This Couldn't Be More True...

Spotted in the Supermarket...

In supermarkets, among other places here in Italy, I have noticed an amusing marketing trend used on some food products, in labeling them as "American style." This is amusing to me, mainly, because I wouldn't imagine this label to be big selling point here in Italy...I have noticed most Italians have, and are quick to voice, the opinion that American food is over-processed, oversized, and unhealthy to the extreme. My favorite example of this comes from a lesson during our teacher training course in which a male Italian student was asked to name some different food vocabulary words for cuisine of different countries...Italian, Chinese, Spanish, etc. When asked to name American foods, he gave his best eye-roll-of-disgust and produced two foods, "T-Bone steak. It-ah make-ah you ah-fat. McDonalds. It-ah make-ah you-ah even fatter." (That said, there are tons of McDonalds here, and they are always overrun with Italians). It is also amusing to note that the items which recieve the American-style marketing makeover are often completely random, and more times than not, laughably un-American. Basically, the process works like this: a company chooses a product, then slaps the label "American"  in big letters across the front... decorates the packaging with some red,white, and blue stars and stripes, and hopes for a big seller. Here are two I've seen recently:

The "Big Americans" pizza: a combination of salami, prosciutto, peppers, mushrooms, and corn, lovingly displayed before an American flag. Also, a combination you're highly unlikely to ever find in the States. Corn on a pizza? I don't think so.

American sandwich bread. Also known as white bread, no different from any other loaf of white bread sitting in the bread isle, aside form the patriotic packaging of course. At least there is no corn inside the sandwich on this one.

Parking In Rome: A Comedy

I have decided to dedicate a new feature on my blog to what has become one of my favorite pasttimes here in Rome: spotting ridiculously bad parking jobs around the city. Parking in and around Rome is, essentially, a joke. There don't seem to be any rules or regulations for what actually constitutes a parking spot here. Sidewalks, curbs, pedestrain crossings...fair game. I think the mindset must be - If you can get any portion of your car into a small vacant area, consider it parked. Creativity counts! Parking tickets exist, but not in the abundance we would expect in the States or in the UK...which leaves me with plenty of material for this new column! I'll leave you with a few classic examples to begin, with more to come as I will inevitably stumble across them.

This person couldn't be bothered to parallel park in the open spot, and instead opted for this classic "half on sidewalk" option.

And this driver took it a step further, undoubtedly unable to find parking, and took the "I'll just put this here on the sidewalk and hope no one notices" approach.

And last but not least, the "Screw it, I'm sure no pedestrains will need this crosswalk" method, very classic among Italians regardless of the time of day or night.

Happy Halloween From Rome!

Pumpkin artwork courtesy of Roland...(I helped scoop out the guts!)

Change: Life's Only Constant

New season, new job, new experiences. Fall is here in Rome! Gone are the days of camping out in front of the portable air conditioner, multiple daily cold showers, and (sadly) sunbathing. October has brought in some chilly weather, and I have unearthed what little warm clothing I packed when I left Chicago in July (which is not much - what was I thinking?). Though winter was a distant, far-off thought when I first arrived in Rome, it is steadily creeping towards us now. While I have have packed away the sandals and begun wearing a light jacket, the Italians are in full winter-survival mode: massive puffy coats, hats, scarves, gloves and boots are the standard already. I'd like to see an Italian survive a week in a Chicago winter...there woudn't be enough shiny puffy coats in the world to see them through!

