And the Rain Rain Rain came Down Down Down

Today is the Monday before Mardi Gras. It is raining in Venice. A bunch. And a half.

After a freezing cold shower (trying to get a warm morning shower is fairly impossible in your average hostel, I will be doing evening showers from here on out), I head out to find something to eat. I discover there is a market in the street today.

Rainy Venetian Market Quaintness.


Just makes you want a salad, don't it?

Hey Joan, you were so right, these be the Real McCoy!

Also: There is a Laura Store. Homeopaths of the World Unite!

I mill about, then grab a magnificent cappucino and buy a crepe from a streetside stand. In the rain. But even in the rain, a brilliant cappuccino with a chocolate-banana crepe for breakfast? This is so my kind of town. Just look at it:

Almost Sickeningly Lovely.

The Shop Windows!

Glove Death!

Mary, I think I accidentally found your alley, too.

Also, due to Carnevale there are literally THOUSANDS of masks for sale everywhere you look, the majority of which are relatively hum-drum. But there are some real winners:







As I am wandering about in mask overload I stumble upon a small chapel that has been converted into a Antique Lace Shop and Showroom, like an itty bitty Lacis in Venice. I go chat them up and they are lovely, they don't allow pictures of the lace pieces but I get permission to take a picture of the space:

It's basically become a chapel of Lace Worship. How awesome is that?

After a great deal of window shopping and lace gawking, I walk over to the docks and buy a very expensive roundtrip "waterbus" fare to the itty bitty island of Burano where there are still little old ladies making the old fashioned needle laces. Then, I attempt to go to Burano to see the lace. I see the lace. But not all the lace.

The waterbus takes exactly 4 million years, so I arrive at the Museo di Merletto exactly 7 minutes after they close. Sigh. Perhaps I will have to do Burano: Part Deux on another day.
Not sure yet.

Nevertheless, Burano is still a pretty charming place to be:

Burano.

Pretty Parks with Stunning Statues. Were it not raining I would so have a picnic.

Back at the hostel there is pasta dinner the second and wild drinking games with the hostel kids. A complete Riot. Then, two guys from another hostel, Eric and Mike, round people up to go find some Venetian Drinking Nightlife and we end up crashing a birthday party at a nearby club. (Well, It really SEEMED like we were crashing it but the bouncer did let us in so maybe it's a Venice thing). I bring cute shoes in a bag and upon our arrival I head straight to the bathroom, pull off my extra layers and trade hiking shoes for patent leather heels. I hide the hiking shoes behind the floor-length curtain, head to the dance floor and dance like a mad thing. The Italian boys are amused by me but clearly think I'm insane so they do not attempt to dance or talk with me.

We all head back to hostel about 2am, and crash.

Apparently I am staying in Hostels to make up for the fact that I never lived in a dorm in College.

Huh.

Coming Soon: Carnevale Costumes!!!

Notes: San Marco's

Venezia!

It's Saturday. Today I attempt to get myself to Carnevale in Venice from Glasgow, in less than 24 hours, utilizing a ride from Lucy and Callum, a Plane, 2 Subway trips, 1 overnight train and a copious amount of walking with a large backpack. Let's hope Carnevale lives up to the hype.

I get up about 10am to discover IT IS SNOWING! Yippee! I have officially seen snow falling only 2 other times in my life (Snow on the ground, yes, falling from the sky, no). I take pictures, as is my new custom in all things.

View out the Kitchen Window, Post Snowfall.

I use this opportunity to get some pictures of other awesome things in Glasgow. Like the Flat.

Lucy and Callum's living room

I spend the morning with Lucy, Callum & Claire, mostly drinking coffee and getting my stuff ready to ship out while they play Guitar Hero. (Guitar Hero, if Lucy and Callum and their friends are any indication, is HUGE in Scotland. Awesome.)

Before I know it, it's time to run away. Lucy and Callum drive me to Glasgow Int'l and just as I am about to enter security, I beg a woman standing nearby to take my only picture with Lucy and Callum.

Me and the Awesomest Glaswegians

Next, there is a Flight to Paris CDG. I sit alone. Then, there is an attempt to get the reservation for the train to Venice. There is much Parlez-vous-Anglaising. Eventually I have my train ticket and a subway pass, and a map to help me with my two subway transfers so I can make my train. Thank God the Paris subway functions similarly to the Tube in London. I meet some lovely French locals on the subway who speak English. When I finally get on the overnight train I am seated in a car with a French Woman and her two young children, another French woman about my age and a young Middle Eastern man, none of whom speak any English! Humbling but awesome. My French output is pitiful but my comprehension, thankfully, is good enough that most of the time I can answer questions correctly though not always fully. My vocab is shot. Stupid me for not borrowing Mary's phrase book. Oh well. This is my first experience with overnight trains and it's pretty surreal, though I do sleep a fair bit of the way.

