The plane banked low for the landing in Venice, and I was eager to get off. A small child just across the aisle was fussing a little bit, her parents managing her very well. But there was a woman one row back, right behind my set, who was more annoying by far. She managed to snort vigorously nearly the entire trip, only occasionally deciding to try the more conventional method of blowing her nose. Good thing it was only a two hour flight.
Once in Venice, we made use of the airport wifi to investigate a place to stay for the night. Yes, we should’ve had that settled by now, but we hadn’t gotten around to it. After a while of travelling, one gets lazy about searching out a place to stay every single night. This one does anyway. I suppose some travellers actually get more on the ball about searching out a place to stay.
A quick look online showed that Venice accommodations were indeed expensive. Our adult hotel just outside of Athens had been 50 euro a night, and that included breakfast. Here, we could expect to spend 150 a night, a steep climb from what we were used to! Justin was having somme troubles with hostels, and the annoying late night party types they generally attract. It was tough to sleep in an eight person dorm. But at 20 euro a night, I quite liked them for solo travel. Now that we were a pair travelling, we had a little better buying power. It made sense to spend a little more for a private room for 50 euro than for both of us to pay 20 euro for two beds in a dorm. Also, getting a private room made it way easier to get some quality alone time!
We got the addresses of a few hotels, and decided to walk around Venice, checking for last minute deals. Our flight arrived at 5pm local time, and after a short bus ride, we arrived in Venice proper. Which turned out to be a bit smaller than I thought, and good thing too, as we walked over fully half of it, looking for that hotel. Venice is a walking city only, well, and water taxi as well. We dialled in the address to the gps, after learning how this city wrote it’s addresses, and we made our way to the hotel. It had advertised 50 to 200 euro a night rates, and I was hoping for the lower end of the spectrum.
The first hotel was had the address for was full. We had stopped at one just after the first canal, just to enquire about rates as a baseline, It was a decent looking place, but not too fancy. They wanted 100 euro a night. The next place was looking for 175 a night. Then the next place was full. They suggested a place with more beds, and we went there. It was getting distinctly dusk-ish outside. This place had one private left, for 80 euro. It turned out to be the hostel! Due to a poor sleep the night before and a troublesome sore throat, Justin wanted a good bed. We pressed down on the mattress of the hostel bed, one hand on the coverlet over the actual linens. Squeak squeak squeak! The hostel minder got upset, asked us not to touch the bed. C’mon, its part of why we want to look at rooms, to make sure the bed is comfortable enough to sleep on. Justin was ok with it. I was less than thrilled. Both by the bed, and the attitude. We left.
We finally found the hotel we had been looking for. The rooms were 120 euro, and the bed slightly better than the hostel. At least this person did not protest our pressing of the bed! Justin was once again ok with the room and the bed, but I was not too keen on the price, or the location. We stepped outside to discuss it, and that is when Justin recalled the first hotel we had stopped at, with rooms for 100 euro. Why not try there? We turned around, ,and began retracing our steps.
Over canals, down skinny alleys/ roads. A few roads just end at a canal, with a few steps down into the water. Turn around, retrace our steps. More often than not, we followed people who appeared to know where they were going. That method worked surprisingly well!
We had nearly reached the first hotel. The awning was in sight. It was fully dark by now, and I was just hoping the hotel still had a room available. As we started down the final alley to the entrance, we passed an outdoor seating area for a restaurant. The server/ host caught my eye, and called out to me. “You want dinner, you want hotel?” Now, usually I ignore those soliciting me for accommodation, as it can be pretty shady. But this time I stopped, and asked for more info.
The server led us into the restaurant, and the owner handed us two glasses half full of pink drink. He spoke rapidly in Italian, patted me on the cheek, beamed at us both, and bustled out. Bemused, we sipped the sweet and mildly alcoholic drink. The server came in and out a few times, carrying trays of food. We were here, but also ignored! Then, the owner bustled back in. “You want room? For two? 75 euro for two, that’s good!” he said, making his way around the counter. It was indeed good! He pressed a key in our hands in exchange for a passport, so we could go look at the room. “Ah, Canadians! Canada is very lovely, very cold!” he mimed shivering. We agreed, laughing. He pointed us down the street. “Go there, over two steps, the number is 2874, you will stay there!” It was no good to protest, he pointed out the number on the key, patted me on the cheek again, and spoke a few rapid phrases of Italian. We went.
Two stairs over canals later, we found the door. Dark. We used the key to open the large door, stumbling into a dark area. I could just make out a desk to the side. There was a light deeper in the house, so we fumbled our way towards it. Our sweeping hands hit no light switches. Later on, I would discover the light switches were lower than one would think, and under a ledge. The staircase was a creaking narrow wooden affair, leading up with barely enough room for one with a backpack, and certainly not enough room for two to pass. The room was tucked under the eaves of the house, the underside of the slate roof visible above. The exposed wooden beams showed the signs of age, but also good treatment and regular care. The owner had mentioned an age in his stream of conversation, it may have been built in the 1500’s. The bed was a good size, and a nice springiness. We smiled at each other. We had found it!
Back at the restaurant, the server noticed we arrived without our backpacks, and he smiled at us. “I knew you would like it!” We went back inside, and told the owner we would stay for two nights. He beamed at us. “Of course you will!” He gave our passports to the server to photocopy, and yelled towards his cook for a pizza, and some other Italian words. He turned back to us. “Go and sit! You will have pizza, Canadian pizza I will make for you, on me!” We obediently sat in the outdoor seating in the plaza and looked at each other. I couldn’t help but grin, and soon it was laughter. A place to stay, and a mysterious dinner!
Canadian pizza turned out to be the typical thin and crispy crust, sauce, sausage and thin sliced meat with cheese. We ordered wine, paying 7 euro for a half litre. More than Greece, where we were paying 4 euro for a half litre. The wine was bold and went down very well indeed. So much so that we had to order another bottle to go with the tiramisu we were told we were also having. Again, on the owner. Sounded like a pretty good deal to me! Turned out that he had friends or family, it was hard to tell which, in Toronto or Montreal. He loved Canadians, and seemed to like to treat us.
While we had dinner, a group of six came in, with a girl about 10 in their party. They sat, and the wife of the owner pulled the girl inside. Soon, she came back out, wearing a little apron and carrying a tray of the glasses of pink and fruity drink. She got to work serving the glasses to her party! Justin and I wondered if the wife would next conscript her to help with the dishes. The scene was a merry one indeed, with the owner and wife clearly enjoying their jobs, treating the guests with familiar good cheer, telling some people what they would like, and telling people where to sit. It was nourishing to watch them work, to watch their enjoyment and affection. A distinct pleasure in contrast to the service in Greece. Some people there had also enjoyed their jobs, but most had seemed tired and slightly resentful, at the tail end of their tourist season. I know I am generalizing here, and there are variations in both places, but for the state we were in, it was a breath of fresh air.
Eventually we wandered away, walking down the streets and alleys and canals of Venice, exploring the city. By that time, it was after 10, and Venice is not a night city, not in the area we were in, at least. We headed back to the pension, and got a very good sleep indeed.
Wherever you are, Be There 