Anyhow, for those who follow my blog, I apologize for my prolonged absence. It has been a very busy two months, but I feel like things are finally settling down a little bit, and I have many updates to come! The craziness began in the last week of August, as I had submitted applications to several teacher training programs in Rome, in hopes of gaining my certification to teach English as a Second Language. On one ridiculously hot Wednesday afternoon, as I was at the sweltering gym (again, what was I thinking?) I received a call from one of the schools, asking me to come in for an interview. They had, like everything else in Rome, shut down for the month of August. The program was to begin in less than a week, but if I could make it in for an interview that afternoon, they could squeeze me in as a last-minute addition to the course. All went well, and a few days later, I found myself sitting in a room with the small group of people who were to become, basically, the only faces I would see for the next 30 days. The Trinity CertTESOL program is designed to get you ready to be a teacher in a month, and in signing up for that, you agree to all it entails: 9 hours a day, 5 days a week, of classes and practice teaching, followed by whatever frantic dinner you can get down when you arrive home, followed by lesson planning and paper writing until about 2AM, and a few hours of sleep per night...if you're lucky! The program was run by two women, who could not have been more different. One taught teaching methodology, and the other taught grammar. Methodology was taught by an English woman named Vicky, who was an ideal teacher in almost every way. Funny, interesting, supportive, experienced and easygoing. When, as seemed to happen often in our group, one of my classmates seemed near to a nervous breakdown, she was usually the calming voice of reason to restore order/sanity where needed. Her counterpart was Ester: a half-Italian, half-New Yorker who was loud, challenging, and refused to handle anyone with kid-gloves. I actually really liked her. When she wasn't swearing like a sailor or or chain-smoking on the patio, she was an excellent teacher - I learned more grammar from her in a month than I learned in all of my school education growing up. In their own ways, both of these women were fantastic teachers, and I have to give them a lot of credit and respect for running such an intense program...I'm pretty sure they worked almost as hard as we did to make it through the month (minus the coffee-fueled, 2AM, furious typing in the dark trying to finish two papers and lesson plan for the next morning - pretty sure that was just us).

Anyhow, in the end, I made it through. I now hold a certification which will allow me to teach English pretty much anywhere in the world (except the U.S., of course!). The payoff for all my hard work is that I was able to begin working only a few days after I finished my program. I have found a job with a school which contracts out teachers to families and individuals for private or small group lessons, which are held in their homes or offices. In a nutshell, this means I travel EVERYWHERE...where I used to be wary of the bus system in Rome, and avoided it at all costs, it now feels like a comfortable old friend who I know inside and out. I'm getting to know the city and it's outlying areas pretty well, and interacting with a lot of people in my broken Italian, which I will admit is improving little by little as I am forced to speak to the parents of the children I teach in Italian. This, on day one, was incredibly terrifying to me. Italians, if you don't know them personally, can be quite scary - loud, fast-talking, gesticulating creatures, who look down their noses at you for daring to not be Italian, not to speak Italian, or be wearing something other than sequins or Louis Vuitton or shiny puffy coats (or some combination of the three). However, I scraped up all of the bravery I could muster, memorized a few key phrases (for the parents: Pardon my Italian, I'm just learning. For the kids: Look! Listen! Write!) and rang that first doorbell. And, in the end, it wasn't so bad. The families are mostly sweet, and happy I'm there. They bring trays of snacks into the lessons, flutter around making sure I'm comfortable, adjusting lights, windows, etc, until they are satisfied they have been gracious hosts. The kids, while often challenging, are loveable as well. I usually get hugs when I arrive and leave, and with the rare exception, they seem to enjoy our lessons. I'm enjoying teaching this way, and find it more rewarding than I think I would teaching in a big class where I would not get to make as much of a connection with the students or see results quite so easily. I plan on sticking with this school for a while, so hopefully things continue to go well.

I promise to be back soon with more updates...ciao!

On Cuisine and Cravings

It happens inevitably. I arrive in Italy, to the land of gorgeous cuisine...to the freshest, most delicious food I've ever eaten. I spend a month indulging in the homemade pastas, rich tomato sauces, brick oven pizza, fresh mozzerella, creamy risotto, and salads sprinkled with olive oil and the most amazing balsamic vinegar in the world...and then I hear it. The neglected American side of my appetite, pushed away into some dark corner of my subconscious, not daring to show itself in such a place as Italy, can be silent no more. Our inner dialouge goes something like this:

American Appetite: Knock knock! Remember me? How about a cheeseburger and fries?

