What a pain! I was so proud of myself for completing my Berlin blog that I almost completely forgot about my my mini solo trip between Venice and Berlin. It wasn’t until I was going through pictures that I realized there were several between my Venetian boat bus and my airplane window views (see below).

But no matter. The short of it is that there are two airports into Venice. One is Marco Polo, and this is the larger, ‘main’ Venice airport. Treviso is smaller and serviced only by a handful of budget airlines, and it is technically located in another city altogether: Treviso.

I was trying to read reviews online when purchasing my tickets into and out of Venice because flights serviced by Treviso were often a third of the price of those serviced by Marco Polo. Say whaaat? No joke. A flight out of Treviso to Berlin was $33, and from Marco Polo, it was $80+. Why the huge disparity? Was the Treviso airport a pain to get to? Was it just the airlines? Generally, the consensus online was that the Marco Polo airport was vastly superior to the Treviso airport in every way. Specifically, several people said it took twenty minutes to get to Venice from Marco Polo (not true), while it took over an hour to get to Treviso (meh – maybe true). However, I’m a bargain hunter if ever there was one, so the longer commute didn’t scare me. There are some cities where an hour-long bus ride to the airport is the only option, so I figured I would live.

Another thing that swayed me was the option of exploring Treviso itself. Last year, I encountered a similar planning hurdle in Milan, where there are three major airports. I was flying out of Bergamo, which is one of the smaller ones, but it is in the town of Bergamo, and one lady online said that Bergamo is worth a day trip is your flight is later in the day. Luckily, my flight there left early afternoon, so I booked a six am train to Bergamo and spent the day in one of the most marvelous and charming little village cities I have ever seen! I even ziplined! I’ll really need to blog about that later… But after having such a great experience then, I was psyched to wander the smallish streets of Treviso.

Of course, due to my crazy planning, I booked a six am train from Venice, though by the time I got to Venice, I was NOT feeling that wakeup time. Add in the 45 minute boat bus to the train station, and it meant I would have to leave the apartment before five. No thanks. Luckily, Italian trains are the bomb, so my ticket was good for any similar train for up to four hours after the ticket time, just in case of a missed train! So wonderful! Why can’t all trains do this? Rebecca, Grace, and Duncan had a train leaving at 10:20, so it was positively perfect timing for me to leave with them and catch a 10:00 train to Treviso.

Once in town, I locked up my luggage and set the clock for three hours. Not a lot of time, but honestly, it was perfect. I truly think three hours well-spent in a city is better than three hours spent in bed or in an airport. Take the risk! Do the things!

I didn’t have a map, so I glanced at the one at the train station and began wandering. Seriously, though. This town was my jam. Venice was nice, don’t get me wrong, but if I had to choose where to spend the day, I think I would choose Treviso anytime.

The streets were calm, yet full of life. There were canals and trees, cobblestones and cafes, and it was clear that 95% of the people out and about were locals. I never once heard any English other than when I interacted with people, whereas in Venice, I heard more American accents than I have ever heard anywhere else in Europe. It was so refreshing. I really do hope to learn Italian someday! I think it’s one of my best languages, travel-interaction-wise. The accent just comes easier to me than for most of the others, and nobody questions whether I actually know what they’re saying or if I am just a perpetually smiley and oblivious little girl with bows in her hair.

I decided to follow the crowd and ended up on a long shopping street, criss-crossing through small squares and plazas and ducking under shaded walkways. There were also so many bookstores! I love bookstores! It has always been a dream of mine to work in a bookstore or a library, but quick visits do the trick until that time comes. In one of them, I found this adorable collapsable rain hat that I really, really wanted to buy, but it just didn’t make sense since I was headed for Sunny Spain in a matter of days.

I had only eaten a small croissant for breakfast, so when I came across a tiny little cafe tucked into the corner of a shaded street, I went in. Locals were flowing in and out steadily, so it seemed promising. One food I noticed in nearly every cafe in Treviso were these little triangle sandwiches on white bread with the crusts cut off, so I ordered one of those. It was pretty pricey considering its size ($3), but it was tasty and refreshing. I got it to go but changed my mind last minute and ate it at one of the outdoor tables while people-watching. I don’t think I saw a single person in a bad mood. Older couples, dads and daughters, friends, all happy to be out and about in this cheery town, just taking a stroll and glad to be in each other’s company.

I decided I quite liked my spot, so I went back in and ordered a latte macchiato, which seemed to be the only drink that could possibly be cold based on the picture. (It wasn’t). The barista then pointed to the pastries, asking if I wanted one. I couldn’t say no… I got a croissant filled with marmalade and waited at the til to pay.

The barista began stacking things on the small counter between us: the croissant on a plate, then my drink on a plate with a tiny spoon (she made the espresso in a tiny espresso mug before mixing it with the milk and whatever else went in there), then a tiny milk…. uhm… pot? jug? You know, those things that cream is served in, also on a plate. And then a little shot glass of water, plateless for once! I had to make three trips to get it all over to the little bar behind me, facing the windows! (It really wasn’t a big place.) I then stood at the counter some more, but nobody wanted to take my money, so I eventually gave up and decided I would pay at the end.

The coffee was soooo good. And the pastry hit the spot, too. I spent a good chunk of time there, eating, drinking, reading, and observing. At one point, a group of six or seven old friends came bustling in, and they all ordered macchiatos, which are not the same as what Starbucks makes. I think it was just a shot of espresso with a tiny splash of cream, still in an espresso mug. Then they all argued over who was paying. I was worried about there being room for all of them at my little bar, which only had two other seats, but they actually just drank at the counter, chatting constantly with each other and the baristas, before bustling out and seemingly saying, ‘See you tomorrow!’

So cute. And when I finally did pay, it was only four euros! What a deal!

I continued my wanderingss through the town after this, ducking into shops and churches whenever the opportunity presenting itself. I came upon this massive church at one point, and it took me a while to figure out if it was even open because there was construction being done outside, and there was a low chain fence surrounding the parking lot, but I found my way in eventually.

This church was huge, really, it was, but as I stepped inside and the door shut softly behind me, it became glaringly clear that I alone was in that church.

I could hear every point of contact between my shoes and the stones below, every breath, every heartbeat. It was…. very powerful. I spent quite a while in there, just appreciating the absolute calm and solitude.

After this, it was time to make my way back to the station. I picked up a fruit cup on the way, which the cafe worker kindly topped with orange liquor (how do you spell that? liqueur? liquureee?? gah. it doesn’t look right.) And then off to Berlin!

 

Venlig hilsen/ ciao,

Lizzy-wa