By the time we arrive in Copenhagen it is around 9:00 on Tuesday morning, thanks to the miracle of west to east air travel. After stepping off of the flight, we all pass through security, at which I hear one of the airport workers tell a woman is only a necessity for the passengers coming from the United States flights. During this process we are all confused about our film again as the blond-haired, blue-eyed security woman tells us our film won?t be a problem. (So which one is it?) Everyone has a terrible feeling that our pictures are going to develop as giant white blobs. At this point I am grateful I have brought the digital camera.
From the security point we walk through a gate where nice gentlemen stamp our passports. Mrs. Stoenner has been told that the airport in Copenhagen is relatively small so we will have no problem getting from gate to gate. She was misinformed. This thing is one long shopping mall from start to finish. I feel like I am at a mall with airplanes parked outside just for kicks! We start to pick up the pace because the flight is technically supposed to be boarding. However, as we start to discover, nothing associated with Italy or Italians is ever on time! Everyone is sitting in the tiny terminal reading a paper and we come in panting out of breath with rosy cheeks. I feel very foreign and very American. The girls are all talking very loud which is making me slightly embarrassed because as we are not in America anymore, no one is talking as loud as us.
Eventually we board the flight, which is more than half empty, and every one has seats separated from each other. The flight is relatively short in comparison to the last fiasco, and I am sitting on the aisle next to an older man at the window. Halfway through the flight I can look over him and see the Alps, which are absolutely breathtaking with the snowy white peaks and steep slopes.
When we land in Milan, we all head down to the baggage claim, where about 30 Middle Eastern looking kids (maybe they were Albanian) are either sleeping on benches with luggage or walking around the area. I remember what everyone has told me about sneaky little gypsy children and protectively clutch my purse close to me. Everyone?s luggage comes except for Hannah?s, so she and her mother go off to find it. Ten minutes later they have not returned so I go to find them where they inform me that they were standing in the wrong line?that?s Italian bureaucracy for you. While they wait in the line they hope is correct, the rest of us girls decide to go through Customs without them to let the tour director know what is going on. As I brace myself to go through customs, we walk pass German Shepards being held by security guards, who are definitely paying more attention to our behinds than our luggage.
Beyond the German Shepards I see a funny looking man with a clipboard who must be our tour director. So much for customs, I guess that was it. As we explain the situation, our tour guide, Mansel David, who looks like fatter Willy Wonka, takes us over to the group from Illinois. The airport security guards are possibly even more useless then the American TSA officers, as their main job is pretty much to walk around in groups wearing their crazy neon blue and orange jump suits, checking out women.
When we reach the Illinois group, they are composed of about ten high schoolers and ten parents/teachers. They are pretty calm and keep to themselves. Eventually Hannah and Mrs. Stoenner come to meet us and tell us that the airline is going to send Hannah?s luggage directly to the airport. Everyone walks out to the tour bus together where we meet Salvatore, who is to be our Italian bus driver until we arrive in Nice. Mansel then informs us that we must wait for the last group from Tennessee who has missed a connecting flight. So for the next four hours we spend our time wandering around the Milan Malpensa airport, which basically means sitting around looking at the Italians. I also discover that the men and women?s bathrooms face each other, and when one is exiting the women?s bathroom, one has a full view of men standing at the urinal.
Eventually the group from Tennessee arrives and we can begin our journey to Venezia. This group of kids is the most obnoxious group I have ever met. Most of them have just graduated and it is obvious they have come on this trip to do some drinking. The bus ride is expected to be about four and a half hours, but it ends up being much more due to the need for bathroom breaks and the traffic jams. I had the window seat during this time so I could look at all of the scenery, but I spend most of the time looking down into people?s cars. For the most part, people just look up at me and smile and wave.
The scenery along the highway is gorgeous, though much more industrial than I had imagined, and the people drive like madmen. Every five minutes there is a beautiful cathedral or a castle, something that I am definitely not used to seeing in the states. Eventually we arrive in a small tourist town called Lido di Jesolo, where we will be staying because it would be way too expensive to actually stay in Venice. There are people walking all over the place or riding bicycles, and hardly anybody driving a car. We drive for a couple of minutes looking for our hotel until we discover that the main street closes at night so that people can stroll without worrying about being hit by crazy Italians.
Our hotel, the Hotel International, is modest and located right off the main street. There is a neon green glow around the ground floor of the hotel, but it might just be the bright green awnings that are throwing me off. After about five minutes we proceed to our rooms, which means dragging our suitcases up five flights of stairs. I am rooming with Britt and Allie.
My initial reaction to our hotel room is shock. I was expecting modest conditions, but I wasn?t actually expecting to get modest conditions, if that makes any sense whatsoever. The room is about the size of our dining room, and contains three twin beds, a small TV and a bathroom, as well as a view down to the street. The window is my favorite part of the room because the windowpanes open and give way to a sea green colored shutter that can be opened and closed as well. The bathroom itself is an entirely different experience. When we open the door, a sink is straight ahead, a toilet and a badÅ e, which is out of order, to the right, and a showerhead to the left. The shower is literally like turning on a hose without water pressure, and when we take showers the entire bathroom floods! Fortunately, not everything is drenched because there is a ?shower curtain? that looks like it is being held up by a broken umbrella.
After dumping our suitcases and looking longingly at our beds, everyone heads downstairs for dinner. Brittany, Allie, and I choose to sit at a table towards the back of the room. On top of the bright red tablecloth is a basket of stale bread (apparently the Italians love this stuff because it is hard everywhere here), a pitcher of water, and an assortment of oils. The waiters, whom I believe also own the hotel, bring everyone out a pasta dish, which reminds me of my dad?s macaroni and cheese with beef. By this time I am stuffed, but nevertheless we are encouraged to visit the salad bar before the second course comes. What?? I just had dinner! I pass on the salad bar and try to convince myself that I can eat a second course. The second course is a veal dish with beans. I was not convincing enough. I can?t eat it. Desert comes, which is a big bowl of fruit, and we all decide to go walk around the town for a while and see what is going on.
The main street of Lido di Jesolo is very vivacious. All of the tourist trap shops are open, though it seems no one is inside any of them, and everyone is either strolling the streets with their girlfriends or boyfriends, or sitting down to eat a meal. Keep in mind by this time it is about 10:30. The Europeans all eat very late. As we pass one restaurant the waiter says ?Ciao,? but none of us respond and he mutters something annoyingly in Italian of which I can make out nothing except for a lot more ?ciao?s.? We all guess he is saying something like, ?stupid Americans, I hate tourists.? Some of us decide we should get Euros for tomorrows trip to Venice, so we go in search of an ATM machine. Without any luck in that department, we walk into one of the chit shops and I see a woman singing along to a song in Spanish. I ask her if she speaks Spanish and she does! I am able to carry on a conversation with her, which is the highlight of the evening for me mind you, and she basically tells me that there is no ATM or bank near that is open at this time of night. Tired and spent, we all head back to our hotel rooms where we fall asleep to the sounds of really bad karaoke coming from the streets.