Me: Shhhhhhhhhhh. Quiet now.

AA: If I see another tomato, I'll lose it. Remember buffalo chicken? You used to feed me Subway tukey sandwiches three times a week. What gives?

Me: Sliced deli meat costs a fortune in Italy. Bowl of spaghetti?

AA: Hmm...Kraft Macaroni & Cheese?

Me: I offer you the best pasta in the world...and you want processed noodles and powdered orange cheese from a cardboard box.

AA: Correct.

Me:  Ugh...You win.

And so it ends that I scour the supermarkets for some semblance of my old American favorites. Because, even though it is silly, eating food that tastes like home every now and then brings a little comfort. Even if the food is crap and I feel slightly guilty afterwards. Nothing you can buy here is actually remotely similar, but I've taken to doing my best to recreate some favorites from scratch. A longing for barbecue sauce had me simmering a mixture of tomato sauce, sugar and balsamic vinegar with some spices...It was the right color, smelled similar, and if I closed my eyes and pretended really hard, I almost fooled myself into thinking I had it right. But it did the trick. I had more luck, however, after a craving for bread and butter pickles hit me. For those of you reading who are not American, pickles = gherkins. Bread and butter pickles are a mixture of sweet and salty, and I eat tons of them at home in the States. I found a recipe for them and managed to hunt down most of the ingredients, which is never simple here as many staples such as spices and types of sugar, etc, are different in Italy. (An example of such: In a deli, I was on the hunt for cheddar cheese, which I have yet to be able to find here. We asked the man behind the counter for cheddar, describing it when he looked uncertain as an "English cheese," and he looked at us with total disgust, giving us the Italian hand gesture equivalent to saying "You idiots!" and exclaimed loudly in Italian for all to hear "You are in Italy! We have Italian cheese!") Right...lesson learned.

Proudly displaying my first jar of homemade pickles...which turned out great!

Another comfort food that I find myself missing often is macaroni and cheese. It is a childhood favorite, which I allow myself to indulge in now and then in the States. There is no such thing here in Italy, but I came up with a doppelganger that did the trick. It wasn't yellow, but as I mentioned, yellow cheese does not exist here.

Close enough!

I have a few other favorites on my radar to try and create...baked beans is one, and buffalo sauce is another. I might even get crazy and have a go at ranch salad dressing. After all, the more I can pacify that pesky American appetite, the better. Wish me luck! 

Lost in Translation

I found this gem of a translation on a menu in a Garbatella pizzeria recently:

Tempting, but I think I'll have the spaghetti...

The Old Railway Station

Recently, Roland and I headed back to the UK for the wedding of two friends. Besides an incredible travel-related debacle that I shall discuss in a later blog, we had a wonderful time. The wedding was beautiful, and the weekend full of good friends and good times. The Bed & Breakfast we stayed in was called The Old Railway Station, located in Petworth. The B&B itself is formerly the Petworth Railway Station. The station was originally opened in 1859 as a single-platform station, and was open to customers until 1955. The closed station was later transformed into a Bed & Breakfast. The station's old waiting room is now the reception area, and guests stay inside Pullman cars which have been renovated into charming guest rooms. The cars are entered off of the platform, with the rear half of the car transformed into a bedroom and the front half a small entryway and bath. The original woodwork and detail of the inside of the cars remains original and the whole place is full of character. We absolutely loved it, and only wish we could have spent more time there! Here are a few photos...

Inside of our car, in the bedroom.

The name of our car, painted on woodwork above the bed.

Me standing in front of our car.

Inside the entryway of our room.

A Place to Rest Your Head?

Spotted in a supermercato in Rome: Quite possibly the least comfortable looking pillow I've ever seen. Fair enough, I know it is vacuum-packed to save space...but how much filling could possibly be in this pillow?? How do they sell any of these little wonders? I was so amazed that I had to document it to share...

"Super Soft" pillow...looks alright from this angle...

