Top: The girls with the happy gondolier Left: Claire on the boat to Murano Right: Piazza San Marco
First, a brief comparison of the two European discount airlines: RyanAir and EasyJet. My comments about the former are based on reports from Rob and the girls.
RyanAir. (motto: "At Ryan, we don't give a flyin' --- about customer service."). This airline makes Southwest Airlines look like First Class on Singapore Air. First, you need to take a metro, then a bus, to an airport in boohickey France that, if it weren't for the planes flying in and out, could easily be mistaken for a small farm. This trip takes approximately two hours, at which point you are so exhausted and irritated that not only have you completely lost your will to travel, you forget where exactly you were headed in the first place. If you succumb to the temptations of a taxi, it will cost you more than you save by taking RyanAir, so you will be broke and irritated. You are charged for checked bags, water, and oxygen if you require any more than the amount used by the average Martian.
EasyJet. (motto: "Sit down and shut up. We're in a hurry here."). These guys leave from real live airports and they have real live pilots who have incredibly cool accents (Dutch, French, etc.). They are nice and relaxed about all that "safety" stuff; the notion that you should be seated for takeoff is more of a guideline than a hard and fast rule. They also charge you for drinks, checked bags, and being nice, but - and this is important - you can have all of the oxygen you want. FREE!! They fly according to their national origin; we had a Dutch pilot on the way to Venice who was fairly cautious. We had a French pilot on the way back, who dispensed with all that taxiing nonsense and gunned the engines as soon as we were out of the gate, decelerating only slightly as we turned a corner onto the actual runway. Not surprisingly, we arrived home a half hour ahead of schedule.
We flew into Marco Polo airport in Venice. We figured that, in order to save money on things like radar and landing instrumentation, when the plane gets close to the airport, the pilot radios in: "Marco."
Air traffic control radios back: "Polo."
This goes on until the pilot can see the runway. Which makes night flights quite an adventure.
When you arrive at the airport, don't bother looking for a taxi. It was news to me, but apparently, Venice is only reachable by water!! You have a choice between water bus and water taxi. As their names suggest, the water bus takes approximately 4 hours and stops every 30 seconds to pick up elderly Italian women carrying live chickens and lots of salami. The water taxi costs about as much as the taxi to the Ryanair airport. However, you actually reach your destination in less than half a day.
The difference between the French and the Italians: the French take all of your money, while scowling at you and telling you how worthless you are. The Italians take all of your money, while smiling and laughing and telling you how wonderful you are. You make the call.
While Erin is the designated crepe expert in Paris, Claire has emerged as the gelato expert in Italy. She can smell the stuff from several blocks away. It is safe to say that she had an adequate sampling of the various Venetian offerings to draw defensible conclusions.
We spent one afternoon on the island of Murano, known for its glass-blowing factories (as well as its Nissan SUVs). We watched a glass-blowing demonstration; amazing.
Megan and Erin discovered gnocchi, which was too bad for me since I had ordered it and was left with their pizza margherita. Again.
All in all, a fun trip. Back to school on Monday.
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