“I’m not getting on.”
“You have to get on.”
“I don’t, I’m not going.”
5 minutes earlier, you could have mistaken us for locals, idly chatting to a friendly looking Italian who had informed us we needed to take the Linea Arancio (Orange line) to San Marco.
The journey time? Well …it could take anywhere between 30 minutes and 1 hour. He seemed vague, but of course, why should he know details about the journey.
We’d caught a late night flight into Venice and were waiting for one of the last ‘Alliguna’ boats from the airport.
The energy started to change and people formed an orderly queue beside a man clinging precariously to the side of an extremely buoyant boat and then it dawned on us.
The small lurching vessel moored in the dock, that I had 100% assured Vanessa we wouldn’t have to go in, was indeed our transport.
And the vague Italian man … he was the Captain.
The rain lashed into the small space at the rear of the boat, tourists and suitcases packed in together and then I heard Vanessa say “Scusami, Scusami, we’ve changed our minds, we’re getting off at the Rialto Bridge”
3 stops earlier than I’d planned.
Our Venetian adventure had begun…