Grand Canal, Venice, Italy April - May 2024

“Ciao!” Greetings! My paint pack and I have traveled in time and have landed in old world Venice, Italy to paint Plein Air and live as the Italian Artists live. Our home base is normally in Central Montana, just far enough East of Glacier National Park (U.S. National Park Service) (nps.gov) to be out of the wake of tourists. The journey from rural Montana to our BED AND BREAKFAST VENICE - CASAMIMMA had included no less than 8 days, three flights, five trains, two buses, three water taxis, a long walk, and an entire bag of cinnamon gummy bears.

The first 24 hours in Europe were at best inspirational and at worst, more than a little sketch.

My art mentor Laurie and I flew from Denver on British Airways, what a delight, they treated us like first class even in coach. We debated for weeks if we would use our 6 hour layover in London to visit the city or take a nap in the airport spa. We spent all our time researching Italy and arguing about itinerary resulting in neither of us studying much about local landmarks in London beyond interrogating our poor seat mate the entire 11 hour flight. He assured us it would be “a lovely day for an afternoon stroll downtown London. Just hop on the tube.” I believe now that this casual advice was actually his revenge for our making his long flight longer with our questions.

Just “hopping on the tube” felt like a MUCH worse decision the further we got from our connecting flight gate.

This was the first of many tests that made us imagine ourselves to be a part of Amazing Race, Lost Americans Edition. We did eventually figure out the tube is the subway, and that there is no ticket for entrance into the subway. You are just required to tap a credit card at a check point. Each passenger required their own credit card and somehow your credit card would know how much to charge you when you tap it again to buy your way off of the subway. We made OUR underground connection, or A connection anyway, but as we got further and further from the airport we chickened out, worried we would run out of time or our credit card would not be able to afford to buy our way off the train, and just popped up at a random stop at City Center. There were tourists congregated across the park and in the square. It looked pretty safe. We spotted a Ferris Wheel we suspected to be famous, and possibly Big Ben or at least a large clock, off in the distance. We made our way along this long path through a lush park, right in the heart of the city. We took a picture for Laurie’s husband James at the sign for “St James Park.” Clearly this was a promenade, or we were going to treat it that way anyway, so we stopped for tea at a food truck and made a big deal about sipping tea along the promenade in London. We hoped the queen would notice.

We walked quickly, mostly from adrenaline, toward the buzzing tourists at the end of the promenade. We stopped to take photos of a CASTLE on the Tyburn river, what!?!?, I think Shakespeare wrote about this. We looked but didn’t find any signs that we recognized. We exited the park through golden gates, that resembled a portal, and shined brilliantly in the afternoon sun.

I checked my watch. Again. So paranoid of missing that flight. My watch still showed Montana time, 3am. I did the math, 3 hours 45 minutes before our flight to Italy. Still enough time to investigate why so many people were taking selfies with that statue on the other side of the square. Maybe it would be a statue of Harry Potter. It was the Victoria Memorial. We took selfies anyway. (It was quite spectacular)

The thing about taking selfies is that you face what is behind you. This is a good practice no matter what continent you are on. What was behind us was the . Royal Residences: Buckingham Palace | The Royal Family That should have been more obvious.

My easel and canvas were calling out from my backpack…”When will you ever have a chance to Plein Air Paint in London again?” Oh this is painful! I told my paints to hush, we had just enough time to snap a selfie with the royal guard, duck back into the tube toward Heathrow airport, make OUR underground connection (for sure the right one this time), get a thorough pat down from European security, and catch the last plane into Venice Italy of the night. We boarded directly behind Cruella De Vil (or maybe her doppelgänger) and her entourage, each of which carried the maximum amount of carry-on, all of which belonging to Cruella. The pilot made his way back in the cabin to help balance the luggage and to scold Cruella for “packing too much!” Cruella and the captain proceeded to have an epic argument in Italian. “Fantastico!” Outstanding! This felt authentic!

Wheels down and 32 hours awake, we immediately had to fist fight with an Italian self-service machine, to secure bus tickets. We think. We bought something at least, and took the last bus of the night from the airport to the water bus port. The bus driver did not care that our bus tickets did not scan. The only way to get to our Airbnb Casa Mimma was by boat or a very long walk to the Rialto Bridge and then a very long walk back to our neighborhood. We were on the opposite side of the Grand Canal from where we needed to be. Google maps was busy “re-routing” so we bought a boat ticket, from a local agent. So glad to not have to fist fight another self-service machine, we asked for specific instructions. It was late and we were very tired. She directed with an eye roll and a sharp point to go sit at Platform A, at the end of the pier, and wait for Line 1. Our luggage had already seen many miles that day, what was a few more steps. We walked to the dark end of the pier. We waited at Platform A as boat after boat passed by. We wondered if that red light on the dock meant this pier was closed. It did indeed mean that. An hour and several minutes were lost before we made our way to an active platform and caught a boat traveling the Grand Canal. We went straight to the back of the boat to be in the open air and celebrate! Venice at night from the water! Bellisimo!

As it happens, Venice’s football team won a big match that night and there was a great deal to celebrate. The streets were full of singing and the water busses filled to capacity with intoxicated revelers. We missed our stop due to politeness. Pushing and shouting “scusa” is actually the common practice for getting off of a crowded water bus and would later become much more natural to me as my time in Europe progressed.

We got off on the next stop and waited, then took the next water bus that came going in any direction. Another rookie mistake. We rode to the end of the line and had to get off. Now we were starting to worry. With luck we caught the last water bus of the night going in the correct direction. I showed a picture of my stop to the captain. Waived it in his face actually. He insisted I wanted a busier stop but I begged and he relented letting us off at our requested Riva de Biasso.

The ancient Italian world is much more special, precious, genuine, and beautiful then even my active imagination could have dreamed. We had landed in another time, another place, it was magnificent and like nothing we had ever seen! We soon realized there were no other people or open businesses in this quiet, off the beaten path, old world neighborhood we had specifically booked. We were the only ones on the busy water bus to get off at Riva de Biasso. The only option was sitting at the dock until sunrise or trying the long dark narrow passage from the water bus stop to the interior of the maze of seemingly endless long dark passages.

This is the moment I discovered my painting mentor Laurie and myself to have a deep fear of long dark passages in foreign countries. After a great deal of discussion and self motivation we took the passage. I am lucky to have such a bold and fierce travel companion.

There were motion detector lights that would come on as we passed, but the signs were small, infrequent, and mostly in Italian. There was nobody to ask for directions and no taxi to call, as there are no cars in interior Venice. That sounded more fun in the brochure. The water bus had stopped running for the night, we didn’t even know the emergency number to call the polizia, and in any case our phones did not have service enough to make a call. We wandered around in circles, lost in the dark, like a bad dream, for what felt like eternity but was actually only until about 2:30 am. Venice time or according to my watch 7:30 pm Montana Time. The desperation began to build. We were out of cinnamon gummies.

My mentor scared off a pack of young revelers with a HEARTY scream. Effective self-defense class maneuvers coming in handy. Better to be alone than surrounded. I mistook the emergency fire break box for a button you should RIP OFF THE WALL, wires included, effectively disabling our only chance to call for help. We prepared ourselves to wander the streets until dawn, hoping we could find our way back to the pier and at least break out our Plein Air paints to keep us occupied, if not safe, on our first night in Europe. If we are going down, we are going down painting!

Find out what our brave artist heroines do next in “Waking up in Venice”; European Adventures of a Traveling Plein Air Artist

“On the Road with Canvas and Easel”: European Adventures of a Traveling Plein Air Artist

“Waking up in Venice Italy”: Adventures of a Traveling Plein Air Artist