LAGUNA VENETA

       

        I went to the bus station that Tuesday morning to purchase my bus ticket to Zagreb, Croatia's capital city. I felt a twinge of  sadness at the thought of leaving behind the city that had added so much to my journey. 

        I was prepared for a 5 a.m. departure the following Tuesday, but pleasantly surprised when the girl at the ticket counter told me that the bus left at 5 p.m. Much better, I thought with the news. I can schlep the hulk down the hill from my apartment, and catch the bus that will drop me directly across from the bus station. With that I began my day, enjoying my first shopping experience amidst the grandeur of Trieste's old buildings.  

      About mid-day, I heard my cell phone ringing in my purse.  I opened it to the caller.  “Do you want to go Thursday on a five-day FREE cruise to the Greek Islands?” My female Italian friend asked.  Before I could let out with a resounding yes, she added, “The ship sails from Venice! And returns to Venice. The only problem is, we won't return to Trieste until Monday evening, late. I know your bus for Croatia leaves at 5 a.m. on Tuesday.  Maybe not enough time for you to prepare for your departure?”

       I nearly jumped through the receiver with my response. "My bus leaves at 5 p.m.  And yes, absolutely! Venice and the Greek islands.  I can’t believe it!  Thank you! I want to go!"  

~~

      That eve of our departure to Venice I cleaned out the fridge, setting aside some snacks for the trip,  packed a few clothes, my cosmetics, and the family documents (I was doing research on my Venetian grandmother and grandfather) in my computer bag, leaving the "hulk" (my over-sized suitcase) to sulk in my absence. I set my alarm for 6 a.m.  

       As my head hit the pillow, I was reeling from the news, unable to process how the whole event had come together at the last minute. I giggled like a child in the darkness of the room, my eyes closing over a vision of Venice and the Greek Islands. 

      At 8 a.m. my friend and I met in the train station. We purchased our tickets, then boarded the train for the two-hour ride to Venice. I placed my computer bag on the seat beside me, happy not to be staring at the hulk taking up half of the aisle. My friend couldn’t believe I had stuffed five days worth of necessities into so small a bag. What she didn’t realize, however, was that I would have gladly put my things in my pocketbook. Or gone with just a toothbrush if I’d had to. 

    Comfortably situated in our seats, she pulled out her travel documents. She then began to explain the reason for the trip, and the details of the cruise there’d been no time to talk about the day before.    

     The Minoan Ferry Line, she explained, had offered a free trip for two to writers of articles extolling the merits of traveling by luxury car ferry in Europe. The winning article would receive a five thousand euro prize. The first article published, would receive a free trip. 

        My friend, who was an advocate for, and experienced in this mode of travel, had pushed to get her article quickly published by using her influence with a Catholic newspaper. Notified she was a winner, she  worked every angle she could to get the date of an offered cruise to coincide with my last few days in Trieste. 

        Our ferry trip was to sail out of the port of Venice that afternoon. We would spend the next four nights and part of five days sailing the Adriatic and Ionian Seas, making two stops each at Igoumenitsa and Patrasso, Greece. At those ports, we would drop off and pick up travelers, cars, transport trucks and their respective drivers. We would return to Venice early Monday morning and spend the day in the city. There, in the company of  my friend/interpreter, she would communicate to the priests at the churches where my grandmother and grandfather had been baptized, my desire to locate old family documents that existed in the church archives. It was perfect in every detail. Venice, the Greek Islands, and my Italian angel who had made it all possible. 

~~

      The train arrived in Venice a little after 10 a.m.  The instant I set foot outside the station I was swept up in the city’s energy.  There were throngs of tourists everywhere, pushing their suitcases along the promenade, waiting in long lines for the water taxis, crossing over the arched pedestrian bridge that led to the city that was connected by networks of canals. I wanted to join them, visit my roots. But not that day.

