing.
So I arrived in Venice (or Treviso, which wasn’t close to Venice. Again, these budget airlines really get you with baggage fees and airports nowhere near your destination. Thank God Southwest and jetBlue do not pull that crap) at 9:30 after sleeping the entire plane ride. I met Mariah at the train station in Mestre; checked into the hostel in Fusina; took a ferry to Venice; and began our adventures.
Venice was scenic in a unique way, and the weather was just perfect. The canals weaved their way through the city and created a complete maze. It was however, immensely touristed. I didn’t mind, because it was just so cool. Yet our patience soon subsided as we discovered two things: there were way too many people to really enjoy the city; and there wasn’t much to do in the Venice anyway – San Marco is about it. Thus we looked for a less touristy spot. Luckily, because I had been just reading Death In Venice I remembered the Lido as being quite tranquil. So we took another water taxi and headed there.
The Lido lived up it is hype, and then some. It was so quiet and beautiful, being as we arrived in the late afternoon on a Sunday. We wandered along the endless beaches until the sun was beginning to set, and we decided we should slowly head back to Venice, and then the hostel. And that I should get some sleep.
My only comment to those going to Venice and trying to leave at night is this: buy some gelato, relax, and don’t worry about getting lost – it’s inevitable. Even if you think you know where you’re going, you don’t. All the canals and alleys are so complicated that even a taxi driver would get hopelessly lost. Plus, getting lost and then finding your way, only to repeat the steps six thousand more times is actually fun.
The next morning (after actually getting a nights sleep) we took a train from Venice to Nice via Milan, Genoa, Monaco and Cannes. I don’t have much to say about that because it was immensely long and uneventful. Although the countryside was quite nice.
Speaking of Nice…we arrived on Monday night. It seemed a lively city, and it retrospect I wish we could have spent another day. I finally got to see palm trees in a (seemingly) native habitat; and, not that I ever had any intention to, I no longer need to go to Miami for I visited the French version. The only really complaint I had with our tenure there was that the entire main drag and square was under construction. I don’t understand who/how this was allowed to happen. It would be like if Boston suddenly decided to close down and do construction on Mass Ave and the Common. And that the hostel we stayed at didn’t have a stove. I mean…how is that possible? I didn’t book the hostel, but I feel that if I did, I would hope to see that as a MAJOR disclaimer about that. If anyone is wondering, spaghetti is possible in a microwave. It just doesn’t taste good.
On Tuesday the weather was 21.5 degrees Celsius, which is about 70-75 Fahrenheit. Needless to say, we had a picnic and I saw in the MEDITERANEAN SEA! Okay, I didn’t really swim – but I did get a third of my body wet. The only issue was that the beach we were at, like all beaches in Nice, was topless. I got to admit, I never really got used to the public nudity. It wasn’t that it was totally omnipresent, but it was enough to make two outsiders feel very awkward after awhile.
After browsing the lovely MAMAC (Musee d’Art Moderne et d’Art Contemporain), we discovered that the bus line to the airport was on strike. Luckily, a German couple was also experiencing the same problem (they kept saying “catastrophe!”) so we decided to split a cab to the airport. They mentioned that they had visited and really enjoyed Miami, which I found humorous because we basically were in Miami; albeit the French version. I probably shouldn’t be writing this, but what the heck – security at the airport there was a joke. Nevertheless it was one less hassle to endure, and before long we were on a plane to Paris!


I’m going to write about Paris and Normandy at a later date for this post is already long enough, and those two locations (especially Normandy) had enough stories to warrant a novella, let alone a silly blog post. Photos from Venice and Nice are here.