At last I arrive in Venice at the Santa Lucia Train Station. It is now Sunday morning. It is supposedly a ten minute walk to the Hostel; I have left myself one hour and eighteen minutes between my train arriving in Venice and my Hostel check-in time. After one hour and ten minutes I have found the Hostel. It may be only slightly apparent how easy it is to pass it by but you get the idea.

This is the front door. Not really big on the signage, these people.

The Square Where I Live.

After I am set up at the Hostel I go get lost, wander about happily, stop for lunch and accidentally order a €20 plate of pasta served with half a lobster. Oops. On the upside: the dish is utterly, transcendently delicious.

Next Venetian Mission: Find Best Coffee in Venice. Mission Impossible? Think again.

Done and Done.

After having what is perhaps the best cappuccino of my young life, and feeling the need to make today the day of unabashedly lavish cuisine consumption, I begin the search for appropriately decadent italian dessert. Bingo.

Hey The Table: This is what Profiteroles look like in Venice!

I find tons of other cool stuff too:

For example, I enjoy this door.

I think this is because of it's obvious fury at the fact that it's a door.

I love the buildings. (The word "Teatro" does not bias me in the slightest. Really.)

I love the signage.

And the Carnevalian window displays.

Venice is just absolute coolness everywhere you look.

Cool in the air.

Cool on the ground.

Just generally pretty cool.

I am back at the Hostel in time for the 8:30 Complimentary Family Style Dinner and meet about 6 million people from everywhere. Dinner is a simple pasta but very tasty. After dinner a bunch of folks want to go out partying (about 14 of us) so we wander and bar hop around Venice until we find a club. About 45 minutes from the hostel. Okay, so there were several bars. Whatever.

The club is huge. HUGE. 18 rooms or something. Most of them themed. And the main room has a really good live band. But get this: there is almost no one there. Seriously. Most of the rooms have no people at all. Sunday night Carnevale in Venice seems to be not such a big deal. Huh. However, one of the rooms, equipped with a strobe light and really loud euro-trance-techno-whatever-the-hell music ALSO has, displayed all around the room, multi-language descriptions of about eighteen traditional Commedia Dell'arte characters. Oh the sweet sweetness. Naturally I ignore the environment and walk around the room reading. I really do dig me some geeky Commedia. Though in strobe lighting not so much. I feel slightly nauseous by the time I am done but I don't care.

The Club closes about 1am so we all begin the nearly one hour walk back to the hostel. They have left the clean sheets for my mattress folded on the bed. But they are still wet! Oh buggery. I thank God (but mostly Mary) for Mary's loan of the purple-pillowcase-as-big-as-Becca. I wriggle into it and am immediately asleep.

Coming Soon: Carnevale Masks...God give me strength.

Notes: Cambra, Sex in the City, Italian for beginners...

Castles & Tapas: Scotland in a Nutshell

Today I oversleep. This is getting to be something of a tradition. Well, I am on vacation so what the hell. Unfortunately, I cannot seem to find Callum. He said that he'd be heading into Edinburgh today but he seems to not be home. I may have missed the Callum-mobile! I try to call his cell but the land-line is all-static-no-dial-tone. Hmmmm. I grab the keys that have been left for me and head out to try to call Callum from a pay phone. The pay phone down the block cannot be made to work. Man. Story of my Life. I walk back to the cafe down the street that pub-buddy Claire works at, thinking perhaps she'll be working and I can use her phone to call Callum.

I walk inside and there's Claire, sitting at a table with Callum and their friend Galen. Jackpot. Callum makes fun of me for sleeping so late, late enough that he's gonna give his Edinburgh commitments a miss for the day, but he can drop me at a train whenever if I still want to go. Heck yes I still wanna go! I have a quick breakfast with the gang at Claire's cafe, and Callum drops me at the station.

The train to Edinburgh is the easiest thing in the world, super fast, drops you off right in the middle on everything. I get a map and start walking to the castle. I stop off for a moment at the National Gallery of Scotland. Lots of tasty paintings. Oil paint for the soul. I make my way to the Royal Mile, turn right, and within 35 seconds I am looking at Edinburgh Castle.

Castle-y Goodness.

If you look over the railing there's a moat! Moat!

Inside the various areas of the Castle there is stuff, stuff, and more stuff, but I only care about the Highland Dancing & Bagpiping Video and the DOZENS OF HISTORICAL UNIFORMS! Yay!!!

A few faves:

I want to take you all home with me!

The vantage point from the castle is likewise pretty spiff:

To Infinity and Beyond.

After a bit I leave the Castle grounds and head back down the Royal Mile, stopping at a really cheesy tartan factory. Once you get past all the Velveeta and see the machines in action it's actually really awesome, but no photos are allowed. Drat. I barely restrain myself from buying Jody an enormous stuffed sheep. Too tricky to get home. Seb, you got lucky this time.