      I felt like a lost puppy, following alongside my 75 year old friend who  was unsure of the route to the harbor. And I was helpless to offer her any assistance. We were dashing along, aimlessly, pushing against the clock.

        I shed my jacket in the heat and tied it around my waste as we climbed up, then down, a long arched stairway, shouldering my computer bag and gripping the handle of her heavy suitcase. When it seemed we were getting nowhere, she stopped and  asked directions from a group of gondola drivers standing in a huddle by the water. They told her we had to take an overhead tram to get to our destination and gave her directions.  

        We kept walking!  No tram! We stopped to get more directions!  At last, we spotted the tram and rode to where it let us off  in a parking lot, with the port barely in view. We were fast running out of time before the ferry departed. The pressure was on. We started walking again, and couldn't be sure we were even in the right part of the port when  a mini-van appeared out of nowhere and came to our rescue!  

        Inside the cool station I flopped in a chair and pulled out my stash of food.  I gulped down the boxed grapefruit juice, munched on a hard boiled egg and sesame bread sticks while my friend went in search of a "man" who supposedly held the tickets there'd been no time to secure before we left.  It was complicated, no, disorganized, but such were the pitfalls of last minute arrangements. 

      
     Finally, with tickets in hand, we made our way toward the pier. There was a bounce in my step and a smile plastered from ear to ear. An adventure was only a few steps away.  

    The streamline ship with its bright orange stripe had its mouth open wide to the trucks and vehicles that were beginning to drive on board. Taking care to avoid the oncoming vehicles, it was there that we were extended a pleasant greeting by two of the ship’s uniformed officers, who were polished from head to food. One of the officers called upon a porter to escort us to our room and welcomed us on board in Greek. 

    I opted out of the elevator, instead, climbing the carpeted stairs, running my hand over the polished brass rails and taking in the ship's luxurious features on my way to our cabin. 

    Since our accommodations were free, I didn't know what to expect, but smiled my approval when the waiting porter opened the door to our spacious, two-bed, outside cabin with the sea view and a private bathroom. The company had spared no cost, treating us to a first class experience. Comfort was to be ours for the next five days. 

      I made haste to unpack my things, surprising myself at what came out of my computer bag.  My friend soon followed suit,  pulling the items from her suitcase and laying them in a pile on her bed. “I brought my house,” she said through a laugh. 

            npacked, Bags unpacked, we head to the top deck to watch while the ferry moved out of the harbor into the long waterway that lie before us. The deck promised spectacular views of Venice's architecture.

     

As the ship moved slowly down the lagoon, I was able to capture all the distinctive and incomparable features that set Venice apart as the "only city of its kind in the world."                

Its bridges—over four-hundred of them---that provided life lines across a vast network of canals. 

Its buildings that leaned into their neighbors for support, while the aging timbers beneath sank further into the lagoon. 

Its rich and long history, easily recognized in the cathedrals and churches that pushed their spires and domes skyward.

And, of course, there were those familiar gondolas that inspired one to write prose after a moonlight cruise along a dimly lit canal. 

As we passed the Piazza San Marco (Saint Mark’s Square) I was reminded of the photograph amongst my documents of my grandfather standing in the shadow of Saint Mark’s Campanile a hundred years earlier.  

Gazing at the facade of the  Doges Palace and the Bridge of Sighs beyond, I was reminded of a watercolor that hung in my home in another part of the world. The same piece of art painted by my grandfather's artist friend at the turn of the century.  For a moment, I had a visual of my grandmother, Giovanna, standing at a public well; a strand of misplaced hair teasing her forehead while she gathered water to wash the clothes she would hang from the window of her modest dwelling.   

The ship moved farther down the lagoon, replacing the rush of the city with the calm beauty of the wetlands where a lone fishing boat rested quietly in the water below.

    What lie ahead was the Adriatic, its mouth opened wide to Croatia, Albania, and the Greek islands. And what was about to be an unforgettable ADVENTURE at sea.