One Night in Venice

Back to my holiday adventures cos I can tell you're all dying to hear about that obese man I promised you.

Last time I went to Venice, I almost died. It was literally the hottest place on Earth. At least in somewhere like the Gobi Desert you might get a nice breeze. That city is the epitome of 'sun trap'. I was also wearing many clothes because the tour guide played that old 'they don't let you in places in shorts' gag - never believe that, ALL LIES!

So remembering the heat horror of last time we decided to go on a 'Venice by Dusk' trip. Awww, how romantic that must have been I hear you cry...um, no.

We got there at about three in the afternoon and it was still like being a foot away from the centre of the frickin' sun. You just could not stand in the light or you melted. St Mark's Square was a sight - every single tourist crammed into one corner to escape the burning rays. Also, and I don't mean to be offensive but the place was teeming with Americans. Don't get me wrong, I love the Yanks but there is something a little wrong about hearing,
"Morton!! 20 euros! How much is that in dollars?! Morton! Let's get in that church quick before the Japanese get in there!", in the middle of Ye Olde Venice. I almost stabbed this girl in the back because we were walking behind her and she kept saying, 'It costs a dollar to use the bathroom in this place'. No, it costs one euro and 'this place' happens to be one of the most beautiful cities in the world and certainly the most unique so stop talking about it like it's EuroDisney. She also later asked, 'I've seen their Burger King but where is the Starbucks?'

And not to go on but this was funny - wife of Morton and I were in a shop where they were selling silk scarves (for 12 euros which was apparently $15 as Morton had to calculate) and she was saying loudly how her friend wanted something in a royal blue. She must have heard me talking because she turned to me and said, 'Oh, you're British? Can you tell me which of these is most like royal blue?' WTF? Then she started going on about 'the Queen's capes that she wears' and I had to slowly back away.

So onto the gondola ride - I was most excited because I had been prevented from gondola-ness before because I was told it was far too expensive. Apparently it was 30 euros, which is a bit of a rip-off seen as it's basically a short ride on backwaters in a lump of oak but you can charge those prices when you're the only place in the world that does it.

So, in the wobbly gondola I got and got myself all seated in the red fluffy two-seater at the rear (yeah, it looked a little 'Moulin Rogue' meets 'Carry on up the Khyber') and I was all excited when this huge man got in. Now, I have no fat-ist issues - if you want to weigh 30 stone that's your deal, as long as you aren't down the NHS every week which come to think of it, you probably are - you selfish bastard). Yeah, anyway, gondolas and large people don't mix. We spent the entire journey tipped the left with danger of falling out. It didn't help that our gondolier was texting on his phone instead of watching where the fuck he was going. I'm good on and in the water because I grew up around boats but I was bricking it that we'd tip in and I would be crushed to my watery grave. Why? Why does this happen? Most people would have had a lovely time on a gondola ride but I end up with Pavarotti and the canal-navigating equivalent of Jake Gyllenhaal only not sexy.

Still Venice rocks, you should go and when you go will you get me a mask - I'm collecting them. I'm up to two.

I'll post some pics when I remember where they are.