I hike down the Royal Mile for a bit but it's pretty dark already, so I turn around before I make it to Holyrood Palace. Maybe next time. Still, I don't really feel like I'm settling for this:

Twilight in Edinburgh.

Lucy, Callum and Claire pick me up at the train station and we discuss dinner options. The top choice is Andaluz (I'm instantly sure that it must be amazing because it's in Scotland and I'VE heard of it) but it's Friday night and the odds of a last minute reservation are slim. Lucy and I change at the house while Callum works on dinner. Naturally, NO ONE, much less the staff of a popular restaurant, can say no to the Relentlessly-Lovable-Callum?!We have a reservation!

It is not, perhaps, the first thing summoned to mind by the mention of Scottish Cuisine (Spanish Tapas, that is) but OH MAN is Andaluz fabulous! I admit that one of the best parts was the waitress discussing the Menu (Spanish pronunciation in Scotland is AWESOME). As for the food at Andaluz: it is REALLY awesome! I have Roasted cheese-encrusted Wild Mushrooms, Seafood Paella and Lime Garlic deep-fried Tiger Prawns. Hot Diggity Dog! When we've finished eating we get small glasses of super sweet vanilla liqueur, compliments of the house, which is actually really lovely.

After dinner we all hang out at the Lucy and Callum's flat until we all collapse around 2am.

Coming Soon: Venice Bound!


Notes: Money, money, money...

Everyone knows it's Windy

Today I leave the Hotel Chez Penny. Oh man will I miss everybody. David has not been about much but it's great when he is, Penny is a Goddess, Clara is a hoot and Chloe and Ben are incapacitatingly adorable all the time. Hopefully I can visit again someday.

Before I head out I get Clara and Penny to do a quick photoshoot with me. The light is dicey but oh well.

Penny and I strike a silly Kitchen pose.

Clara is demure. I cannot even approach it.

Penny has a work lunch in London today so we take the train in together. We part ways at Marylebone and I book it to London Victoria to catch the Easybus to Luten Airport. The rain is hurtling out of the sky and the correct bus stop is not obvious. Easy this bus is not. But I make it nevertheless.

Despite the pouring rain, the bus ride is remarkably pleasant and the view out my window is not dreary, merely gorgeous and tinted grey. We arrive at Luten and I discover that the bus ride took more than half an hour longer than it was meant to. Oh Crap.

I barely make it to the flight: I am the second to last person to board. I find a seat eventually in the very back row between a charming young man who seems roughly my age and an impossible older man of about fifty or sixty. The flight is beyond turbulent. It attains (and maintains) roller-coaster status with a speed and consistency heretofore unimagined by me. Due to the extreme turbulence the flight is running an understandable fifteen minutes or so behind schedule.

We arrive in the Scotland skies and immediately after announcing our descent the pilot (who, of course, has a thick Scottish accent making him only barely intelligible to me) comes back on the loudspeaker to apologize. We cannot actually make our descent just yet, as the extremely heavy winds have blown out one of the windows of the air traffic control tower at Glasgow International. Oh Ye Gods. The Pilot explains that they are moving the air traffic controllers right now and it should only take five or ten minutes. We proceed to circle the Glasgow skies for more than thirty, during which time I get to know the cute Glaswegian on my left. He is returning from London, having been there on business, renewing his certification for some computer thing which I instantly forget. He and I share a great sense of humour about our predicament. People are bouncing around, children are crying and the man to our right keeps pursuing some domestic argument with his wife and stewardesses have to keep rushing over to ask him to sit down. We laugh and chat; I'm not actually frightened but the ceaseless turbulence is really starting to wreck havoc on my stomach.

We finally descend which brings momentary relief, Callum has probably been waiting for an hour by now dammit. But then the turbulence drastically worsens and the descent seems unending. Moments before we land I completely lose my cookies, attempting to do so as quietly as possible. I have a package of kleenex and wipe my mouth just as the wheels touch the ground. The Glaswegian turns to me, eyes twinkling, and says "Welcome to Glasgow! What do you think of it so far?"

We wish each other luck and head off in our separate direction, I am too embarassed to introduce myself so I don't actually know his name ::sheepish laugh:: ah well, so it goes.

I find Callum walking through the airport door, it seems the traffic was so bad he only just arrived, he was worried I was waiting. Oh the Irony. In the Morrisette sense.

