Dictator's log: Monday. July 5. 4:57 P.M. (assignment 1)

Dear Reader,

As you already know, I trekked over to Venice for three days, and while I quite agreed with Venice, Venice did not quite agree with me. I’m pretty sure it felt threatened by my visit and it’s impending defeat. This resulted in a rather pitiful display of my own human weakness. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I was sick. But fear not, my ailment did not manage to keep me from getting a rather good feel for Venice. After arriving in Venice via boat after a 4-hour bus ride, we were marched directly to Saint Marc’s Square where we would have our tour of the Doge’s palace. Now, as you can imagine, Venice has many side streets and canals and bridges that all

intertwine and connect. All in all, it took our group two full, long, and rather arduous hours to finally make it to our destination, after being led by our fearless leader, Sandro. (He even waved a map in the air for us to follow... to make sure that everyone knew without a doubt that we were tourists). And if that wasn’t enough, we were then informed that our two-hour tour of the Doge’s palace and Saint Marc’s Church would begin shortly. I don’t think I am gifted enough to describe to you the pain and agony in all of our knees, feet, and minds. Not to mention it was the hottest day the Italians had seen all summer. I hate to admit it, but the Doge’s Palace was not nearly as incredible as I imagined it to be... but that could very well have been affected by my exhaustion and the extreme heat. I guess we’ll never know.

My favorite part of the stay actually took place the day I was the sickest. After the very nice doctor came and saw both myself and my fellow invalid, Kaitlin (she is unfortunately suffering from a rather infected and swollen foot), the two of us set out on an adventure to find the nearest pharmacy to fill our prescriptions. Just a short distance from our hotel was a .50 cent gondola ride that would take us to the directly opposite side of the canal. We paid the gondolier (is that what they’re called? I have no idea) and took our seats on the rocking boat. It was very hot. Not long after we sat down, a cute little British couple joined us. They were from Nottingham, England, and were on the last day of their week vacation to Venice. They couldn’t believe the heat either. They were smart and had a strategy though: They would go into every air-conditioned shop they passed, cool off, and then scurry into the next store. That is the kind of thinking I need on my side. I really should have gotten their names so that later I might recruit them to my crusade. Oh well... So the doctor failed to tell us, as she left at approximately two o’clock, that on Saturday most pharmacies either close at 2pm or aren’t open at all. Kaitlin and I walked to about four different locations until we finally asked a local. And then we had to walk twenty more minutes to the nearest open location. Never fear, we managed quite well and were able to get a more complete viewing of Venice.

Dear Reader, I must say that my view of Italy in general has greatly changed since my arrival about a week ago. Before coming, I imagined most Europeans to be very prim and proper, in contrast to the boisterous and annoying Americans I am used to. Now while it is true that most Italians (at least the ones I have met), tend to behave a little more ...calm... there have definitely been some surprises. Before dinner one night, our group chose to walk around a local square as we waited for our tables to be ready. As we rounded the corner to what I expected to be yet another beautiful Venetian square, filled with pretty terraces and doors, I was suddenly met with the view of a man in a speedo, bright pink shirt, and decorated with a full Christmas wreath, and a long-stemmed rose sticking precariously out of his headband.

He was surrounded by a group of other young adults, his ‘friends’ I suppose, who were jeering,chanting, and hitting him in the buttocks with some plastic rods. I immediately turned my face in utter disgust, but as it continued I have to admit I couldn’t help but watch. Apparently, when someone graduates school in Italy, their friends take them out and humiliate them in public. This unfortunate man had just become a doctor. So while the rest of the piazza was tranquil, the air calm (albeit hot and disgustingly sticky), and the sun gently setting behind the buildings, this poor young man was subjected to endless ridicule and bottom beatings. (He had the red marks streaked across his backside and legs to prove it). I must say that he handled his embarrassment quite well, even while my fellow teammates whacked him mercilessly with the rods. I could use him on my side. (but with some longer shorts)

I have decided, my dear Reader, that the fastest way to make myself known to the general public, would be to write a book. Just as Hitler and other dictators destroyed and banned books because of their overwhelming power and influence, I have also realized the great power of the written word. To document my crusade in actual print would be vital to my cause. I believe that the chapter on my Venice trip would begun thus: “Superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.”* Without competency, no one could ever navigate Venice.

*Quote taken from Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice, act 1 scene 2*