We woke up at 6.30 am to a beautiful early morning light sparkling on the waters of the lagoon. It would be too strong a word to say we are sad to leave Venice but it's a place that tugs at the heartstrings in a way that's hard to define. It feels slightly like a world apart and we have enjoyed every moment of being here. Gill loved standing clutching the hand rail on the Vaporetto with the wind blowing on her hair as we crossed the choppy waters of the lagoon and watched as the pink ornate facade of the Doge's Palace drew close.  We passed sleek polished water taxis and grubby old boats transporting building materials. We saw old ladies leaning out of windows watching the world go by and self-conscious tourists sitting in gondolas with the slightly uncomfortable air of people who wonder if they paid rather too much for an experience that hasn't turned out to be as spectacular as they had hoped.  

 

Last evening as we rode the vaporetto back to the Lido we watched as two gondolas set off from in front of St Mark's Square. An afternoon wind had suddenly blown up and the gondolas were bobbing about like corks. The most common travellers in these magnificent ornate craft are romantic couples but these two gondolas held four Chinese tourists apiece. I'm guessing this was their first time ever in such a small craft so close to the water and they looked distinctly queasy. I made some comment to Gill that they had probably negotiated a group rate.  A rather elegantly dressed Venetian gentleman standing behind us obviously heard part of the comment but mistook the word .'Rate' for 'Race'. In excellent English he commented,

 

'Yes indeed it looks as if the two boats are in a race. Perhaps there are only two seats left in the Chinese restaurant they are going to"

 

It took me a second or so so to process this and decide how  to react. I decided that even if there was more than a hint of racism in the comment,  it was brilliantly suited to the moment. 

 

Last night we returned to the same restaurant we had eaten in the night before. Eating in restaurants when you travel is very much a hit or miss affair. Very occasionally you strike lucky and find a special place where food, decor, atmosphere, and service come together to create a special magic. Andri's was such a place. The proprieter was the Chef, his wife managed front of house and his son and daughter served tables.  They only served sea food. Everything was simple but superlative. We were just two strangers who walked into their restaurant but they made us feel like we were stars from the Venice film festival who had dropped in. When we were waiting to pay, the we saw a discreet picture board with photos of people like Giorgio Armani, J.K Rowling and Gene Hackman smiling beside Andri. I realised at that moment what I liked most about the restaurant. I doubt very much whether the famous stars received any better treatment than we did from Andri and his family.

 

The transport strike we had read about failed to materialise so we got to the train  station in good time. The plan was to take a 10 minute train ride from Venice to Mestre and then transfer to a high speed train to Trieste.  Unfortunately things did not work out quite as expected.  The train stopped at a station which we thought was Mestre but there were no signs visible on the platform to conform this. Gill asked a woman if this was indeed Mestre and she nodded yes. I asked a man sitting near the door and he said 'no'. What to do? I realised the the train would leave at any moment and had to take a decision.  I reasoned that the main station where you change for Venice would surely have prominent signage to help the many millions of passengers that must pass through it in a year.

 

We stepped back in the train, still not totally certain we were making the right decision. Trying to hide my growing alarm, I asked another passenger if this was Mestre. At the exact moment he smiled and said 'yes', the train doors shut. We rushed back to the door only to see the platform sliding away. We had assumed that the train terminated in Mestre and had not bothered to check the final destination.

 

I'm certain I have had nightmares which followed this exact script with the big  difference that I was able to wake up and feel relieved it was not actually true. This, however, was all too true. Gill looked ashen as the reality of our situation sank in. We were trapped in a train with absolutely no idea where we were going nor where it would next stop.

 

After the adrenaline had subsided somewhat I remembered that my phone's GPS would probably show in which direction we were headed.  Sure enough, there was the little arrow indicating that we were travelling in a northerly direction.  This was excellent news insofar as we were not travelling south from Venice -which would have been away from Trieste. I followed the track north on my map and saw that although the line branched in several places there was a strong possibility that this very train was bound for Trieste. That seemed too good to be true.  

 

At that moment the ticked inspector arrived. How to explain our predicament?  He quickly grasped the full extent of my stupidity and was at pains to reassure me that the train did indeed go to Trieste. No, there was no problem with not having the right ticket. Gill had by now resigned herself to the prospect of ending up in some godforsaken abandoned station in the Dolomites and forced to sleep on a bench on the platform so cheered up considerably at this new turn of events. I could see that she was trying very hard not to blame me for depriving her of a first class seat in a flashy Frecciarossa express complete with wifi and a bottle of Prosecco. This pillar-to-post lumbering train was not what she had envisioned. However she seemed to take my point that regional slow trains let you see the countryside at a more leisurely pace and it was interesting to see just how many small dilapidated stations the train actually stopped at. She even smiled when I said I thought slow trains were better for the environment.

 

 

Much to our relief we finally  arrived in Trieste.