What?!?

My Bookshelf - Inaugural Posting

My love for books began when I was a little girl, so long ago I can't remember a time when I went anywhere without a paperback tucked away here or there. There is always a stack of books at my bedside, and if you were to venture into my mother's basement - within the maze of boxes of storage, you'd find box after box of all of the books I've accumulated in my lifetime. One day, in some future home, I'll have a room full of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and I will dig them all out, dust them off, and give them a proper home. I consider it a life gift to have such a love of reading...No matter what is happening in my own life, there will always be another world I can disappear into...and no matter where I am, I'll never be bored.

One of my favorite pasttimes at home in Chicago, I have with a group of my girlfriends and cousins. We scour bookshops, choosing new authors and new titles, and finding new favorites. These books get discussed and passed around from person to person, until the pages are bent and covers faded, and no one can remember the original owner. Being here in Italy, it is not as easy for me to take part in this tradition - so I am continuing it, in my own way, here on my blog. If I read something great, I'll post it here. I can't actually hand over the book, but at least I can hand over my thoughts.

Without further ado, here is my latest literary find: The Passage by Justin Cronin

The Passage is a post-apocalyptic tale of an American government human experiment gone terribly wrong. A man-made virus creates a new breed of "human" (I use that term loosely) which quickly destroys life as we know it, and wipes out almost all of the population of the world. Very few survivors remain. The novel follows them through their struggle for survival in a new era,  in particular a young girl who may hold the key to saving the world. The story is a thriller - part sci-fi, part mystery - with a whole lot of heart. It's not an easy book...at close to 800 pages, it's not a quick read. But Cronin's writing is beautifully done. He is a master storyteller, and despite the size of the book, the quick pace of the story never lets up. I had a hard time putting it down - Roland joked about me carrying around my "encyclopedia" everywhere we went. One of the marks of a great book is, for me, the feeling you have when it's over - when you are standing in the bookstore, looking for the next story, thinking "How am I going to top that?" This book had that for me...and I look forward to the next installments, as this is the first in a trilogy. I've also read that the movie rights to the novel have already been purchased, and Ridley Scott is signed on to direct. Not surprising to me, as I figured all along that this was a story destined for Hollywood.

That wraps up my first installment...I am looking for my next great read, so please suggest away!

Summer Storms

Last night Mother Nature proved that she has not lost her edge here in Rome. Our normally clear, blue skies were replaced with an Epic thunderstorm. It was the first time since I've been back that I've seen so much as a raindrop, so it was kind of cool to see a little personality in the weather. I had my dinner on the balcony, watching as the storm got closer. We had thunder so loud that the doors and windows shook, and some nice cool air for the rest of the evening. Here are a few photos taken from the balcony as the storm moved in. Since my camera is out of order, these are taken with my iphone, with an app that is supposed to give photos a vintage feel. I think they're pretty cool.

Mosquitos, Beware!

I have a new arch-nemesis: Roman Mosquitoes. Oh my, they are everywhere! Our flat, being mostly non-air conditioned, requires lots of ventilation in the summer to let in fresh air. However, we are also without screens on our windows and doors, leaving us open to whatever wants to fly in. Mosquitoes, being the little opportunists that they are, take this fully to their advantage - they are always around. Shortly after my arrival, Roland bought a new toy. May I introduce...The Mosquito Tennis Racquet!

Mosquitoes beware...this thing is no joke! It works by pressing a small button on the side of the handle, which sends an electric charge to the center of the racquet meant to take out anything in its path. I have an idea of its strength due to an episode in which the center of the racquet came in contact with the tip of Roland's finger...causing him to jump so high he fell out of his chair. But that is another story.

We tried this racquet out on the first unfortunate victim to cross our path, and he literally exploded with a loud "Zap!" and a big spark of light. I must admit I felt slightly guilty when we first started using this thing...surely this must count as cruel and unusual punishment? ...But after waking up a few days later with a row of huge, ridiculously itchy bites from my knee down to my ankle, my guilt quickly washed away. Look out you little flying vampires...this means war.

