So here is my splendiforous Venice picture (one of several):
Venice is lovely. It's really a walking sort of city -- canals are by no means as prevalent as I used to think when I was little. And since all the bridges have stairs (unlike, incidentally the bridges in Amsterdam, which are more or less level), so there really is no way to get around all of Venice except by walking. I mean, or boat, but that's expensive. You can't bike, and there are no cars or buses, except one central bus station on the edge of downtown. My campsite was also lovely, as I think I've already mentioned. Italy is fun.
Now, though, I'm on my way (actually already in the waters of) Greece. So far it looks like California except in island form, but possibly it will be more exciting once I actually land. The boat is very, very relaxing, although I got very little sleep, having booked deck passage without a sleeping bag (dumb dumb dumb). Anyway. Guys on the boat keep hitting on me, like all the time. I'm not saying so to brag; they're mostly far too old for me; I'm just kind of mystified. My hair is all salty-stiff and awful and I'm wearing the pants that make my butt look big. Maybe it's the cute Parisian shoes, I don't know. One of the devoted swains is the Captain of the ship, who saw me struggling with my luggage yesterday and has since been very attentive. He took me to the bridge, and the forecastle, and all kinds of places I wasn't supposed to go, which was awesome and nifty. Then he got fresh with me, and I deployed Imaginary Boyfriend Will to keep him in line. (Imaginary Boyfriend Will is tremendously helpful in these respects... He is going to propose sometime while I'm in Greece -- definitely before I get to Egypt. Ella gave me an old ring she had that is apparently worthless but looks quite a lot like an engagement ring, if you don't look at it too closely. Hey, Imaginary Boyfriend Will can afford to be cheap; we're going to break it off once I get back to the States.)
Anyway. It's a good thing the voyage is so relaxing (my main activity is sitting in a deck chair in shorts and sunglasses, reading Middlemarch) because I am wicked stressed from trying to get in touch with Dallas Theater Center. I finally reached them the other day, and arranged for an interview, but I've since had to cancel, because the phone cards advertised on the ship have completely failed to be actually available. I'm supposed to call them at midnight tonight -- after docking -- which is great except that it depends on my ability to 1) stay awake and alert that long; I only got four hours of sleep last night, and 2) find myself an international calling card in Patras once we dock. I am praying that Patras will be like every single other city I've been to, namely with plenty of tourism and therefore international phone cards, but there isn't any way to be sure. I should just be thankful that they want to talk to me, but instead I'm chewing off my own cheekbone, because I know I look like a flake. Oh well. I can't imagine my other job prospect (for the summer) is any too pleased either, since she wants to meet me before she hires me and I'm on the other side of the globe.
Bitch moan, bitch moan. I've wanted to go to Greece since I was about eight years old, and spent many years of my life since then daydreaming about it. More than half my life I've wanted to get out here, I get here, and I'm biting my nails about job prospects for the coming year. Sometimes being a grown-up is not nearly as fun as it's made out to be.
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