After a heartfelt goodbye to Dubrovnik, Tarrah and I continued on towards the last leg of our adventures with a plane ride to Venice where we would have a few hours before catching the train to Austria.
(Tarrah and I both wanted to see Venice, but had heard it was expensive, crowded, and smelled so we decided it was best to use as a layover rather than destination).
After a fairly quick and easy flight, we found ourselves in the Venice airport. With only a few hours to spend in the infamous sinking city, we decided the best plan of action would be to get to the Venice train station via bus and store our bags there, purchase our tickets for later, walk around, and return to catch our train to Austria.
I have had some bad experiences with the Italian bus system before because in Italy, unlike every other city, you confusingly can't buy your bus tickets on the actual bus. (I know this because when Natalie and I got on an Italian bus last time in 2014 we weren't allowed to pay , the bus stated moving, and minutes later we ended up getting busted like bus-hopping gypsy vagrants and unwittingly created quite the scene when we thought the Italian version of the Federali was trying to "Bangkok palace" us. In the end we only had to pay a small fine and it turned into a funny story, but it was a situation I didn't want to repeat.)
Knowing what we did, Tarrah and I searched for a ticket booth and purchased our tickets outside the bus. The heavyset Italian woman laughed at us (I assumed because of our giant backpacks and because that seemed to be everyone's initial reaction when they saw) handed Tarrah some change, 2 tickets and a receipt.
The bus pulled up right as we walked outside (so far so good) and Tarrah swiped her ticket and walked on (still so far so good), but when I went to swipe mine the machine suddenly turned red (not good). Confused, I thought perhaps my sweaty palms caused by my nervousness to use the Italian bus system had defected it. I attempted to swipe again. It again went red. At this point, a line began to form behind me and security began to walk over (my hands started to get really sweaty and I may have begun to have a mild version of PTSD from my previous experience.)
"Come with me please" said the security officer.
I knew I hadn't done anything wrong, but as our bus drove away and Tarrah and I were escorted back into the office I couldn't help but think the worst. Back at the ticket office, I showed security our receipt and tickets as she spoke in rapid Italian to the large set laughing Italian woman who had mere minutes before sold us our tickets.
"It's her word against yours." Said the security officer. (I wasn't sure what this meant, but my backpack was started to get heavy.)
10 minutes later, after counting the entire till over the watchful eye of the security guard, we realized what had happened. The ticket counter lady had pocketed half our money and given us one authentic and one blank ticket. She wasn't laughing at us because our backpacks, she was laughing at us because she assumed we wouldn't understand (little did she know this wasn't our first Italian bus rodeo!)
Vindicated and with new tickets in hand, we hopped on the bus and headed to the Venezia St. Lucia train station.
The train station proved easily enough to navigate. We purchased late afternoon tickets for Villach Austria, threw our luggage in a little souvenir shop on the side of the road for 6 euros a piece, and headed to the streets.
("The safe, cheapest, and fast storage")
Venice is definitely beautiful and I did not find it smelly at all (though my hygiene by this point had taken a definitive turn so maybe I'd become immune to foul smells, plus I've heard from many people that it is in fact smelly, so don't take my word for it). I would say that I did find it to be extremely touristy, hot as all hell, and very crowded. The hard thing about Venice too is that there aren't really any streets (as the entire city is built on water), so there is neither an escape from the crowds or the heat.
(Beautiful Venice)
(The only meal we didn't finish on our entire trip)
(Tarrah enjoying some delicious prosecco)
With our bellies full and the sun beating down on us like we were in the den of hades, we decided to take haven in the San Dacarria church (I mean check out some 15th century history like the cultured history buffs that we are). The church was pretty incredible with its high vaulted ceilings and ornate insides. We found ourselves transfixed and completely alone (which was shocking considering outside I found myself wicking off not only my own, but a surrounding bakers dozen's sweat off of myself) so when we saw a sign pointing into a staircase that said "crypt", like idiots, we blindly walked downstairs into what I can only describe as the most terrifying pit of darkness imaginable. (Why we thought it was a good idea to walk downstairs into an abandoned crypt is still beyond me.)
And then...we heard the ghosts.
(Ok so it probably wasn't a ghost or maybe it was, but it was terrifying and we were definitely not alone.)
We scurried out of there faster than cockroaches when you turn the lights on. The hairs on my back didn't go back down for a solid 5 minutes, even after we hightailed it out of there. (I told Tarrah I was certain the crypt ghosts were coming after me for my sinful and salacious thoughts about the Swede. She responded it was probably just got our sinful and salacious thoughts in general).
(Tarrah showcasing why the Crypt ghosts probably disproved of us)
Regardless, we grabbed a bottle of chilled wine, some more cookies, and decided to leave the crypt ghosts and crowded Venice far behind.
That train ride to Villach, I slept like a baby.
(Caio Venice!)
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