My Return to Rome! On Goodbyes, Hot Weather and New Plans

It's that time again! After a three month hiatus of posts, I am happy to have arrived back in Rome and to my blog. I've been back for about two weeks so far - adjusting, settling in, unpacking...as well as shaking off my jet lag by sleeping (and not sleeping) and completely inappropriate times of the day and night. Darn you, jet lag. One day I will beat you.

When I left Rome for Chicago a little over three months ago, I felt like the time I'd spend away from Italy (and Roland) felt like ages and ages. In some ways, it did. In others, I feel like the time spent with my family and friends was over in an instant. Besides working a part-time job caring for one year old twins (I'll miss them dearly, but the next children I care for on a full time basis, I've decided, will be my own - one day)  -I planned my time at home with the objective of spending as much quality time with those I love as possible, which I did. A blur of weddings, parties, get-togethers, lazy afternoons and good conversations flew by quickly and before I knew it I was, once again, saying my goodbyes. This time was a little tougher, as I am no good with goodbyes and will be away this time for longer than ever...but I've got the best friends and family and I consider myself very lucky to have such great people at home to miss, who are rooting me on as I start the next part of this adventure.

The biggest change about Italy since I saw it last is, undoubtedly, the heat. Sweet Jesus this city is hot! It's hot in the morning...in the middle of the night...rain or shine - It. Is. Hot. A good comparison would be that Rome is a giant oven and I am a Thanksgiving turkey inside, slowly roasting away. A visiting friend last week said it well when she said following a few hours of walking around the city "After today, I will never, ever be cold again." Now, before it sounds like I am complaining too much, let me say that I adore the gorgeous sunshine, and the tan I will undoubtedly have in no time. I'm also very grateful for the A/C unit installed in the bedroom - a cool little sanctuary always there when we need it. I'm hoping in due time that I might adjust to the heat as the Italians have done...walking around in long sleeved shirts and pants, or full business suits, without a bead of sweat on them. Whereas I go outside for two minutes and  discover sweat glands I didn't even know existed. Blame it on the Chicago winters!

Complaints about hot weather aside, I am excited to be back in Italy and have some new plans underway. This fall, I hope to find work in a language school here in Rome, teaching English as a Second Language. I am investigating certification courses, which are held here in Rome. I've been assured by many that there is no shortage of positions for native English speakers who want to teach, which is good to hear. The thought of finding and beginning work in a new country is, frankly, semi-terrifying - but, nonetheless...wish me luck! More to come soon.

Florence's Locks of Love

Crossing over Ponte Vecchio, which is a bridge over the Arno River in Florence, we stumbled upon an unusual sight. These roadblocks, placed next to the bridge, were completely covered in small padlocks - each bearing the names of a couple on one side, with the date of their visit on the other side. Neither of us being familiar with the locks, I took a few photos and decided to look it up once home. Here are the photos:

It turns out that this bridge in Florence is a very popular spot for couples to visit when passing through Florence. No one seems to know how the tradition began, but it is thought to be good luck for a couple to personalize their lock, attach it to a structure on the bridge, and throw the keys over the bridge into the river. This is said to "Lock in" the couple's love and bring them luck for the future.

Interesting Menu Choices...

The English translations on this menu in a Florence Pizzeria were so fantastically bad, I had to take a few photos to share...

"Crazy Pizza"...Incidentally, Roland ordered this in the name of of experimentation. It was "crazy" because it had pieces of hot dog on it...not such a lucky roll of the dice...

"Lemon sauce and parksley"

"Spinach as you like."

"Blue Vein Cheese?" Thanks, but no thanks.

