Chapter 37 Simply Too Romantic
Simply Too Romantic
So many moments of wonder during this trip have come from surprise.
I was surprised at the existence of the Initiation Well.
I was surprised at the ancient volcanic interior of Thríhnúkagígur.
I was surprised at the sheer scale of the Swiss mountains.
But I am not surprised at Venice—how can you be?
—yet I still wonder at it. It’s impossible not to.
I doubt there’s anyone in the modern world who hasn’t met the Floating City in some form, and that’s what makes it so difficult to describe.
Before there were things to reference, before people could say, It looks like a movie set or It’s a fantasy novel come to life, I imagine Venice was the exact kind of place that invented speechlessness.
Without something to compare to the liquid mirror of the lagoon, how does anyone anchor the impossibility of Venice to reality?
As our train slows to a stop at Santa Lucia station, Yumi and I are already waiting by the doors.
We disembark, stepping onto the open air platform and following the signs to the exit.
Of all the transportation hubs we’ve been in, Santa Lucia is by far the least confusing, though it’s clearly aided by its relatively small size and single-floored design.
Despite knowing exactly where we are and what it’s going to look like, I’m still taken aback by the way the station spits us out directly onto a canal-side plaza.
“Find Doge Pietro II Orseolo in his Floating City at Santa Lucia station,” the clue instructed us, but even if it had just said, “Santa Lucia station, Venice,” we would have found Doge Pietro Orseolo.
He’s unmissable, standing at the center of the plaza in what appears to be repurposed tapestry fabric.
He wears a red-and-gold cape over a similarly patterned tunic, both far too heavy for the heat.
His hat has a high back, dipping in the front like a ball of clay someone dug their thumb into.
We race up to him, and I can’t help giving a small bow even though I know he’s just an actor and not Venice’s actual ruler. It’s just common courtesy. “Doge Pietro?” I ask.
“Sì,” he responds, spreading his hands out wide.
“Welcome to Venezia, where our connection to the sea is true and perpetual.” Yumi tugs the notebook from my backpack, jotting down his words as he continues, “I was the Doge of the Most Serene Republic of Venice from 991 to 1009. I fiercely protected my people from the Neretvian pirates, leading to the tradition of the Festa della Sensa, where doges would toss a wedding ring into the water and marry the sea, which lasted until the fall of the Venetian Republic in 1797.”
I glance at Yumi to make sure she got everything. She gives me a thumbs-up.
The Doge produces an Adventureverse envelope from inside his cape, presenting it to me with both hands. “Duri i banchi,” he says, nodding as Yumi holds the spelling up for him to confirm.
We wait one more moment for him to say more, but he just stares pleasantly, waiting for us to tear into the envelope.
Individual Challenge: One team member must choose between ROW and BLOW.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “No cliffs in Venice,” I say, holding the envelopes out for her.
“True,” she says, plucking the ROW card from between my fingers.
ROW: One of Italy’s most recognizable figures is that of the gondolier. Though tradition has dictated that this role usually be filled by a man, one team member of any gender may participate in this challenge.
Adventurers must make their way by water taxi or Vaporetto to the island city of Burano, where they will learn the craft of the gondolier, including singing their beloved a classic Italian ballad. When the Adventure Master is satisfied with the performance, Adventurers will receive their next clue.
I try not to burst out laughing just picturing Yumi attempting this challenge, and I almost succeed. While the choice of rowing makes sense with our strategy of sticking to physical challenges, The Adventureverse doesn’t know what it’s in for with Yumi’s singing voice.
She fixes me with a withering look. “Excuse me. What’s so funny?”
I gather myself. “Nothing. I’m just…”
“Excited to be serenaded?” she provides.
My teeth sink into my lower lip, pulling it tight. “Oh, absolutely.”
When we get to Burano, I’m glad Yumi took this challenge. Not only is it going to be hilarious to watch her attempt it, but also, while she goes off to learn how to butcher an art form, I get to study Burano.
Waterways slice through it, an absence of cars due to the wooden footbridges and the narrow, wisteria-filled, shade-drenched alleyways.
Houses in mint, tangerine, and lilac line the canals.
Gauzy curtains billow in every doorway, just barely hiding interiors lit only by the afternoon sun.
I try not to look, acutely aware of my role as a game show tourist (which I personally feel is even worse than Regular Tourist).
