ITALY: Venice

ITALY:
Venice, for the wedding of Mary Kallaher and Matteo Perale

Woohoo! Katie and Craig (Evashevski/Sovka) and Andrew and Ellen (Richardson/Denny—the first 3 are P’92) met me at the apartment, where I was thrilled to shower and collect my wits. We called the apartment office to arrange our picking up the box of my formalwear, other wedding stuff, and stuff for my travels in Spain that Don had FedExed from Korea, but it wasn’t there. After all those hours of hassleful travel and no sleep, that didn’t go over so well, and I didn’t take it so gracefully. This was Friday afternoon, and their office was closed on Saturday, as was FedEx’s. I dropped a bunch of money on internet and phone cards and started frantically running around Venice in search of phones and internet cafes, but couldn’t get in touch with Don, who’d emailed that he’d sent the package but hadn’t included the tracking number. None of us could find FedEx in the yellow pages, storekeepers didn’t know what we were talking about (of course there was one just outside the square)…PANIC. I finally had the genius idea to ask mom to get on the case, and she took heroic measures from the U.S. to find the thing. She was given all kinds of conflicting info, and we were hopeful that it might somehow be collectable on Saturday, but that proved to not be the case. Apparently two big deliveries in Italy had gotten switched, so it wasn’t going to get to me until Monday at the earliest—and by then I’d no longer be at the hotel it was addressed to, and it was addressed to Katie, who’d no longer be in the country. And it had cost over $150 to send. And I now had nothing to wear but shorts, t-shirts and sneakers to a semi-formal dinner, formal wedding, and nice brunch (I’d sent a fabulous traditional Vietnamese tunic/pants outfit I’d bought in Hanoi—where else am I going to be able to wear that?). This ordeal and all the stress that went with it got dragged out through the whole weekend, as we had to sort out whether and when and where and how I might be able to pick it up eventually, and stop it from being delivered to the hotel, let alone sending it on to the US, since I’d not be able to use most of it—and I was using phonecards and trying to find open internet cafes with available computers between events and meals. Let’s just say that I didn’t get to see nearly as much of Venice as I should have. Sigh. FedEx is not on my list of favorites.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to spend a ridiculous amount of time or money shopping, as Katie had packed an extra dress that fit well enough for me to get away with. I borrowed a skirt from Ellen, and wore plastic flip-flops to the dinner and Katie’s flats (with toilet paper stuffed in) to the wedding, and my cheap-o travel dress to the brunch. I was more or less presentable, if not particularly comfortable. Doh.

We did somehow manage to see the Basilica (gorgeous and big and impressive, of course!) and its museum before we went to the rehearsal “sagra” (peasant feast). Cocktail hour included bellinis (prosecco and peach juice) and special Paduan (groom’s family is from Padua) cocktails that tasted like Triaminic to me. I was pleasantly surprised at all the friends from Princeton who were in attendance: Hilary Malcarney, Becky (Jones) Betts, Alison Brower, Stacey Rukeyser, Ed Eglin, John Granholm, Laura Jo, Ben Richardson, Enoch Huang and Roya Monsouri, plus Mary’s family and friends whom I’d met before. It was most excellent to see everyone and know that I’d see ‘em again the next day.

We eventually sat down to several courses of tasty Italian food, then were treated to a fun slideshow about Matteo’s shady past, courtesy of his best man. Many speeches and toasts were made to bride and groom, and the party was still going when we left at 2am (47 hours up and awake for me…). We got reamed again by a water taxi, but got a cool ride under lots of little bridges and down back canalways, so it was worth it.

Thankfully, I slept like a rock, and we all got up and out for food and meandering and food…then home to prep for the wedding. Katie, Craig, Andrew and Ellen, who’d traveled in Italy for the week previous to the wedding, had a running joke about all the meat they’d eaten. Mealtime was “meat o’clock,” and if anyone ever proclaimed to be hungry, we all knew what time it must be…or whenever we were served meat, we knew what time it must be…etc.

We found our way on foot to the astounding church (Santa Maria Gloriosa del Frari), which is a must-see in all the tour guides, and for good reason. Beautiful and lush inside and out, and indeed the tourists were snapping all kinds of photos at the emergence of the real live wedding. Teehee! The service was all kinds of Catholic (but thankfully not as long!), half in Italian—they stated their vows in each other’s language, which was very sweet. We were all stifling hysterical laughter at some of the readings, which lauded the wife who is silent and submits to her husband…which ain’t a-gonna happen! They both looked stunning, of course, and the whole thing was magical.

For the reception, we paraded, often single-file through the alleys, to the Palazzo Pisani Moretta, which was old and beautiful and on the grand canale. Lots of cocktails, a multi-course sit-down dinner (I had a fun table of rowdy Princeton and Columbia singles), and a 1980’s disco-themed hullaballo. Andrew and I were the last of our team standing, and we left to stumble home in the rain at 4:30am. I slept from 5:15 to 6:15, then lay awake, exhausted, until just past 9.

