Bill: We stepped off of our plane to the Venice region in the evening, and experienced some slight confusion with the public bus transportation system in Mestre (the closest mainland city to Venice), but eventually found our way to the Alba D’Oro camping resort and were extremely pleased with what we saw! The little campground had an ATM right at reception, a built-in internet café, a restaurant, a swimming pool with lounge chairs (sadly not open yet at the time of our visit), and a whole host of lovely cottages for tenants! Only perhaps a dozen ACTUAL camping tents were clustered near the middle of the campground on a small green, and the entire rest of it was a network of cabins, RV-style trailer homes, and hard-walled house tents. Our own trailer held a beautiful little hotel room sort of place, with brand new looking hardwood floors, two beds that we pushed together to form a nice double, and a fairly spacious (all things considered) bathroom with a huge stand-in shower. It was around 9pm when we got settled, so we checked out the restaurant and enjoyed a lovely meal.

The next day we got up bright and early and took the campground’s personal coach bus shuttle service to Venice, taking only a half-an-hour and costing 4 euros per round trip ticket. It dropped us off in the only car park on the Venetian islands—the entire rest of Venice is pedestrian-only cobblestone sidewalks and alleyways, and of course the canals. One of the first things that stands out about the “city” of Venice (which you can actually cross in about an hour on foot) is this total lack of vehicles, and it makes the venue seem far less modern and industrial than one is used to thinking of a city. No horns, no engines, no exhaust, and no traffic lights. The buildings are all tall and tightly clustered, leaving nothing but thin and winding alleyways webbing between all of the 120 islands, with an occasional courtyard marketplace and over 400 bridges over the many canals. All of the houses are painted brightly and show signs of age and decay (probably because almost all of them are from the 15th-17th centuries!). All in all, it is truly unlike any other place on earth, and completely breathtaking for the first time tourist. The ocean surrounding the islands and the water in the canals are nearly opaque and a light frothy green. It’s quite strange at first, seeing steps on nearly every street that lead straight into the water, the lower few always covered in seaweed and moss. The air is always thick with the salty smell of the ocean breeze (which I love so much), and while we were there, the weather was warm, the sun was shining, and everything seemed perfect.

With that sliver of understanding about the majesty of the scenery in mind, our first day began with a pre-booked walking tour of Venice, supposedly essential for every first time visitor, that began in the small garden just a short walk from St. Mark’s square. Our guide (as they all were) was a native Venetian, and for the next two hours she showed us all of the main sights as well as the “unseen” nooks and crannies of Venice on foot, all the while spouting the most interesting facts about Venice’s history and establishment. As a part of the journey we got to take a stroll through St. Mark’s Basilica, where there was much to admire about the EXTREMELY old glass-glazed gold-leaf mosaics on the gigantic dome ceilings, dating back to the 11th century! We also set eyes upon the Bridge of Sighs, the last sight many prisoners ever set eyes upon before being shipped away, and of course the famous and glorious Rialto bridge (a landmark we would continually cross over, under, and even shop on during our stay).

After our tour, we really were starting to get the hang of the city, and spent the rest of our day exploring on our own, hunting for a choice “Venetian mask” that we had been commissioned to find for my parents. The search was not at all difficult to begin, because mask shops truly are on almost every single street in Venice. Sometimes two or three! The decision turned out to be even more difficult with all of the options at our fingertips, and many gems shone out brightly among the piles of masks, but prices run high for the most beautiful hand-made varieties found in the specialty shops; many street vendors sell much cheaper porcelain ones, some of which look pretty good but many of which are clearly tourist crap. After hours of browsing and much consideration, we surfaced with a winner and paid extra to have it shipped directly from the shop by the shop owner. No pictures of this mask appear in our albums…you’ll just have to see it when it gets to the house around the 16th-17th of April if you’re interested!

After many samplings of pizza and gelato (Italian ice-cream, far superior to it’s American counterpart), our day finally wound down to a close and we took the shuttle back to the campground to enjoy another lovely evening in our seeming apartment. Little did Cassie know…the next day would be Easter Sunday, and I had a wonderful surprise awaiting her for our first ride aboard an authentic Venetian gondola, which I had maneuvered to plan for us on that day. Cleverly I had requested to carry her camera bag on the morrow, since I’ve been the one taking all of the pictures so far anyhow (her hands shake, and she has a propensity for taking blurred and crooked shots), but my ulterior motive was to use it as a secret cache for a diamond ring. The bag was far too large for her camera, since it was originally intended for an older and much larger one, and there would be plenty of room for me to slip a ring box in underneath, readily accessible at the moment of my choice. She complained a little about how I clung to her so tightly in bed that night in anticipation (perhaps nervousness as well?), but the merciful morning finally came.

