Saturday we arrived in Venice by train. Weird right, since it is an island? Venice still might be my favorite city in Italy, if only for the great crowds of people there are to watch. We made our way from the train station to San Marco (large, main square) by following the signs that are posted randomly on the corners of buildings and have arrows pointing to San Marco. You can't really get lost in Venice, you just follow the signs back to San Marco from anywhere. It can take a while if you miss a sign or two. We made it in about 30 minutes. I like that I can be so directionally challenged and still find that square. We waited in a long line first thing, to walk through the church. But, we didn't know that they don't let you take bags or backpacks in the major sites anymore so I took the bag and Rach went through. It's a really short walk with some cool artwork and several mosaics, which I've seen twice, so that was no biggie. In the line I had been trying to convince Rach that it would be such a great photo for her to buy a bag of birdseed and then start throwing it all around her so I could take a picture. She wouldn't do it. She disliked these flying rats as much as the ones in Germany. I eventually gave up. Then we toured the former palace/government building. More importantly, we got to go through the prison which is attached to the government/court system by The Bridge of Sighs. Aptly nicknamed because if you were being walked across that bridge you were headed to prison for a long time and/or going to be executed. The tiny windows were probably the last time you could see your family on the bridge several yards down the canal... sigh. (Get it?) It is such a medieval looking dungeon of a prison. They even had cells that were like a hole in the ground that they used for prisoners and when the high tide came in the holes fill with water. Talk about being trapped in a watery grave. I guess that's one way to keep prison overcrowding down. After the tour we just wandered around the square and the shops. I forgot how great the jewelry is that they have from the island of Murano (famous for its glass). Someday I am going back to Murano to train as a glass apprentice. I'm pretty sure that's my next career, right after roller derby. I think the beautiful vase, bowl, and ashtray(?) I made in my glass blowing class are definitely enough evidence that I may have overlooked that as a viable career choice. Interesting that I made the third object and am not really sure what it really turned out to be and just called it an ashtray. I feel confident I am the next Dale Chihuly, only with better hair and both of my eyes. But let's face it, he wears and cool eye patch and it's fun to imagine how he might have lost his eye in some sort of freakish glass blowing accident instead of in a car accident. I recommend you Google him and see what I mean. I also suggest if you think he might have better hair than me that you don't say as much in the comments area of the blog. :P Are you starting to wonder about the title for this entry? Don't worry, I'm getting there.
After we were about done wandering around and trying to decide if we should make our way back to the train station or not, I suggested that we sit down on some steps so I could look at the map and figure out how to get there. They don't have handy signs for finding the train station like they do for San Marco, although that is one suggestion I might make to their department of tourism. I hadn't even been sitting there for five minutes when a pigeon way up above us on the top of a column let loose on Rachael. She had pigeon crap on her head and her hand. It was funny, but not funny. Well, I didn't laugh in the moment, except maybe inside my own head. It makes me want to giggle even now, but Rach is half-asleep and it would wake her and then she'd want to know why I am laughing. I'm not sure she really sees the humor in it just yet. I made one pigeon joke today and she didn't slug me so maybe by the time we get home she will thinks it's funny. I am not saying that all birds can read minds, but let's face it - carrier pigeons are called "carrier" for a reason and I think it's abundantly clear that some birds in the plaza in Munich sent word to their Italian, bird mobster pals in Venice. The next thing you know is that there is a finely targeted "hit" out on her. None got on me. They just want to send a message, loud and clear. After we cleaned it off with some baby wipes, we knew it was time to go back on the train. It really puts a damper on your whole day when that happens. Even after all that, Venice still might be my favorite city- definitely one of my all-time best travel stories. Even better than when it happened to a stranger sitting on a bench near me in France one time. I think I gave her some help with baby wipes too.
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