Here I am in Venice. Me and Sarah took a budget flight for a weekend away. I was a little dubious about using any airline that uses a harp as part of its logo, but all was smooth and hassle-free, and the pilot seemed to find his way here okay. Arrived in Venice in the dark and managed to find the hotel without falling in any canals. Venice is mind-blowing. Everything is strange and strangely familiar. Okay, so it’s been in a few movies, but more than that, it’s been in a few paintings. Old paintings. And it hasn’t really changed much since then.
What you need here is hard feet. Walked miles today and the old legs are suffering tonight. You also need a hard grip on the wallet. The state that sterling is in at the moment means you don’t get many Euros to the pound. About one. So eating out is... eek!
There are odd things, like the only public toilets in all of San Marco cost one Euro fifty per pee. (about £1.45 so you’ve got to be really desperate). There’s a turnstile and you have to have the exact change. But here’s the thing, there’s a man in a booth who gives out change - but he’s on the other side of the turnstile. The side you can only reach after you’ve paid. We had only one 50 cent coin so one of us had to go first, get some change, then pass the change through the railings so that the other could go also. How weird is that? Only in Italy? (I dunno, I’m still smarting after that sixteen quid car park in Reading.)
Came back to the hotel on a Vaporetto, a water bus, when the legs gave out. Just can’t keep away from public transport, can I.