Letters from Venice #3: Adventures at Sea

Last May, I made the decision to move to Venice to be with my love, Robert, on a permanent basis.  Robert joined me in Ottawa in June to help in preparations that lasted two full months.  As July wound down, I went through the motions of day-to-day living, but my mind was already in Venice.  Actually getting there was a bit more of an adventure.

The first stop on our journey from Ottawa, Canada, to Venice, Italy, was Boston, USA.  Robert informed me that he had cherished friends in Boston that he wished to visit.  As it turned out, by 'Boston', Robert actually meant the greater Boston area.  And by the 'greater Boston area', he actually meant the American eastern seaboard.  That is why, one Friday afternoon, I found myself taking the fast ferryboat out to Cape Cod.

The weather in Boston for the late July week leading up to our departure had been unpredictable.  Waking up in the morning, one never knew which 'unseasonably' to expect.  Unseasonably-cold, unseasonably-wet, and unseasonably-like-the-gloomy-depths-of-autumn were all viable options.  The day of our departure, it was unseasonably-gloomy.

I'd been a little disappointed that restricted visibility, due to fog, had spoiled my chances of getting to see the great oceanic vistas I'd heard so much about.  The disappointment was surpassed when I was greeted by a sunglass-clad young gentleman (I guess he didn't want to get his eyes wet from the rain) passing out seasick bags, while offhandedly providing what, I soon discovered, was a very understated explanation: "It's a little rough out there today."

The fast ferryboat from Boston to Provincetown meets neither my standard of 'fast' nor 'ferryboat'.  I've been around ferryboats; if they're required to cross anything wider than a river, they are generally large car-carrying water-pit-bulls that stubbornly plod along with single-minded disinterest in anything that is not the pier looming on the approaching shore.  Crashing waves are but delicate crystal upon those mighty hulls.

But the 'SS Dramamine' that shuttles from Boston to Provincetown is not a pit bull.  It is a jaunty excursion craft that weathers rough water like a cork.

The fun began, in fairly short order, once we were away from the dock.  Swish up, swoop down, list this way, then that way, burrow under the crest, spray windows into a translucent melting smear, pop back out, and then turn yourself about!  Repeat, but this time with feeling.  Wheee!

Maybe I'm showing my age, but in my mind Jacques Cousteau's soothing but authoritative Parisian accent provided the voice over: "Cape Cod, she is a giant sandbar of immense destructive power.  During the 18th and 19th centuries, hundreds and hundreds of ships ran aground and were smashed to kindling by the merciless waters of the Atlantic. Un temps terrible pour les marins."

There was some phenomena that didn't quite fit into my passage of the Calypso scenario.  Namely, three televisions suspended above the forward windows.  All were on the sports network, showing the same round of golf.   Keep in mind that the pervasive backdrop, behind the stately and peaceful emerald greens on the screen, was the pitching grey brine of the sea and a murky landless horizon.  The sound was down, but the games were helpfully closed-captioned in teeny-tiny letters to encourage further nausea for those wishing to enhance their experience.

To pass the time, Robert and I did our best to enjoy a bottle of Ciros de Susana Balbo.  It is a charming, but not spectacular, Malbec. (A perfect accompaniment to an open sea crossing peppered with bouts of white-knuckled bracing, should you ever find yourself in the market for such a thing.)  The woman sitting across from us applauded our tenacious perseverance to civility in the face of "This is the worse I've seen them go out in," commentary from the more experienced passengers.  We decided it was time to finish up when the changes in elevation became so rapid that the wine in our glass failed to keep pace and spent fleeting moments airborne.

Sometimes, when there was a particularly steep and rapid fall (just love that particular combination by-the-by) from a high swell, I'd get that funny feeling I used to get when I was on the top end of the teeter-totter and the kid on the bottom hoped off.  Great playground memories: a brief mid-air test in physics where my testicles would travel to the ground at a slightly slower rate than the rest of my body and would pass up through me until catching up to speed.  There were a few such gloriously nostalgic moments.  Again, wheeee!

As you can imagine, there are those for whom a weaving horizon and agitated sea might cause queasiness and projectile vomiting.  Needless to say, the thoughtfully provided bags were indeed used, en masse.  Of note: people really do go green and the blood really does drain from their face when seasick.  I made a game of predicting who was about to blow, while watching helpful attendants, all of whom wore surgical gloves, run around providing fresh baggies.  Now that's service!

Also of interest: the bar was open the entire time.  Those who had the foresight to have taken Dramamine prior to the trip were getting laced, for although Dramamine does quell a queasy stomach, it does not quell the fear of a cold and watery grave.  Did I mention 'wheeee'?

Sure this went on for a relentless two hours, but I don't want to scare off any potential visitors, so, for the sake of somewhat balanced reporting, rest assured that it was not as if we were off the Tierra del Fuego archipelago rounding the "Horn" in the icy grip of winter (I'm certain then you'd need to drink the wine directly from the bottle to prevent spillage).  Our return trip, two days later, was very beautiful and our wonderful weekend on Cape Cod, well, that's another an article onto itself.

DW Richards is a novelist and freelance writer.  He can be reached at: This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

Related Articles:

Letters From Venice #2: Local Tips

Letters from Venice #1 (True Chronicles)

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