Beggars, Cans and Canes

I have been meaning for some time to blog about my perceptions on the begging community here in Rome. Coming from Chicago, I am no stranger to seeing homeless people begging in the streets. It is very relevant in my city - as I imagine is the case in any major city, and Rome is certainly no exception. However, the way locals go about it here in Rome is different than I have observed in other places. To note, most of the begging population here is not native Italian - but immigrants from Romania and Albania, among others. Surprisingly, there seems to be an unspoken sort of tolerance by business owners (particularly in restaurants) for letting beggars solicit customers on their premises. Some enter restaurants and station themselves next to the restroom, requesting change from anyone who passes by. On numerous occasions, Roland and I have been in the middle of a meal in a restaurant when approached by someone asking for money. Once, we were eating lunch in an outdoor cafe when a young girl of about 8 years old came up to our table, held out her hands, and stared at us.When we didn't respond after a few moments, she giggled and headed on to the next table. Interestingly enough, about 5 hours later we were eating dinner in another restaurant, on the other side of town. Halfway through our meal the same little girl appeared, with the same approach. I watched her as she left the cafe, and walked out to the middle of the piazza where she met who I assumed was her mother, who directed her into the next cafe. I found this really sad, however also interesting that they were both clean and well dressed, and I never would have guessed them to be homeless. Another technique often used here is the "performance" approach. Most busy piazzas, particularly in tourist-heavy areas, are surrounded by a circle of restaurants and cafes with big outdoor patios that face out at one another. Often times a person or group of people will station themselves in the middle of the piazza and "perform" whatever they can: Some sing, others dance, or play an insturment. After a short while, the person will walk around to all of the cafe tables in the piazza, asking for a "performance fee," and looking very put out if you refuse, despite that you never signed up for their entertainment. Last, and most amusing, are those trying to sell the most ridiculously useless items imaginable. I'm reminded of an evening where we sat outside in a wine bar terrace, having drinks after dinner. We were approached by a shifty looking man with his hands in his pockets, who looked at first glance like he was going to offer us some kind of illegal substance. He paused at our table, looked each of us in the eye, and whispered "You want?" ...I nervously waited as he reached in his pocket...only to produce a small plastic squeaking toy dog with a flashing red nose. After a good laugh and several "No, Grazie...NO, GRAZIE" from Roland, he shoved the toy back into his pocket and persisted..."Ok, ok, how about this? Very nice. Good quality" and whipped a matching toy dog from the other pocket, this time with a blue flashing nose. Finally we sent him on his way, but it was an eventful evening as we were also approached by a man wanting to sell us a miniature pink teddy bear, followed by another offering some slightly wilted, browning roses. Quality.

I've gotten a bit off track here, as my main objective in this post was to tell you about a particular run-in we had with a beggar last week. We had visitors over, and were giving them a tour of some of the sights around the city. I should preface this story by describing what I've always felt are the most harmless and least interfering of beggars in Rome: Ladies who lay on the ground on their knees, with their heads down and faces covered, holding their hands up together, as if in prayer. They usually have small can next to them for money, and never so much as lift their eyes to the passersby. On this particular day, we were walking down a very crowded, narrow sidewalk near the Piazza del Popolo. To our left was a row of storefronts, and to our right a cobbled road with cars parked along the curb. As we passed, I saw that in a small gap between two parked cars, a woman has stationed herself on the ground, bent slightly over the curb in the standard prayer position, with her tuna can positioned next to her hands. I noticed that people were having to step over or around her, as the sidewalk was narrow and the walkway very crowded. Roland and I passed her first, our friends being a bit further back in the throng of people. About two car lengths later I heard a loud Clank of metal on pavement that could only mean one thing: someone had kicked over the old woman's tuna can. Turning around, my suspicions were confirmed on the faces of our friends (lets call them Don and Ken). Ken was bright red and Don looked slightly flustered, to say the least. It had been Don's foot that commited the crime, sending what few contents the tuna can held down into the road. In the rush of people, he hadn't seen where the coins had rolled, so had kept walking, making a quick escape. All was quiet for a few moments as we continued walking, then I heard a commotion behind us and the sound of a woman yelling in a language that was neither English or Italian, but undoubtedly angry. Ignoring the "train wreck" feeling in my stomach of not wanting to see what was happening behind us, I turned around to find the woman had caught up with Don, who was slightly hunched over as he walked, avoiding the blows from the old woman's cane on his back. Whap! Whap! Whap! went the cane as she surely called him every name under the sun in her language, shaking her free fist in anger. Don, being mostly helpless to do anything at all due to his "attacker" being a little old woman, could only speed up into a jog, eventually breaking free. The crazy old woman was left behind, we were left with a good story to tell, and Don, hopefully, escaped without too many bruises. I only wish I had captured this one on film...

