Whoever Said 'Getting There Is Half the Fun' - Lied.

Whoever said, ‘getting there is half the fun’ – Lied.

There are things about travel that you really don’t want to think about – like how you’re really going to get somewhere and how much it’s all going to cost.  Travel these days sucks and it has for about 12 or thirteen years now.  Not that it was a piece of cake before, but at least you felt like you were on your way to some grand adventure.  Now getting to where you’re going is in and of itself, the adventure.

My hubby and I have traveled before.  That’s not the problem. But for us it’s always the worst part of the vacation.  At 6’4, Michael is never really comfortable on a plane.  I realize that no one ever is, but if you’re my size, it’s at least a little better.  However, there’s nothing fun about 10+ hours squished up in a space that’s really not big enough for a Springer Spaniel, forget a regular or super-sized person.  And we always get the winners when it comes to flying.  You know the ones I mean… the snorers, the stinkers, and the 4 foot 7 female who has to recline her seat back right into the lap of my husband, two minutes after take-off. 

So this time we’re flying out of Miami, which sucks since we live about 12 seconds from the Fort Lauderdale airport, but whatever, we are heading to Italy for three weeks. This is a once in a lifetime kind of thing babycakes!   We fly through check in (thank you Lufthansa!) and then join a never ending queue for security.  I swear to God there are shorter lines at Disney World on July 4th.  And the stuff people try to get on the plane?!  This one lady was a rope length  ahead of me.  You know what I mean; no matter where we moved, she was always on the other side of the rope in front of me.  Anyway, she’s kicking her backpack forward because she is so important that she can’t stop texting for a minute, and I notice that’s she’s got a half empty water bottle sticking out of one of the outside pockets – NO, NO y NO!  She’s also got two oranges or tangerines, or something citrus-y in plain sight, oh and let’s not forget this wooden-tree object that I swear to God looks like an Australian version of a Billy-club poking out of the top.  Now I ask you, is it possible that this is her first plane ride ever?    I’m worried that I might have 3.2 ounces of shampoo in my carry on and the TSA is going to tase me for it and this chick’s got a weapon and is possibly transporting Amazonian fruit flies, but I’m the one that’s going to get strip searched.  Like Taylor Swift said, “I knew you were trouble when you walked in.”

Bitch walked right on through.

So 8 hours on an A-380 into Frankfurt, Germany, decent movies and lots of wine, but no sleep to speak of – by the way, you do not want to be a smoker passing through the airport there.  They lock you in this 10x12 glass box and make you inhale not only your smoke, but the smoke of all the other desperate Cancer-chasing goobers.  Plus you are literally on exhibit like a bunch of monkeys.  I actually felt sorry for them and as you can see from the above, I don’t feel sorry for smokers period, so that’s pretty damn bad.  

Frankfurt to Venice is really a piece of cake, one hour non-stop and you fly over the Swiss Alps low enough to take iPhone pictures.  It’s really quite cool.  Once on the ground, and the luggage is swishing its way down the belt to us.  All the pieces made it and if you’re anything like me, you basically break into the Hallelujah chorus when you realize it’s all going to be ok from here on out.

Except that we aren't there yet. 

Venice’s airport is on the mainland of Italy, Venice itself is an island in a lagoon with other smaller islands all surrounding it.  It’s still another hour plus by boat.  But first, we must schlep.  We've got about 150 lbs of luggage between the two of us, haven’t slept in almost 24 hours by this time and it’s a chilly 15 minute walk to where the boats are anchored.  Michael’s got it handled, but I cannot seem to drag my suitcase without it feeling like my shoulder is separating from my torso.  Seriously.  And I’m all over the little walkway.  This suitcase has a mind of its’ own and I am going to die from extreme shoulder pain and I’m going to take down some poor German tourist with me. 

Alilaguna ferry is another test.  When the boat arrives they throw out this 2 foot wide gang-plank for me to negotiate with my 300 lbs of luggage and by-now separated shoulder.  I couldn't keep it together on an 8 foot wide paved, on the ground not rocking over water, stretch of space but now they want me to walk the plank?  I am less than graceful under most normal circumstances.  These people really do not have a clue what they’re in for.

So the guy gives me a look, I stare him down, heft my 400 lbs of luggage strapped and dangling from my neck, shoulders and dragging behind me and go for it.  Woot.

I am badass.

An hour long ferry ride and we are finally close to our final destination.  We are trying to keep our eyes open on ride but both of us are sleep deprived and the stress is getting to us.  I can see it; I can feel it – if we can make it another 15 minutes winding through the narrow calles of Venice proper we will be home free.  But no one said anything about Aqua Alta!  The ferry bumps the quay and then we are forced to disembark into about 8” of water that’s lapping over the dock.  Whatever.  Michael is Superman and grabs all 900 lbs of luggage and leaps about 12 feet getting only a slight splash for his efforts.  I pick my way through and manage to only get wet up to mid calf.  Sigh.  Oh well, we are almost there.  Ten minutes later and everything has been dry through the route until we get to our hotel/apartment.  More water… this time there’s no getting around it.  Shoes off, pants rolled up and into the lobby that has about 4” of water in it.  Thankfully everyone is safe, we’re here and now the fun can begin.  Olga and Ali even manage to find us our own pairs of boots – just in case.

I don’t want to think about ‘just in case’…