Ohhhh…my god. The cruise has barely started and already I’m being assaulted by complaints. Jesus bloody Christ. In this particular case, the problem seems to be with seating. Four of our passengers don’t feel that their dining seats are satisfactory, and naturally I’m supposed to do something about that because clearly my “decision” to shuffle them off to a “corner” of the dining room where they were “separate” from the rest of the group was in very poor taste. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I’d gotten promoted to Dining Coordinator and Maitre D’ of the restaurant when I wasn’t looking. How silly of me. Ugh, and I’ve already spoken to Leo twice today trying to work out seating for the actors. I think he’s going to get palpitations every time he sees me for the rest of this cruise.
Actually, this whole day has been sort of an exercise in things that could go wrong. Sherry had mentioned that she didn’t think all of the people who’d planned to go to the Fenice theatre received our notice about the party being pushed to 2:00 pm. I had hoped to get a newsletter out about that this morning, but owing to a meeting with Philip I didn’t manage to get to it until well after 10:30 am. That, as it turned out later, was just a teeny bit too late for people to actually receive before leaving for Venice. Fuck me with a pumice scrub.
Okay, okay, let’s go about this in chronological order. After that meeting with Philip, I ran newsletters to everyone’s staterooms personally. Betsy had also asked me to just check in on Patricia, as she was going into Venice for the day, so I did that. Pat was in splendid form as usual, declaring in her matronly way that “I’m not even out of my nightshirt, darling. I was planning on just staying in, but thank you so much for calling me. You’re terribly kind.” She’s such an interesting lady. After all that, I headed out to Venice for the day.
The sky were even more dour than yesterday, with the clouds looking downright charcoal in color, and by the time the tender had reached the Piazza San Marco there was a respectable downpour. I, being adventurous and frolicsome, and in a show of sheer youthful bravado for all the aged individuals on the tender, stepped gaily out into the rain with my Crystal Cruises umbrella. They probably all just thought I was a fucking moron.
I ran into Betsy and Donna on the pier, and Betsy proclaimed (rather portentously) that she wanted to talk to me about Patricia because she was “a lot more to handle than I expected.” Swell. While I was busy digesting this bit of news, the rain suddenly intensified into a bonafide torrential downpour. I had to duck underneath a tree while still holding my umbrella, and even then my shoes were soaked through within minutes. It felt like God had decided to dump the Mediterranean onto Venice. I spent fifteen minutes just huddled underneath that tree, watching the water slowly drip through my umbrella, wondering whether I would be spending my afternoon there…waiting for Godot. I mean, for the rain to stop.
It never did.
Eventually I just bit the bullet and marched out into the rain. It actually got to be pretty funny, because everywhere people were huddled underneath archways and tucked onto porch steps, packing themselves in like rats on a high rock watching the tide come in. The Piazza San Marco was practically flooded. In some parts the water came up ankle-high – I found out later, however, that in some years, the water from the river itself rises to submerge practically all of San Marco island under a foot or more of water. I can’t imagine what it must be like owning a shop here.
I waffled around San Marco for a while, trying to figure out the best way to get to the Art Academy without getting even more drenched, then finally gave up and marched my ass to the alleyway north of the Piazza to find a nice mask shop. I then spent a very, very pleasant, terminally indecisive hour trying to figure out just how much money I could afford to blow on a Venetian mask. The answer? About $170. Yup, that’s right. I spent €95 on this black and gold half-mask decorated with feathers, then pulled another €15 on two smaller porcelain pieces. I can think of any number of things I could buy with $170, but dammit, this is Venice, and I don’t know when I’ll come back here again, and these are some goddamn pretty masks. The purchase was totally worth it! I am such a fucking faggot.
Anyway, the rain eventually let up a little, so I was able to wind my soggy way toward the Art Academy. I’d figured I could go in and wander around a little, maybe sneak a few pictures, but upon arrival I discovered there was an admissions fee to get in. And me without any Euros (before you ask, I’d charged my card for the mask purchases). Oh well, maybe next time.
I was hitting time for the Fenice Theatre tour at this point, so I headed back across the bridge and made my way to the theatre, replying on the sketchy memories from yesterday to navigate the twisting streets. The rain still hadn’t let up, and by this point I was having a sinking sensation that maybe there wouldn’t be a Fenice group tour as a result. Maybe it would consist of me and…me, and then I’d have to field demands from twenty-odd octogenarians for their money back. Augh! I choose you, Sherrychu! Save me with your Guarding Booby Smash!
Well, true to form, we had exactly seven people attend the tour. Ron and Norm, Philip and Marilyn, me, and two of our passengers. That’s two passengers out of about twenty. Success! Ignoring the fact that I would probably have complaints waiting for me back on the ship, I went on the Fenice tour with everyone and had a terrific time. The Fenice Theatre – the inside, at any rate – is easily the most spectacular theatre I’ve ever seen. I had thought the set for Phantom was impressive, but in comparison now that’s like calling a turd haute cuisine. I wish I could have taken a picture of the place, because not only is the theatre absolutely MASSIVE, it’s also intricate like nothing else I’ve ever seen. All of the walls – including the ceiling – are covered in gilded leaf-shaped curlicues and decorated with paintings in a classical realistic style. The gilding was actually made using sheets of real gold leaf, shaped to cover the carvings underneath, then welded and polished smooth. And the Royal Box! Good god, the Royal Box. Imagine this plush, effusively opulent room roughly ten feet to a side that’s all blood red velvet and gold drapery, touched with classical artwork here and there, and you’ll have an idea of the Royal Box. The detail of everything in the place is simply staggering.
We were initially going to have a reception after the tour, but since there were only seven of us eating and drinking for twenty-two, it consisted mostly of me stuffing myself with some high-class snack foods and downing almost an entire bottle’s worth of Bellini’s. What can I say? I’d skipped lunch. Anyway, we made our way back to the ship after that, and I spent the rest of the afternoon making programs, answering e-mails, and trying to figure out the logistics of Rome.
Now came dinner time. Dinner itself was amazing, although I spent a good deal of it jotting down notes about how I wanted to rearrange seats for next time, assuming Leo would let me. Unfortunately, almost as soon as dinner was over, those same four passengers from yesterday came to let me know that they were “very unhappy” with the dining conditions. They were very cold sitting underneath a vent, and they felt like they were outcast from the rest of the Theatre at Sea group. At least one of them was unhappy with her company, as she had wanted ostensibly to sit with interesting people (and by interesting she, of course, meant the stars featured on our cruise.) Christ almighty, save me from rich people and their overblown sense of entitlement.
To top off the day, Betsy called me and asked me to pick up Patricia from her spa treatment in the morning. I’m sensing a rather alarming pattern forming. Ron thinks that although Betsy is Patricia’s semi-official companion, she’s also hoping that someone (namely me) will step up and offer to help take care of Pat. Well, I think I speak for the receiving party when I say, “Fuck. That. Shit.” I have already got WAY too much on my plate without dropping special time with Pat on top of the pile.
Ugh. Tomorrow is our first at-sea day, our first formal night, and our first show. I am going to spend my morning in the gym, I think. Blow off some steam. Hope that today doesn’t set an example for the rest of the cruise, because otherwise this ship is going to end up a prime spot for a noir-style murder mystery.
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