We head back to Lucy and Callum's flat in Glasgow which is AMAZING! I take a blissful shower and change and then we head to The Rock (a pub about a block away) for Thursday night pub quiz and real pub grub. Lucy has warned me that the food is only so-so at The Rock and assures me that we'll get better dinner tomorrow. WHATEVER! I order Bangers and Mash, which is served with gravy, Yorkshire pudding and mushy peas. (No really...the mushy is apparently a feature, they're listed on the menu that way...news to me.) I get my food and Lucy is so wrong, it's Great! She also warned me that Scotland does not serve American sized portions. Wrong Again! I get THREE Sausages, TWO Yorkshire puddings and a MOUNT EVEREST of Mashed Potatoes and Peas. So Unbelievably Tasty!

I chip away at my delectable trough of food throughout the pub quiz. I contribute only two answers: The first Queen of Henry the 8th to be beheaded and the President during the Civil War. Actually that's better than I typically do at pub quizzes in the U.S., so yee haw. I also meet a large slice of Lucy and Callum's circle of friends, all of whom are awesome and really nice about how often I have to ask them to repeat what they say.

After the pub it's back to the amazing flat. And the amazing guest bedroom. And the amazing bed.

Good night!

Coming soon: Every Good Girl Deserves a Castle and a Tapas Bar when in Scotland.

Notes: Go Left

It Is Too Cold For Punting Today

But Cambridge is immune to such setbacks. At Cambridge they OWN old school cool and they know how to rock it.

For starters, they all go to school in castles.

In the awesome-er still department, Sarah did her Post-Grad work at Trinity College (how amazing is that, I think if I applied I would barely be qualified to sharpen their pencils), so she has a school ID and can run us around all kinds of places mere humans are not allowed to go. First she gets all four of us into King's College Chapel for about £3 (Four normal adults would be about £20). Absolutely Ridiculous. Undeniably Sweet. Were I religious in the slightest I would be unable to settle for any other college's worshiping facilities. I mean come on:

The Ceiling.

The Windows.

The Doorways.

And Mother Mary's lookin' pretty good too.

Oh man, I SO want to come back here and go to a concert, apparently the acoustics are glorious cubed.

Next, we wander more of Cambridge, mostly for my benefit as Ruth and Karen have already gotten the grand tour.

Gates leading from one college to the next. SFSU so shafted me.

We go "backstage-ish" at Trinity, Sarah's former college, where a meticulously dressed porter spots me taking pictures and immediately chews us out for being where we are. Sarah is thrilled, we have now been "verbally abused by a Trinity porter ", so we can truly say we had the full Cambridge experience.

The courtyard at Trinity.

After Trinity we embark on our Major Mission of the Day: Having postponed it two days in a row, there WILL be High Tea. Sarah has polled her Cambridge pals and been told that a good cream tea with trimmings is served at the Garden Court, walking distance from Trinity etc. We begin the "Trekking to Tea" tesugi with Sarah in the lead.

The walk is Scenic, and the capitalization is much deserved.

If heaven doesn't look this good, I'm not going.

Several minutes later we reach The Garden Court. Oh. Um. I see. It's actually the Garden Court Hotel. And it is Unspeakably Posh. Huh. We are dressed like tourists. Not even. We are dressed like Student Backpacker Dorky Folk. Charming in our waywardness, but in no way Dressed For Tea. We all shrug. What the hell. We receive a few concerned looks as we enter but we get a table by the window (behind a lovely screen, though, teehee) and particularly once it is clear that we are each doing a full tea service, everyone is extremely attentive. Ruth and I decide to be absurd and share a glass of champagne as well.

The Tea is magnificent.

Oh Rapture, thy name is English Tea-with-Stuff.

Your key to the three tiers: the first tier is cucumber, egg salad, and smoked salmon sandwiches; the second tier is piping hot scones with Clotted cream, preserves and a strawberry; the top tier a slice of chocolate mouse cake and two cream puffs. Oh God in Heaven!

After wallowing in tea consumption until we are in danger of explosion, we hop in the car and make our way to the train to see one more bit of West End Theatre. This will be my last night in London, as tomorrow I fly to Glasgow. My last two nights of theatre have been really great deals and so I opt to pay more to try to get into Billy Elliot, for which no discounted tickets are offered at this time. Ruth, Karen and Sarah decide to hit tkts to look for less expensive tickets to something else. I recommend "The History Boys", and we part ways at the tube, vowing to hang out again as soon as we are all back in the Bay Area.

I go to the Victoria Palace Theatre and pay way too much money. I do get my favorite seat though, dead center, third row of the first balcony. The show is as just as good as everyone says it is. I basically cry like an idiot the entire time.

I have a really funny cabdriver from High Wycombe to Penny's front door, for £2 less than I paid the night before. Sweet.

Sleep is mine at last.

Coming Soon: I Don't Die on the Flight to Glasgow, But it's Pretty Wild Just the Same!

P.S. I am hereby starting a notes section at the bottom of each post, to try and prevent them from being eight hundred years long. Once I am home you can ask me about the notes if you like, there are more stories there. So, for today:

Notes: Cambridge Pants and the Black Cat