Venice and Carnivale!!

Hola otra vez! First week of classes for me is over, and everything is going well! But before we get to that stuff, let’s tackle Italy, shall we?

OH, I almost forgot to mention something from Morocco that I left out of the last blog—the Hammam. A Hammam is basically a public bathhouse where many Moroccan’s go to about once a week to get reallllly clean. The way Sarah (our guide) explained the Hammam experience is that it’s “like taking a bucket bath in a sauna.” Which is pretty much exactly right. A lot of people were pretty nervous about it, and some didn’t even go, but because I’ve done public baths before (thank you, Japan!) and I was really jonesin’ to get clean, I was very eager to go see what this Hammam thing was. It seemed a bit like a pool in the sense that there are changing rooms where you get nekid (or put on a bathing suit or underwear if you’re modest, which none of the Moroccan’s did—I left on my panties so as not to traumatize my more sheltered peers, but definitely went topless—imagine trying to get clean while still wearing a bra, it sounds annoying, right?). Then, you take your towel, your little scooper cup, a scrubby glove they gave us and this special Hammam soap, and go into the washing room. That room is warm and steamy and very slippery. You take a big bucket and fill it with water, then stake out a corner and get down with your bad self. Haha. The special Hammam soap smelled kind of weird, but it got me cleaner than I think I’ve ever been in my life—it must have special exfoliating stuff, plus special moisturizing stuff, because I felt all happy and clean and soft afterwards, and not TOO much like I’d just scrubbed off the top five layers of my skin. It got pretty packed in there because we were a rather large group of Americans, plus our Moroccan helpers, plus normal Moroccans who looked seriously peeved to have their weekly cleaning ritual interrupted by these weird, bathing-suit-clad foreigners. (PS. We went to a women’s Hammam—yes, there are also ones for guys, gentlemen.) I was very glad we got to go to the Hammam, because it seems like it’s a pretty unique and fascinating part of their culture, and I was also extraordinarily grateful for the opportunity to get seriously clean—and I DID feel like I stayed clean for the next two showerless days. Hallelujah!

Alright, vamos a Italia! Directly after getting back from Morocco—and I mean RIGHT away, as in, about ten hours later—I hopped on a bus, a bus, another bus, a plane, yet another bus, a train, another train, and then one final bus to get to our hostel in Venice, Italy. It was an epic voyage of over 13 hours, no joke. Happily, our transportation costs were minimal, but even so, next time I might splurge and cut out a few of the buses or something. The first night we arrived in Venice at around seven or eight, so we decided to go into town for dinner and a night walk through the water city, and it was absolutely magical. I tried to take a few pictures, but they weren’t turning out so I just put the camera away and enjoyed it. Venice at night is… like being in a dream world. The water is a beautiful deep blue-green, and it almost shimmers. (I bet the canals are actually really nasty, but they look pretty!) I felt like we were going to turn a corner and suddenly be in 15th century Venice, walking shoulder to shoulder with people straight out of history, or maybe fairy tales… or maybe my dreams.

The next day, we spent all day just walking around the city, popping into little tourist shops and mask shops, and getting lost and finding our way back to familiar turf. I think the entire time we were in Venice we consulted our map maybe three times, because honestly, it’s more fun not to. I have to say, I probably spent too much money on little glass trinkets (a little family of glass crabs? Yes, please!), but I also have to say, WORTH IT. I’m not a huge souvenir person, so I know when I like something, and I know what I’m willing to spend my money on. Plus, I saved on food. That’s coming up. Anyways, that whole day was fantastic, and by the end of it, we had seen pretty much each touristy sight in Venice plus quite a bit of the more backstreet, residential areas. I was proud. Tired, but proud. (OH, and we definitely had gelato every single day. Pistachio, tiramisu, lemon, chocolate, nutella, berry, etc…) We went back to our hotel satisfied and conked out.

Circa 5 am, I woke up with violent stomach pain. It literally felt like my stomach was on fire, and it was also distended. I tried to just drink some water and go back to sleep, but no dice. Long story short, I threw up three times before Darynn, the girl I was travelling with, woke up at around 10am. She was really kind and went out and bought me saltines, iced tea, and sprite, but I still threw up one more time around noon before my stomach decided to calm down and cooperate. I was really weak and feverish for the rest of the day, and I couldn’t lie on my sides without significant abdominal pain. I definitely didn’t eat anything other than saltines for the rest of the day, but my stomach was still way bigger than normal and painful.

