I Finally Get to See It!

You have NO idea how badly I wanted to jump in and swim.

The water may have been icky, or deep, or slightly over my swimmable distance ratio.  Or all of these.  But I wanted to jump in anyway!

Maybe I should just back up a bit here.  I assume you have no idea what I am talking about.

I have spent my entire life waiting to go to Europe.  Every time someone I knew went, I was eaten alive by the Jealousy Monster.

I hate to admit it - I was getting green.

So when my sister offered to take me to Croatia (you can read about my Croatian adventures here: The Clumsy Traveler: Croatia ) AND Venice, you can imagine my delight!  (If you don't have an imagination, just picture a billion party balloons exploding or something.)

We arrived at the our Venetian land-side destination in the evening - and strain as I might, I couldn't see a blasted thing.  I went to bed but shook too much in anticipation to sleep.  In the morning, we drove out along the ribbon of road connecting Venice to the mainland - and I had to be careful not to get so close to the window that my eyeballs would stick.

We parked - another story entirely - and lined up to get the appropriate transportation tickets.  I have never wanted to bite someone in line ahead of me so much as that day.  I had to repeat the mantra "I'm a nice Canadian, I'm a nice Canadian" over and over to retain some semblance of outward decorum.  

Inside, I was mentally kicking every last tourist out of my way and tossing them into the canals.

We waved our magic passes and boarded a vaporetti (public water taxi).  I could taste Venice!  I could see one sliver of it between the shoulder of a large man in a business suit and the ear of an enthusiastic Asian photographer.

The vaporetti chugged into action.

My face was splitting from the huge vapid tourist grin plastered on my face.  I usually try to at least look a little bit classy - but I was beyond that now.

I was in Venice!

It's over there - swim!

Almost.

The vaporetti unaccountably started in the wrong direction, heading out to sea instead of into the sliver of canal I had seen.

We had taken the wrong one.

We were going to get to Venice - but would be taking the 'scenic' route.

Hence the distinct urge to jump in and swim to shore.

(To Be Continued...)