Venice and the Venetian Islands

This past weekend, the API team took students on a two-day excursion to Venice, Murano, and Burano. 

Part 1:

   The day began with a 5:45 alarm. I felt the all-too familiar pain in my stomach from some mysterious glutening. I made myself eat a banana on my way out the door, convinced that food would make me feel better—and everyone needs a little potassium! My roommates and I stumbled onto the bus, and I nestled in for the 5 hour bus ride that followed.

   I decided that, given the fact that our free time in Venice was limited, I would do my half hour of prayer on the bus ride (I have decided to do a half an hour of prayer in a church a day for Lent; my original plan was to give up chocolate, but I felt that the Lord had better plans for me. He would most definitely prefer that I not keep myself from any more food, and choose a more enriching sacrifice, such as time). The Tuscan hillsides seemed an appropriate backdrop for prayer, and it gave me something to meditate on. It was my most peaceful prayer time thus far. In order to block out the noise around me, I slipped my ear buds in and put Kristen Chenoweth’s “Just As I Am” on repeat, laid back in my chair, and started my conversation with God as the sun rose over a steeple outside my window.

   I drifted in and out of sleep throughout the prayer, feeling so calm being completely vulnerable with Him. After finishing about 15 minutes of my usual “I am not worthy of your love” routine, I decided to instead listen to “Just As I Am” one time through and actually pay attention to the lyrics.

   I had listened to this song on repeat approximately 5 times at this point in the prayer, but on the 6^th time through, I was finally struck with its meaning.

   I have somehow convinced myself that I am not worthy of God’s love, and that it is in God’s best interest not to help or love me because I am a sinner. Even if God offers His love, I believe that I am not ‘qualified’ to take it. This way of thinking must stop, because God does not expect me to come to Him in perfection. The beauty of God and His mercy is that He wants me now. God wants me to come to Him just as I am…in my mess, my confusion, and my anxieties. When I don’t know where to turn, God wants me to come to Him. Even if I have doubts; even if I am not as faithful to His will as I should be. He wants me to come and confess and draw myself closer to Him.

   As I prayed, I got the image of a shepherd calling to his sheep. A distraught and distracted sheep in the field sees the beckoning shepherd, and slowly walks over to the shepherd, fearful and unsure with every step he takes. The sheep looks around, hesitant and tempted, wanting to get to the shepherd for safety but unable to look away at all that is around him. As the sheep approaches the feet of the shepherd, the sheep has tears in its eyes, discouraged from the distracting journey.

   Yes, it is unfortunate that the sheep is distracted and feeling this emotional turmoil.

   But where is the sheep?

   Faithfully at the feet of its shepherd.

   Even though it was a struggle, even though there were distractions…the sheep is at the feet of the shepherd.

   Will the shepherd reprimand the sheep for coming to it despite the struggles it has endured? Will the shepherd hate the sheep because the sheep faced temptations and struggled with those temptations?

   No. The shepherd loves the sheep because of the sheep’s decision to obey, not in spite of it.

   To be God’s and offer myself to God as His sheep, I need to follow His bidding and dedicate what I do to Him. I need to present myself to Him as I am and accept His love and mercy with repentance and thanksgiving, but without question. I will struggle here on earth, but if I come to His feet, He will not judge the tears in my eyes, but will rather wipe them away lovingly. He doesn’t judge me because I am struggling. He sees that I am struggling and appreciate that I am kneeling at His feet.

   With these thoughts, I concluded my prayer time with the Father, and fell asleep feeling at peace.

Part 2

   After awaking in a large parking lot in Venice, we left our suitcases on the bus and boarded a private ferry to San Marco. I reunited with several friends I had made during the trip to Rome (Renee, Shea, and Taylor). The ferry ride (a little sickening at the very end when the boat started rocking) was gorgeous. The water was murky but a striking teal color—impossible to capture in photographs. We exited the boat 4 bridges away from San Marco Square, where we met with our tour guide.

   I usually love guided tours. I take notes on what the guides are saying and make a point to be attentive to every detail in order to soak in as much culture as possible. I don’t know if it was the tour guide’s monotonic voice, her strange European phrasing, or the fact that I was surrounded by gondolas and stands brimming with lace parasols and Venetian masks. But I could not focus on the tour. I know we walked by a palace, a jail of some sort, and to the church and clock tower in San Marco Square. But I will sadly never be able to recall the details of the architecture and the island’s history.