We had to be out of the apartment by 10:30, so we scrambled in hungoverness to get ourselves cleaned up and packed, then schlepped all our stuff through a DOWNPOUR to the brunch, getting lost a few times on the way. We arrived, drenched and bedraggled, at least an hour before anyone else, and the groom’s parents ordered us out of our clothes so they could dry them. I managed to air dry, and Katie and Ellen dug a change out of their bags (Mrs. Perale is impossibly thin), but Craig and Andrew ended up wearing Mr. Perale’s pants…and all kinds of off-color humor went along with that, you can be sure (a quote from Katie: “Craig is prancing around, freeballing in Mr. Perale’s pants!” quotes from Mr. Perale: “Give me your underpants!” “Take off your pants. I must see you naked!”).

Yes, the Perales are a hoot. They’re old-school Italian charming—they chatted away about everything, including the fabulous house and its history, as if we hadn’t arrived horrendously early and disheveled to their party celebrating their son’s marriage. Eventually the rest of the crowd trickled in and it was a fun afternoon (aside from post-party pain) of more chatting with college friends and comparing notes on Venice (like Pontes Tete and Labia) and on the events of the night before.

Post-party, I brought my stuff to Shnook (Enoch) and Roya’s hotel (still pouring rain—I had a big blue plastic poncho over myself and my backpack and frontpack, and seriously looked like an Oompah-Loompah, so we waddled and sang the song a lot). I’d not had the time to find a place to stay Sunday and Monday nights, as I’d been spending every spare minute dealing with the FedEx box situation. We checked out a couple of places without luck, then decided to try again after we saw the Doge’s Palace, which was big and grand and art-ridden. Fortunately, the hostel that had been closed earlier was open and had a bed for at least one night, so I went back for my stuff and we went our separate ways, as we (especially me!) were super tired, and planned to meet for lunch the next day. I grabbed a panini and went to bed early, in a cool converted church—there was a fresco on the ceiling of my room (and I forgot to get a photo)!

The next morning, I went to the hostel’s breakfast (bread, butter, jam, cereal, coffee, cocoa—perfect!), then was all set to arrive at FedEx at opening, but was told that there was some plumbing problem at the hostel and that I couldn’t stay there that night and would have to get my stuff out of the room by 9, which meant doing it before I left. So I went to call FedEx, but realized that Shnook and Roya had the paper with the tracking number on it, which meant that I had to get to an internet café again, as the hostel’s service was out. Fortunately, mom had sent an email that the box would be at the FedEx office on San Marco by noon, so I could stop freaking out for two whole hours.

As it was (finally!) a gorgeous day, I walked around and snapped photos and even had an hour in the Accademia, which, as expected, had lots of astounding Italian art. I went to FedEx to get the box, and had to pay another 50 Euros in customs fees to pick the &%$@ing thing up. I got to the place where Shnook and Roya and I had agreed to meet for lunch, but they didn’t show, so I figured they were in the throes of some uninterruptible sightseeing (which we knew was a possibility). I left them a note at their hotel, suggesting a possible evening meeting time. Then I went to the hostel, where I’d left my stuff in the luggage room, and repacked the box, as it was pretty beaten up and I needed my Spain guidebook. Fortunately, I had the good sense not to think that I’d easily be able to mail it from Italy. I inquired at the post office and they said it would cost 120 Euros to mail to the US, which seemed a tad steep. I decided to wait until I got to Spain, where I could speak the language and where common sense is more widely practiced.

I sightsaw my way to the train station, keeping my eyes peeled for walking sandals, bought my ticket to Milan for the next morning, then scouted out another hostel nearby, as the train was an early one. Somewhere in there I emailed mom that I had the &%$@ing box and got a message from Shnook and Roya confirming dinner plans. Somehow, from the other end of Venice, I got turned around so many times on my way back to San Marco that I was REALLY late meeting S&R, but they had waited and we had a great night of wine in a plaza before dinner at a fabulous restaurant (Mascaron), where we got chatted up by a local hotelier/bookshop owner and a Japanese-Italian travel writer, and then dessert and bellinis at Harry’s, where a bottle of water was 10 Euros, and you can just imagine from there what the food and drink cost.

We managed to stay out well into the night, and it was late by the time I got my bag and box from the hostel and toted them to the other hostel, where I tiptoed so as not to awaken my two Asian (Korean?) roommates. I then did the sleep-for-one-hour-then-lie-awake deal (could it be prosecco?) until it was time to get up and out (and there was some crazy pedestrian traffic RIGHT outside our window for the last hour of lying awake) and on the train. Sleeeeeeeeepy. Very sleeeeeeeepy.

So, yes, Venice is very pretty, and was not at all stinky for our visit. Perhaps we were just there at the right time of year (aside from the rain). The city of canals is truly unique, especially in certain lights, and there are gazillions of tourists there to prove how noteworthy it all is. And because the streets are narrow and impossible not to get lost amongst, the tourists are always blocking traffic—either window shopping or map consulting. All you can do is try not to be one of the worse offenders… Sadly, I didn’t have time to wander outside the touristy area to where I’d heard it was a little less Times-Squarey. Hopefully I’ll get back for a more relaxed visit someday…