I know my gaze guides Petter’s camera, and I’d like to keep privacy invasion off The Adventureverse’s list of crimes.
When Yumi finally emerges, trailed by the Adventure Master, she’s wearing a black-and-white-striped shirt over stiff black pants and a flat-top straw brimmed hat with a blue ribbon wrapped around it.
She kind of looks like our Parisian mime, actually.
Without preamble, she grabs my hand as if she’s angry at it and shoves me into one of the long gondolas.
The short tails of her hat’s ribbon flutter behind her, mimicking the shape of her two low pigtails.
I notice that Bo and Petter record us from the safety of the sidewalk, which says a lot about their confidence in Yumi.
Inelegantly, she grabs for a paddle and uses it to push off the canal wall. The gondola jerks, rocking violently enough that I grab at the edge of my seat with a gasp.
“No,” the short Italian man cuts in, to Yumi’s annoyance. “Nobody should be scared of the gondola. Fail.”
Yumi narrows her eyes at me. “She’s not scared. She’s just nervous she’ll fall in love with me.”
“She’s not already in love with you?” the man asks dismissively.
“Of course she is,” Yumi recovers, surprisingly smoothly. “But she’s terrified of commitment and this reminds her too much of a proposal.”
The man isn’t buying it, but I chime in anyway. “It’s simply too romantic. Terrifying.”
He rolls his eyes, jerking his head toward her practice station. “Fail. Back to classroom.” To me, he says, “Do not think about proposal next time.”
“What about a murder?” Yumi asks under her breath as she haphazardly guides us back to the docking post.
The Italian man clicks his tongue, but there’s an underlying playfulness to it, like Yumi is a troublesome grandchild. He follows her back to practice, leaving me to return to soaking in the sights.
It’s laughable how picturesque it is. It’s almost perfect.
Actually, it’s better than perfect. It’s real.
Thick stripes of algae grow along the low canal walls.
It’s a fishing village, and it smells like one.
That surprises me; I don’t know why I hadn’t considered how Italian canals would smell.
The water is a murky green. And all of those things, rather than taking away from the experience, enhance it.
They’re the difference between watching the color-corrected version of The Adventureverse on TV and living it.
On Yumi’s next attempt, I’m able to keep a pleasant smile on my face despite her gondola-launching skills having improved roughly zero percent.
Our trip down the canal is far from smooth, but this time I’m less afraid of being dunked into the green water and more afraid of losing my cool and cackling at the Italian opera number “sung” in a painfully non-Italian accent.
The look she gives me as the words clatter and clang out of her mouth is deadly.
It says, I’m not fucking doing this again. Keep it together.
She finishes the song, though it would be more accurate to call it a slam poetry performance, and the grumpy gondolier hands me our next clue, betraying only the tiniest hint of a smile as he pats Yumi on the back for a job mediocrely done.
As we step out of the gondola, my partner snatches the envelope out of my hand. “I earned this. You didn’t do anything.”
“Are you kidding?” I ask, widening my eyes and pointing at the canal. “That was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced. That was my Switzerland.”
Face deadpan, she grumbles, “I’ll show you Switzerland.”
I fight back a smile. She always gets nonsensical when she’s annoyed with me. “What does that mean, babe?”
Yumi ignores me, tearing the envelope open and reading, “ ‘Adventurers, retrace your steps to Santa Lucia station. You must remain in your costume.’ ” She looks up, confused.
I peek over her shoulder to read the rest of the clue and immediately see what gave her pause. “That’s it?”
She turns the clue over, but there isn’t anything on the back, either. “I guess so?”
I rack my brain, trying to remember any time the show has given a clue like this. It just hasn’t happened before. No indication of whether we’re going to a challenge or the mat, or something else—that’s bizarre. “Is there anything else in the envelope?” I ask, unsettled.
Yumi flips the envelope upside down and shakes it, but nothing falls out. “No, just that.”
“Weird.”
“I guess we catch another water taxi, then. Dressed like this.” Yumi says, adjusting her hat.
“You look good,” I reassure her. “Better than good. Great. Hot, even.”
She glares, holding out her bag for me to carry in punishment for bullying her. And, to be honest, it’s a fair trade. “The people of Italy are going to think I’m mocking them.”
“Just talk a lot,” I suggest. “They’ll hear that you’re an American and then they’ll just blame your obnoxiousness on that.”