   But, I hope to be okay with that. I was overcome by the beauty of the place. The sky was a piercing, cloudless blue, and the beautiful narrow streets, canals, and steeples against the sky were just so beautiful. I could not look away.

   We watched as the clock tower struck midday. The large bronze statues at the top of the tower physically moved to make the bell sound, and the roman numerals signaling that it was 11:55 changed to 12:00. It looked strikingly similar to the fashion that “It’s A Small World” comes to life at the top of the hour, releasing dancing figures from within.

   I wanted to fill my water bottle during the tour at one of the fountains spouting natural spring water, but when we came across a street fountain, a yellow lab was having the time of his life drinking out of it. I couldn’t disrupt him.

   We stopped by a mask-making shop, where we were able to watch from outside as a man carved a large paper mache mask. The masks were abundant in this city, cluttering every storefront and kiosk.

   We also found an alley with not 1, but 2 cats—my first Italian cats, with the exception of one I saw inside a store in Florence the first month. The best moment of my life thus far.

   Shea and Taylor split away from the group halfway through, leaving Renee and I to finish the tour. We walked over to the other end of Venice overlooking the Grand Canal. There was a fish fry special in one of the squares, where 10 euro would buy a plate of fried fish and a glass of wine. I waited as the students lined up for their fish (a boisterous Italian man was working the line, shouting loudly to anyone who walked by). After waiting, Renee and I went to the waterside, where I cracked open my Tupperware container of leftover risotto.

   Following lunch, we went to the produce market, where we purchased dried fruit. I spent 1.10 on a few slices of dried kiwi, which we munched on as we walked, deciding what to do for the next 5 hours.

   The best way to get lost and explore in Venice, we decided, was to try to get back to the meeting point that was assigned for the end of the day. So, we chose the direction we thought was correct and headed forward, stopping in shops as we went to peruse the glass figurines, lace handkerchiefs, and Venetian masks.

   As we were taking pictures of our 20^th canal, a gondola driver approached us asking if we wanted a 30-minute ride for 60 euro. I wanted to find a larger group to split the ticket cost with, as it was 60 euro for one boat, which could fit up to 5 people. Sensing my hesitancy, the gondola man offered 50 euro for the two of us—25 each. I was still hesitant, but Renee was determined. The man directed us to a cash machine, and as we left, I prayed that we would catch someone else who was interested in splitting a gondola ride with us. Sure enough, as we made our way to the cash machine, I spotted two girls I had recalled seeing on the API bus. I yelled over to them, asking if they were with API and if they wanted to split a gondola with us.

   Their names were Meagan and Sarah, and as we piled into the gondola, we became instant friends. We spent the remainder of the day with them, walking through San Marco Square, into the basilica, and up to the high tower overlooking all of Venice.

   We watched the sunset from the ferry ride back to land, and made our way to the hotel (which was, thankfully, in the middle of nowhere, ensuring that no one could go out and get drunk. Our only option was to stay in—I was thrilled!).

   On the ride back, our chaperone informed us that dinner would be served in the hotel restaurant upon our arrival, and we would be treated to a three-course meal of pasta, chicken and vegetables, and cheesecake. As we exited the bus, I was handed an index card with a large red line on it, which I was to place on my plate at the hotel so the servers knew I was gluten intolerant. As she handed me my card, the chaperone whispered, “They have prepared you rice for dinner and fruit for dessert.” I was a little disappointed, but wanted to seem grateful.

   I received a surprise at dinner, however, as the restaurant changed their minds at the last minute and prepared gluten free pasta! I had my pasta as a first course, along with everyone else, and was served chicken, potatoes, and green beans as my second course (from a special serving dish that did not touch anything else). By the time the first two courses were completed, I was so full that I knew I could tolerate just having fruit for dessert.

   After the second course, a waiter approached me and said, “Would you like fruit or tiramisu for dessert?” I looked at him, and said, “Huh?” He smiled and repeated, “Fruit or tiramisu?” I laughed, and said, “Um, tiramisu…please?”

   Is that even a question?
   It was my first one, and I loved it!