At first it looked like I might need to find a plan B, which was a disaster unconsidered. The weather, supposed to be grand for our entire stay, began cloudy and cool, and she asked if we should bring an umbrella. On the shuttle into Venice, there were actually several raindrops on the windshield. I continually assured her that the clouds would pass and it would warm up as the sun came out (perhaps to convince myself, or perhaps even in prayer), and behold! After our first hour or so in the city, it certainly did! During that interlude we had been biding our time with an early lunch and a brief tour of the Carlo Goldoni museum (a great commedia dell’arte playwright) that was situated in his childhood home. As the weather improved, so did my spirits, and after an ice cream and a stroll, I spotted us a young and fit gondolier, ready for the taking, right in front of the bridge of Rialto. With a nonchalant suggestion that we check this guy out, I steered us over to inquire about the price, which we had heard rumor was outrageous. Indeed it was. One-hundred-and-twenty euros for the half-hour ride and tour, and two-hundred for the extended 45 minute version! Cassie grimaced and glanced to me, I groaned in my head but remained outwardly calm, and the man explained to us the sights we would see and that we could make the choice whether we wanted to long of short tour mid-journey. I put on my best actor’s cheerful face and insisted to Cassie that we would only be here once, we had the extra cash, and for crissakes, we had to ride a GONDOLA in VENICE—my parents had insisted that we splurge a little. She fell under my spell and we stepped onto the long black gondola, taking our seats on what felt like a plush golden throne (and looked like one too!). In seconds we were off, enjoying the water of the Grand Canal lapping against the boat and plunging ourselves deeper into the plush down on-board sofa as we relaxed in the sun and the breeze. The gondolier gave a brief account about the bridge and insisted that it was tradition for the man to kiss the lady as we glided under it. There is a wonderful picture of this smooch on display in our album! Along the way he pointed out the important sights and told us an interesting detail or two about each one, and slowly we trekked into the less traveled waters of the smaller canals. As we headed into the residential district, where he explained that the native Venetians still live, I was slipping my hand into the cleverly chosen camera case at my side, fingers hunting for the cushioned white leather of the box with my handpicked diamond ring. It was proving difficult to wiggle out without notice, but before long I had it resting at my side, opposite Cassie, with my other arm wrapped around her. I thought to myself that I would wait for the gondolier to give us his next anecdote, because there seemed to be a decent pause in between each one as he rowed us along to the next, and it would give ample time for me to pop the question. The canals were silent, this far away from the hustle and bustle of the more touristy areas. Cassie and I sat smiling at the romantic experience, and the gondolier continued quietly rowing us through the dappled sunlight and shadows between buildings, the fresh salt air filling out nostrils with the crisp scent of the Venetian sea. Two pigeons broke the silence as they cooed and fluttered from a wall cranny on one side of the canal to the flower arrangement on a windowsill of the opposite side. As we neared an intersection, the gondolier gave out a singsong call in Italian, which he shortly explained to be a signal meant to let other gondoliers know he was coming. The bobbing bow of the gondola began to veer to the right as we neared a low bridge. Our oarman then delivered the capping detail. On our left, just past the bridge, we were approaching the old house of Giacomo Casanova, the greatest Venetian lover. To me, this seemed all too perfect a place. I leaned to my left and rested my head against Cassie’s, whispering to her that yesterday was wonderful, and today looked like it was going to be as well. We were coming out to the other side of the bridge. Just as she began to ask “Why?” I continued with a statement that I hoped there would be many more great days to come, and gently lowered myself from my seat to face her, on one knee. I raised up the pearly package and cracked it open, delivering the much anticipated line “Cassie Stone, will you marry me?” In that celebrated moment, the damsel was smiling, but clearly on the verge of tears, as she let out a half-whimper, half-giggle, and took the ring, beyond words. After a moment, she managed an amorous “Yes!” and the rest, as they say, is history. The gondolier could not stand by and awkwardly ignore the incident, but chose to approach it gracefully. After we had finished a hug and a kiss, he leaned down to me and commented that it was “Very romantic,” followed by “congratulations, sir,” and shook my hand. We finished our tour not too long thereafter, coming back round towards the bridge of Rialto, and enjoyed much of the rest of the day simply walking Venice and enjoying the sights. It is hard to understand how content one can be to simply WALK in Venice, and look at the trinkets on display in shop windows, and sample the ice cream from the gelato shops on literally every corner. Coupled with the lovely weather, Venice had turned out to be the perfect stop for this leg of our European adventure.

Even besides the engagement, Cassie and I both have decided that this place has been by a wide margin our favorite thus far on our trip, and we would both come back in a heartbeat. Cassie claims it’s her favorite place on earth, with or without the diamond ring (honestly!), and so far as I’ve been in my travels I’m finding it hard to disagree.

In any case, that evening Cassie called home to let everyone know what had transpired, and I left a brief and telling message on my parents’ answering machine. To our further delight, the following morning we were met with a splendid surprise! My parents had called around and done all they could to get us something special for when we got up, and a man from the restaurant leaned through the door around noon of the next day (while we were just finally finishing our morning preparations after a relaxing sleep-in), with a note, two glasses, and a bottle of champagne! We thanked him, popped the cork, and toasted one another, before heading off for our last day in the city. There we enjoyed a much enviable boat tour of the Grand Canal, complete with even more sparkling wine, specially served for the 8 passengers onboard, and learned further new things about the different parts of the city. After snapping a final few pictures and saying our goodbyes to its watery boulevards, we retired one last time to Alba D’Oro and slept well.

The following day, that being today (or technically yesterday, since while I have been writing this it has now grown so late) we flew together out of Italy and onwards to Brussels, Belgium. The far more familiar scenery of a typical temperate clime was welcoming and yet disappointing, because Italy had been so grand. French is again the language of choice, so we will once more be able to communicate on a base level, instead of pointing, trying English, and flashing money (haha). But all of this is for another blog entry, and I’ll leave that for the aftermath of our explorations here. Thank you all for waiting for this rather behind schedule series of updates! The free wi-fi in this hostel was a blessing indeed.