Venice Day 3: Well, That Didn't Work

The title of this post was originally supposed to be 'Non-native Vegetation,' and the post itself about how Blond Bombshell Meghan and I spent the day lying in the sand with nary a care in the world (excepting, perhaps, skin cancer). Unfortunately, it was not to be. First, there was the boat ride to Lido, which gave the Paris Metro a run (surf?) for its euros. I would call it "standing room only," but that would not do justice to the contorted, bent-legged stand/lean required to fit and remain standing during the ride. I'm all about bus surfing, but somehow doing so in the presence of actual waves and the absence of any handles makes the task a little too close to the "OMG I'm going to die" line. For the record, I would probably not die from drowning, but from physical contact with Venetian waters, which could probably eat through my skin and deposit soda bottles in my veins.

Murderous beverage containers aside, the journey did not end with our safe shoring at Lido. Now, our map/guide called the desired area Alberoni Beach and mentioned that it was near the Alberoni Golf Club, reachable by the number 11 bus. So, upon seeing the number 11 bus with 'Alberoni' across the front, we decided to take a wild risk and hop on. Call me crazy (actually, that would be awesome, because then my initials would be CG and I could go around making things explode really prettily using Python). And because we're just rebels like that, we got off at the stop marked 'Via Alberoni' (kapow! fwoosh! oooohh....). On the one hand, there was definitely water. However, water does not in fact a beach make, otherwise I'd get a tan every time I took a shower. Which would also be awesome, because then I wouldn't look like I did my makeup according to 'Dracula Today!' at competitions.

Anyhowardzinn, we ended up walking around the island for an unspecified but seemingly very long time before we finally encountered something vaguely resembling sand. Naturally, at our first glimpse of sand, there was no water in sight. You'd think a country known for its fashion would have a better idea of which pieces go together and which should be used as separates. Then again, Anthony the BHKOF (best acronym ever (BAE)) refuses to acknowledge Italian fashion, so maybe I shouldn't either. In any case, the ensemble did eventually pull together to feature sand AND a coastline. I was going to describe it as a lovely coastline, but then I remembered the abundance of cigarette butts lying around, and the picture was kind of ruined. In one section of the beach (mercifully cordoned off), the area actually appeared to be a dump with some sand sprinkled in for continuity of scenery. While Meghan and I were fully prepared to risk skin cancer (unless my mom is reading, in which case, we packed 3 gallons of sunscreen), lung cancer was not really on our list of desirable souvenirs. We decided that our actual plan all along had been to walk around a very quaint, cute island with a nice view and get to know its public transportation system (fun fact: just because a bus shelter lists the number 11 bus on the side does not, in fact, mean the number 11 bus actually stops there. Educated, I am). And then we got back to the main island and had gelato, so life was good. Really, can any day ending in gelato be all that bad?