   I went to sleep full, happy, and sunburnt from a full day.

Part 3

   For our second day in Venice, we were traveling to Murano and Burano—the Venetian islands of glass and lace, respectively.

   The hotel breakfast consisted of bread, deli meats, yogurt, and granola—all things I could not eat.         

   There was a bowl of cut fruit, and I went to investigate, only to find it dotted with breadcrumbs, as it was positioned directly next to the deli station.

   I recognized my waiter from the previous night, Davide, and approached him. I pointed to the deli meats (figuring that was better than nothing), and said, “Safe for Celiac?”

   He shook his head, and motioned for me to wait as he studied and memorized my face. He then said, “Okay, you go sit down. I be back.”

   I sat down as my friends got their food. In a few moments, Davide appeared with two heaping plates of food—one full of prepackaged gluten free products I never splurge on in the grocery store, and another with fresh, uncontaminated deli meats and a steaming gluten free roll—the best bread I have ever had in my life.

   Apparently, the bread everyone else had was tasteless and the yogurt tasted funny. They were all looking at my plate, jealous. It’s ironic—I would have given anything to have not been a nuisance for these poor waiters and enjoy a huge bowl of yogurt and granola and some bread, and these students, who take food so much for granted, were dissatisfied and, for once, were jealous of me!

   After breakfast, the students (still complaining about their breakfast) boarded the bus, where we headed back to the ferry station. It was a 50-minute boat ride to Murano. I sat on the upper deck in order to admire the view. As the wind picked up, students in their tee shirts and leggings retreated to the interior of the boat downstairs. Pretty soon, I was sitting alone on the deck. I’m sure I looked ridiculous sitting up there alone (there was one other student huddled in the back corner with his ear buds in and a fixed stare). Yes, it was cold. But it was a ferry ride through the Venetian lagoon…I was not about to miss out.

   The ferry spit us out right at the back entrance of a glass blowing factory, or Fornace, called “Vetreria Artistica Emmedue.” Inside, we received a 10-minute demonstration in which a glass blowing expert made a gorgeous plate, as well as a horse figurine, with expert speed and accuracy. I was astonished by how a glowing ball on the end of a long pole, with a few spins and plucks of a tweezer, could become a gorgeous work of art in less than 5 minutes.

   I don’t like buying things. I am not a ‘souvenir’ type of girl. In all my travels on this trip (Rome, Austria, and Switzerland), I have only bought myself gluten free bread and granola found in the grocery stores at lower prices than in Florence. Bread is my souvenir.

   But I spent some money in that glass factory. I purchased my mother a gift, and treated myself to a fork-and-spoon bundle that will go in my hope chest and will be used as impressive serving utensils at future parties I host.

   We then boarded the ferry and headed to Burano, the famed island of brightly colored houses, narrow canals, and lace shops.

   I loved Burano—it was my favorite place I have visited so far. Probably because I had some “me time” on the island—which is so small that it is impossible to get lost. The minute we exited the boat, I wished that I was a professional photographer so I could capture everything I was seeing. The doors, framed with stained glass, were adorned with abstract shapes and unique doorknobs.

I walked through a few shops and a lace museum with Shae and Taylor, looking for a “something new” for Juli’s wedding (I can’t post what I eventually purchased, in case she peeks at the blog).       

   However, I separated from Shae and Taylor in order to allow them to sit in a café and eat. I took my peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had packed and walked along the canal, snapping pictures along the way.

   I stopped in various shops, meeting elderly women who showed me the lace butterflies they made by hand (I purchased one—who doesn’t need a lace butterfly?)

   Before I knew it, it was time to board the ferry, and I watched as the brilliantly colored houses sank into the lagoon behind us.

   As I began my 30 minutes of prayer on the bus ride back to Florence, I closed my eyes and tried to block out the sounds of the students around me. I prayed for a patient heart—being surrounded by 300 drunk study abroad students for an entire weekend took up most of my patience, and at this point in the trip I had grown bitter and judgmental.

   I looked out the window, and watched as the sun set over the fields. I thought of the prayer I had said just a day prior as I watched the sun rise. What a blessing it was to begin and end this gorgeous trip with silent time with my Father. I was truly blessed for wonderful friendships, stunning weather, and unforgettable views that a camera could not possibly capture.