The next day, we went out during the afternoon and evening, because it was Saturday and the opening day of Carnivale. I struggled a lot and had to take a lot of sit-down-and-clutch-my-huge-stomach moments, but I still really enjoyed myself somehow. My mom says I must have been delirious, and I think I have to agree. I didn’t eat any solid food that day either, but I did have some yummy minestrone soup broth for dinner! And after dinner was the opening show of Carnivale on Piazza San Marco!! I wore my mask—bought in a backstreet artisan shop where we saw the dude making masks in the back room—and we joined the crowds of excited tourists. There were a LOT of French people there, and this one really sweet old French guy who was there with his wife gave me some gummy bears to help my throat because I got a really bad cough about halfway through the show. (I think it was the smoke—everyone smokes like a chimney in Europe—ok not everyone, but you know.) I was so happy I could thank him sincerely in his own language.

Oh man, let’s talk about language confusion in Italy. I kept being like, “Quiero, uh, chocolate, I mean, chocolato, et, euh, limon, umm, limone? Merci—uh, I mean, Grazie. SHIT.” My brain literally wanted to explode sometimes. Everything was allllmost Spanish, but then again some things were more like French…. but the pronunciation and the tone seemed almost completely foreign, and incredibly intoxicating. I wished so much that I spoke Italian, but each time I tried, I think I failed miserably. But then once I got back to Spain I was saying “Scuzi” and “Grazie” for a whole day before I got back into Spanish, so maybe I have an aptitude for Italian? Maybe I’m lying to myself. :P

Anyways, our last day was probably the most exciting of all, even though we only had half the day to spend in Venice. Carnivale was really getting into swing, and we saw two parades, both of which I didn’t really understand but thought were awesome. We also spent some time just hanging around San Marco taking pictures of all the crazy awesome costumes people were wearing. After awhile, I kind of stopped taking pictures and just enjoyed the experience of being transported to a different era by all the activity and the masks and extravagant clothing. It was really a once in a lifetime experience, I think, and it completely made me forget about my awkward stomach, which I very much appreciated.

I cheated and bought two masks. Ha! I was like, shoot, I can’t buy anything REALLY big and cool because I have to take it back in my tiny book bag, and ryanair won’t let me have anything outside of that bag. So I picked a simple one out that I really like—you’ll see it in some of my pictures, it’s magenta and gold and really lovely, I think. THEN, I found a blue-green one that was a little smaller but really brought out the color in my eyes and that I just adored and it wasn’t THAT expensive, so I said, why not? And I’m really glad I did. I think there’s no better souvenir from Carnivale in Venice than real, beautiful masks, and I’m for sure going to hang them on the wall in my apartment when I decorate this summer. (I bet some of you are going, what is this apartment she keeps mentioning?! Surprise! I’m flying solo this summer and I’ll have a place of my own in the Ham! Yay!)

The trip back to Granada wasn’t quite as grueling because we took the train to Bergamo on Sunday night and spent the night in a hostel before our 6:30am flight back to Sevilla on Monday morning. I also found it helpful that they played a dubbed version of that movie with Ashton Kutcher (where he goes to visit his black girlfriend’s family and her dad give him hell) on the bus from Sevilla to Granada—what was the name of that movie? Anyways, it’s really hilarious when it’s in enthusiastic Spanish and you’re delirious from lack of sleep and food. :P

Wow! I’m very proud; I was super concise about Venice. I hope I didn’t forget anything. Oh! I just found something I jotted down in my notebook while in Venice and think would make a good little conclusion to this post:

“Venice is so magical, and I feel so good and at ease here. I’m glad we came; I can’t imagine a better place to be right now. It’s weird to think of going back to life in Granada after being in Morocco and Venice. What an intense week of experiences and LIVING—what pure, unadulterated life. Thank you, universe, for restoring my sense of wonder and gratitude, and for giving me these beautiful experiences which remind me of two things I’d forgotten—-hope and joy.”

Pura vida, queridos.
Kelsey