Tina Time

The only unfriendly Italians we met while we were there were the concierges at the hotel in Venice. A woman in the evening and a man during the daytime, each was tall, thin, dark and much better dressed than you would imagine a hotel concierge could afford. The hotel itself was small, only 37 rooms. It was quaint and all the other hotel employees smiled shyly at us in the hallway and seemed quite nice.

But the issues with both concierges (they were practically interchangeable in looks, age, demeanor and (lack of) manners) went on and on. When our luggage didn't arrive with us, we had to call the airport to follow up. The instruction sheet was in Italian, as was the recording when I called the phone number, the only thing on the page that I could read. When I went to the front desk, the woman was on the phone, speaking in Italian and not missing a breath as I waited for her attention. When she finally finished her call, she turned to me with a disdain tht let me know that she had much better things to do than to help me.

Later that evening we wanted to get something to eat so we asked at the front desk for a recomendation. Once again, she looked down her nose and said there were no restaraunts open at this time. We mentioned tht we had seen some restaraunts on our way in. "Oh", she said casually, "you don't want to go there, they are no good". But, we were hungry so headed out around the corner.

The small restaraunt we found was plain but full with every table inhabited by interesting looking people and the variety of languages was astounding. While the meal was not the best we had in Italy, it was a decent meal, with friendly service and lots of local flavor. The next day, it was cold and raining and stll without luggage, we wanted to head out and really begin to see the city. Once again we asked the concierge, this time the male version, if there were any shops close by. He assured us, no place we would want to go. We headed to the city, found a small shop across town and continued on to have a very nice day. That evening, while walking off dinner we passed two different mens sports clothes and menswear shops. what gives?

But the ultimate insult came on the last day we were in Venice. We had hoped to tour the glass blowing factory, but were worried that it would be cutting it too close with our train tickets to Florence. So we got up, ate our breakfast, packed our bags and headed for the front desk. Our train left around 11am and we knew our hotel was "somewhere" close to the train station. We headed to the front desk and asked directions. This time both conceirges were there. These were elegant, well dressed and attractive people. Tthe sardonic smile on each of thier faces was just the final touch to create the caricature they appeared.

Thier English was accented, but excellent, so this was not a communication problem. We asked about the train station and they offered directions, saying it was over the bridge (our room looked out over a canal) and then "right there". We took off, confident that if it was as close and obvious as thier directions, we should be able to see it once we crossed the bridge. We pulled our luggage up the stairs, across the small bridge and down the stairs on the other side, looking expectantly for a sign of a train station. There was actually a bus station right there, so we figured we were close. We walked up and once again, no sign of a train station. We asked a policemen, who waved us down a gangway, blocks away from where we had been looking. We headed down the street, down the gangway, but alas, no train stration in sight. There were many people walking in each direction on this alley like street facing the Grand Canal on our right and a quasi-strip mall with a few small businesses facing the walkway. Up and down this alley we walked, dragging our roll behinds, and carrying cameras, purses, and my backpack. We asked several people, at least three, and all directed us one way or another until finally, one gentlemen mentioned that we had to take a water taxi across the canal to the train station! Are you kidding me, not once, at the hotel, at the bus station, from random strangers on the street, did a single soul mention the fact that we had to cross a major body of water to get to where we were going. Amazing. At least most of the people we asked seemed genuinely happy to help, so I cannot say the oversight was intentional.....We finally bought our tickets, jumped on the water taxi and rode to the train station, which was there in sight as we left the boat.