The moment Perrin and I stepped out of the Venice train station a perceptive Pakistani vendor informed us we did not love New York anymore. But was Venice so different? We were on an island and spotted street meat carts, photo-snapping tourists and inflated prices (€2.90 for a Pistachio cookie??). Manhattan comparisons were not such a stretch.
To ensure we were still in Italy we stocked up on some gelato and pizza and walked on. At least for 10 minutes until I spotted a gondola and ushered everybody aboard. I have no problem playing the corny tourist here. We rocked the boat, knocked on doorways and requested songs from the unremitting gondolier. The 25-minute ride was worth every bit of the €15 Euro we each shelled out.
We were just recovering from our sea legs when Perrin and I spotted some young Australian men entering a bar. Logically, we followed. Just our luck – the boys down under were playing Ghana. We settled onto the bar stool next to them. It was a true American sports bar and I was feeling very at home until I looked up and saw dozens of bras lining the ceiling. I wasn’t sure if those were donations from previous patrons or available for purchase but I had a second Mojito and didn’t ask any questions.
Our last stop was St. Mark’s Square. This was definitely the Times Square of Venice. There were tourists everywhere and I jumped right in. Literally. The water was up flooding up to mid-calf by the end.
We asked every person we met about the night life in Venice and were continually told that the only parties that went down in Ven-town were in Honeymoon suits. Perrin and I had our dancing shoes at the ready and felt disheartened by this news. We headed back to the hotel, only to get stuck in the rat’s maze of the city. We spent nearly two hours wandering through alleyways large and tiny, passing the same grocery store every twenty minutes or so. That was fine by me. I loaded up on salami and €1.84 Vino Rosso each time around.