Valerie Halla
Figures at my first hotel in Venice. They didn’t say much.
Ciao. I left recently from San Jose at 6:20 am to fly to Minneapolis for a 4 hour layover, then to Paris, France then to Venice, Italy. It was a solo adventure. A vacation. It was challenging. It was tiring. It was exhilarating. It was exciting. Friends urged me to go after the loss of my husband of 53 years.
Landing in Minneapolis, Minnesota was pretty with lakes dotting the landscape. The airport is well done, not like a steak, but like well organized and laid out, with gates and your plane easy to find and security moving swiftly. It’s simple to put your stuff into a plastic box and walk through those magic frisking machines. One officer made me go through the process 4 times. I guess he liked me.
I had notified a Murdo friend who has lived there for years. I had planned on meeting him at the airport but I texted him off and on thinking that maybe I didn’t need to bother him especially on a Sunday. Things went back and forth for a while, but it did work out so we planned a meet up downstairs at ground level by a coffee shop in the airport to chat, however I would have to go through security again.
We talked about old times, how our families were doing, and how we had met our spouses. I hadn’t realized Rafe had lived with my cousin Jeff H. For a while after he got a job long ago in Minneapolis.
That’s not my friend’s real name but every time I’m out walking my dog, Nincompoop, and listening to music, my AirPods guy says: “You have a message from Rafe- read it?”
Rafe used to be “some guy named Ralph.”
After a three hour chat, then a delayed flight (with a recommendation from Rafe to look for famous tile flooring by Gate 1) I sat waiting and never did see the special tile. But here’s a picture:
That tile is pretty exciting.
I had a long flight from Minneapolis to Paris, and tried to sleep but with no luck. They served drinks a lot, even red and white wine. I had a lasagna dinner like a frozen copy imitating dinner plus veggies and a lemon dessert that resembled a lemon bar. After hours of fits of near sleep and twisting and turning in my seat, we made it to Charles De Gaulle Airport way out on some distant runway as they hauled us away in buses to the real airport and I was instantly lost. This airport is a modern, glassy, glossy, winding, up and down gooey mess.
Photo below is from MN airport.
The piano player at Minneapolis Airport there. That’s a big Steinway baby grand piano.
I had fun chatting with him. He gives lessons, if you’re interested. He told me I could start to learn from where he gives lessons. I told him Minneapolis was a bit too far to go from California where I live for piano lessons.
Then I finally landed in Paris and luck would have it I asked a worker there where my gate was and she knew. It was mobbed at the CDG airport. Crazy security gates there with up escalators then down to find my gate, but I got on board and flew to Venice, Italy. Pretty short flight then found my tour lady with her sign on a pole. After meeting three other ladies in my group, it was pure fun, adventure and amazement.
I had made it to Italy. I was enraptured.
Water taxi to Venice.
We four ladies on the tour were remarking at how fast our water taxi zipped, bounced and splashed across the bay to the island. This driver smoked his cigarette the entire trip out. He was calm. We were worried. We did make it.
I was in Venice, Italy after 24 hours, including an overnight flight, a visit with a fellow Murdoite and four airports and a speeding boat ride out to my hotel. I walked with my lady travelers down the street after hopping off the boat as the tour guide… well…guided us to the quaint, lovely old mansion from the 1600’s currently a hotel/inn.
First night out for snacks with new friends in Venice.
Those 70ish Girls 
baseball team all over the country. He spent so much of his time coaching us; but as I recall we WON!Liked by youEdit