Tales From the Minibar

I just had to post this one, from our hotel stay in Venice. This little basket of treats sat in our room, innocently begging us to raid it (especially after a particularly rough night out on the town). I know hotel food is notoriously expensive...but upon closer inspection I realized that, had we indulged and eaten all four little snacks...the cost would have been equal to one night's stay in our room! Lesson learned.

The world's most expensive: bag of cookies, mini tin of Pringles, jar of nuts, and pack of chocolates.

A City in the Sea

We spent last weekend away visiting gorgeous, charming Venice. From the moment we walked out of the airport, I fell in love with the city. I felt, as best I can describe it, like I spent the weekend wandering around a picturesque movie set. For my friends who might not be familiar with Venice, it is basically a little city plopped down in the middle of the sea. However, the city has no roads - everywhere you'd expect to see a road, there is instead a waterway, and everyone commutes around in boats instead of cars. Taxis...buses...ambulances...you name it. All boats. There is not a scooter in sight, which felt really odd considering I'm accustomed to having to dive for my life out of the way of aggressive scooters on a daily(hourly?) basis. The city is small enough that we were able to walk clear across it in a little over an hour, but there is still plenty more to see than we could fit in to a weekend. Narrow little cobbled lanes were filled with incredible shop after incredible shop, and Roland said it best when he described all of the little shops as looking like little "Aladdin's caves." Ladies take note: shopping heaven. Venice is also the home of the ancient art of glassblowing, so almost every other shop was overflowing with beautiful, hand blown glass pieces of art. They were, in a word, stunning...and by the look of their price tags, they knew it.

I have so many gorgeous photos from Venice, I dont even know where to start. Here is a selection...

Here is the water taxi we took from the airport to our hotel. There was a dock full of them behind the airport, which brought us straight to the dock in front of our hotel. How cool is that?

The interior of our water taxi.

Looking out the back of the water taxi, leaving the airport.

My first view of Venice! Taken as the water taxi entered the town from the airport.

Our hotel, taken from the dock in front. The windows to our room were on either side of the word "Europa" on the front of the hotel.

Here is a view out of the window of our hotel room, at some gondolas passing by. The gondoliers were singing to their passengers in Italian.

Here are Roland and I and two friends on another water taxi, on our way to the island of Murano - which is where all of the glass is blown.

This man was the "master at work" at the Murano glassblowing factory we toured. In this photo, he was making a glass figurine of a horse. Basically, he pulled a slab of (boiling-lava-hot) molten glass on the end of the pole he is holding, and spend about 2 minutes pulling and shaping it with a giant pair of tweezers.

This was the result! Amazing. Especially considering that this 2 minutes of work was fetching upwards of 150 euros for a similar piece in the showroom. Yikes! But the glass artists are truly talented, and the glass pieces produced on this tiny island are sold worldwide.

 

This is one of the showrooms in the glass factory showcasing pieces made downstairs in the factory. The chandeliers were amazing!

And here are several more photos from walking around throughout Venice...

One of the famous gondolas up close. We didn't take a ride in one this time, but it was cool just to see them in action up and down the waterways, singing to their passengers. Definitely makes the gondola ride I took at Cesar's palace in Las Vegas look pretty sad in comparison...

Roland saying goodbye to Venice out the window of our hotel room. Ciao, Venice! Hope to see you again soon!