Just to tidy up a few loose ends from our time in Mestre/Venice. On our last day in that location we took our foot off the gas and decided that we had given Venice our best concerted effort and opted to spend the morning and afternoon with Megan who had to be back with the twins at 2 pm. So we planned a manageable day trip to Treviso, which is just a one hour bus trip away.
Unlike Mestre which had little claim to fame other than being a bedroom community to Venice, Treviso had a substantial history and architecture to show for it.
Unlike the previous day we had companion seats right at the front of the bus where we could catch the driver’s ear for enhanced instructions for disembarking and finding our way to the tourist information office. No drama, just a smooth, rhythmic drive… snore, snort, ‘What! I was NOT sleeping! We’re here? That was fast’. I could fall asleep bungee jumping and Carol hates that because of the insomnia that she’s dealt with her whole life. So I’m constantly forced to defend myself for taking naps or falling asleep at the wheel or nodding off in the hot tub (the chlorinated water cleanses my sinuses, much like a neti pot does).
My friend Ken Friesen defines the term ‘power napper’. He locates a horizontal surface and assumes the position, closes the left eye, then the right and voila… instant coma. But for only 15 minutes, then he bolts upright, strides to the fridge for the makings of a corned beef sandwich, and then he’s ready to kick the can down the road as they say. I, on the other hand, am more of a cruise ship-style napper. I pull into port, drop anchor, and am ready to spend some serious time making the most of my situation until it’s time to slowly depart back to sea with longing and regret that I could not have stayed longer (1 hour 45 is the average time span, but depending on the season it could stretch to the maximum 2 hours. I wake up groggy and it’s usually happy hour so I straighten myself up for a beverage. A proper nap by all accounts.
A reasonable walk to the tourist information leaves us with our usual handful of brochures, free postcards, and throwback-sized map (Carol doesn’t quite trust the internet exclusively), you know what they say ‘plan a day trip, kill a tree’). It’s plain to see that we will only be able to scratch the surface on Treviso after looking over the options, plus the sky is darkening and the barometric pressure is falling (weather nerd alert!).
I don’t think we lasted an hour before the brick sidewalk was being splattered by raindrops. As fate would have it we were right next to a very interesting sustenance establishment, Quei Turbo Ragazzi. We initially perched under cover sitting beside the canal but after stepping inside to use the facilities we were pleasantly surprised to find a very comfortable lounge area with great bar seating and a talkative bartender/new friend.
She was of the wispy variety, with obligatory body art, and a good command of multiple languages and she barely rolled her eyes when I asked if they served any specialty gin drinks. Over her left shoulder I surveyed about 75 different gin bottles. As everywhere now the drinks and food menus were only available as a QR code so I was shooting in the dark when it came to making a choice (half of my Google searches are ‘how to read a QR code in front of an impatient waiter’). I went to my go-to face saving option ‘What would you recommend?’ She said the most asked for brand was a local variety called Dr. Mason housed in a very pedestrian bottle. I did notice that the pricing was very favorable compared to the stylish surroundings, so I crossed my fingers that we might have scored a hit once again with this location.
A heartbeat or two later she planted my drink before me with a flourish (ta da). It was in a cut, heavy weighted, tall rocks glass, with a 200ml specialty tonic set beside it. Normally you would pour a portion of tonic and then taste and then keep adding until you had a perfect combination; but it was raining hard now and we would be indoors for an extended period so I emptied the bottle into the glass to increase the volume. Now the sip… pause…’Home run! It’s outta here baby! Carol, pack your bags (which wouldn’t take long) we’re moving to Treviso!’ A sidelong glance from the Mrs., another sip of her local red wine and the usual sigh.
The rain was not alleviating anytime soon so we paid the meager tab and tried to stay under cover until we reached the appropriate bus shelter. All public transport is gps-located so there are electronic displays at each stop showing how many minutes until each bus arrives. We had 20 minutes so I scanned the other occupants to find my prey.
A threesome of females were positioned in front of us, each with large sports bags at their feet. Two teenaged girls, and their mother? No it was more complicated than mere familial ties. I pressed closer, hoping my handful of breath mints were engaged with my salivary glands, so as not to drive them into the street.
To my surprise the elder took the lead and asked us if this was the correct stop for the airport? One of the buses stopping here was for the airport, it was the one before ours. She already figured that but was looking for confirmation, just as we always do for buses and trains. Okay, the ice is officially broken. No doubt she had heard us speaking in one of our many language (singular). In order to initiate engagement when in a public setting and find out who are the English speakers I will often open in a slightly louder voice ‘Hey, is my underwear showing?’ and see who’s ears perk up. Fun Fact: quite a few times they are slightly exposed, so I don’t look like a pervert, just a typical male over the age of 10.
With her Slavic accent I immediately deduced that these were not locals. After surgical prodding on my part I began with one of my patented lines, ‘So, you’re not from around here?’ Carol turned her back to me and feigned interest in a bike helmet billboard. No they were not. In fact they were from the Czech Republic and she was the girls triathlon coach. So we had some common ground, I knew how to spell tritholon and I watch sports on TV.
She was 43, married with a 7 year old daughter, and the first 3 numbers of her driver’s license was 362 (yes, I’m that good). She had been a competitive athlete and was now passing along her knowledge. She was in charge of the Czech junior team and these were her star pupils. They had been training in Italy for an upcoming competition.
One, with a cherubic face and body type, was the hardest worker on the team and had faced enormous life challenges because her birth weight was just one kilo, but with a big support team she had pushed through and had tremendous character. She was timid around me and I wondered if she had mistaken me for a celebrity, like Eugene Levy or Karl Marx.
The other, who towered over her (and every other person within 20 meters) had an infectious smile and was also pretending to be mute. She, it turns out, was the most naturally gifted young rider in their countries’ sports program. They had made their mark by 2 different approaches and yet were standing here speaking (listening) to an actual Canadian.
She talked about her sport and we talked travel and I asked where she would recommend to travel in her area. She mentioned Bratislava and another tongue twister, but became very serious and said Poland, specifically Kraków, where institutional murder was carried out by the Nazis at Auschwitz-Birkenau. I stopped her before she went on too far and acknowledged that I was very aware of the holocaust as I had a teacher in primary school who was a survivor and displayed his branded prisoner number on his forearm and how it left an indelible mark on me and caused me to research the war and it’s atrocities. In eastern Europe, even after 80 years it was a difficult subject. I had just read that 30% of young North Americans believed that the holocaust was a fabrication or grossly exaggerated, mostly because of their reliance on social media and how easy it is to influence weighty material by ignorant, hateful people.
Sorry for the buzz kill, but she totally caught me off-guard with the importance she placed on the impact that it has on people living in that region. This is an important part of traveling from your native areas and in understanding other cultures. Vacationing away in all-inclusive resorts can have a therapeutic effect but won’t open your eyes to the most relevant topics of your destination.
Just as we were about to exchange contact info and my website details their bus came and they hustled aboard. I was relieved because I didn’t feel the levity of my writing would resonate with her or the young women. Heck, half the people back home don’t understand what I’m saying most of the time.
After a smooth, rhyth…. ride home we were ready to pack and prepare to say goodbye to our friend in the morning. Next stop Siena, the city that is a Unesco world heritage site. Can’t wait.
Blue Delivery 