With an awkward gap of a few months between the Winter season in Austria and Summer season in Greece, I was lost as how to pass the time. I considered another return to Amsterdam, or even the dreaded London to see friends, but at the last moment a friend from Miami pulled through and got me a job in a hostel in Venice. This would provide me with an opportunity to achieve a long-held dream. For years I have wanted to be a gondolier in Venice. Seriously. I just thought it would be cool. I was under the false belief that my grandmother came from Venice and that maybe I had a bit of gondolier blood in me. I found out when I was about eighteen that my grandmother's family came from Sicily, the other side of the country. This shattered my world. Nevertheless, I have always felt an attachment to Venice. It could have something to do with one of Sean Connery's Bond movies, when in the final scene Bond floats away with his girl on his side and the bad guy defeated. That also just seemed cool. So I came to find out just how cool it is.
The Hostel
Working in a hostel is practically the only way I could come to live here. Finding accommodation and a job in a traditional manner would prove impossible, especially considering the ludicrous prices for rent in Venice. It also happens to be a nice little arrangement, the hostel provides free board, food, drinks and daily friends, all in a 400 year old palace on the Grand Canal. The hostel is fairly central and a short walk to St. Marco's square. It is in a large building, and was in fact a palace that was built for a leading Venetian family in the 15th century. The hostel takes up all of the second floor. Busks feature along the welcoming staircase and the entrance has magnificently high ceilings which are adorned with sculptures of chubby babies with wings. The hostel can take about forty people but the occupancy floats around the thirty mark. My job has is three fold, I organise the beds, handle the check-ins and setup the meals. Organising the beds is a saga in its own right. The hostel only has a license for five beds per room, but have as many as fourteen guests in each room. The police often have routine checks of all tourism enterprises and will show up demanding to be allowed in to make an inspection. Due to this, a large part of my working day is spent taking down and hiding beds and putting them back up at 5 o'clock, once the police have called it a day. On Sundays I don't have to do it, because the police don't work on Sundays, which is a nice change. (It is through this aspect of my job that I was introduced to the Italian concept of fregatura which is indispensible for anyone living in Italy. A fregatura is doing something in a way which is not exactly legal, not exactly honest, but just this side of outrageously bad. It is a way of life in Italy.)
The Check-ins have become a passion of mine, or at least a large aspect of my entertainment. At first I explained everything in a sensible and straightforward way, which quickly got boring. It then evolved into great rambling performances that could freak out the guest, and question their decision to stay there or I could be down right rude if the guest gets in anytime before 10am. Generally I have perfected my routine answering the questions before they are answered, and satisfying any nerves or qualms, especially after explaining why their bed will only be ready at five. I tell them the truth. Some people try guess where I am from and most fail horribly. There are cheaper rates for females which half explains why 90 percent of the guests are females. We are currently coming to the end of Europe's spring break and many of our guests in the last few weeks have been obnoxious Americans studying in Europe, although not all are obnoxious and some are even agreeable. The guests from Canada, Mexico, Britain, Ireland, Norway, Australia and Brazil (basically everywhere except America) have been awesome and a highlight of the job.
Setting up breakfast is a straightforward deal but dinner is the day's great event.
Every night we prepare a 3 Euro dinner for the guests. It is generally a variety of pasta but lasagne, gnocchi and pizza make appearances too. The gnocchi and pizza are made from scratch and are half day affairs. My bosses take great pride in their dinners and the guests realise that. Initially the guests will endure awkward and plodding conversations regarding day trips and travel plans. But after the 'Surprise Sangria' has been unveiled, drinking games kick off, similarities are recognised, defences dropped and discarded and any awkwardness quickly vanishes. After dinner, the guests are louder and happier and the drinking games are picked up at one end of the table while the other side chats freely. After an hour or so we head to the bars.
My Bosses
There are four of them. Four thirty-something friends who own four hostels; one in Milan, one in Florence and two in Venice. Diana and Alberto are brother and sister, Matteo and Andrea are friends with Alberto. They bounce around from hostel to hostel spending a week here and a week there. It can happen that three of them meet up for a few days just for a party it seems. As I mentioned, they are behind the dinners and the kitchen is their playground. As Diana has explained to me, "The kitchen is where we have our funny". They pump the music, which features 70's disco, Italian favourites and Jamiroquai. They smoke cigarettes, drink wine, sing and dance all while milling around and contributing to the cooking. Andrea or Alberto will over see it and keep focused on the job while the others perform. More than anything though, they argue vehemently. It is classic, they throw their arms around in wild gesture and are emphatic with every point. Every conversation is a raging argument, a constant ranting, and I was convinced that only someone who is furiously angry will shriek that loudly. I was wrong. After every argument they burst out laughing and spin around for another cigarette to light or glass to full or song to pick or pot to stir. The kitchen is one big celebration. Friends come over and join the festivities and their riot intimidatingly looms over the hostel guests. Their party is much more raucous than the collection of travelling strangers.
Venice
I spend the time I have free in the afternoons joining guests on random explorations, trips to nearby islands, and quests to different areas of Venice. We always get lost. We wonder down the smaller alleys, investigate the curious squares and trust our instincts. My personal mission for the moment is to get gelato everyday. There are free exhibitions and churches to check out too, I do if there is nothing else going on. There are ferries to sneak onto for free trips along the grand canal. There is much on offer but best is just to wonder. I head back to the hostel at fivish to put the beds back up.
Venice Nightlife
Venetian nightlife is pretty limited. There are some clubs on the mainland but on Venice itself, there are few places that play music or where one can dance. There are a few plazas with small bars surrounding them that spill crowds onto the plazas. The most popular one is Campo Santa Margarita which is popular amongst the students. The bars are tiny and just big enough for us to squeeze in, order a drink, and squeeze out. The most popular drink is a Spritz, the 'Venetian cocktail', which is pink and fruity and is made with either Aperol or Campari, and is dirt cheap. If you're lucky you will get an olive on a stick with it or generally a slice of blood orange. I tell the guests they have to get this signature drink and ordering is made easy for the large group. Standing outside we are bombarded by rose sellers from Bangladesh. The bars play no music and close early. Not so vibrant. Some nights we seek out random bars to prolong the night or try our hand at the unpredictable wharehouse club, Zona Bandita which operates with what sounds like one blown speaker, but generally the afterparty heads back to the hostel, where we play music and finish off the sangria and our night.
End Note: I have recently moved to the other hostel in Venice, where myself and an Afghanistani guy called Ateek run the show. It is dingier and dodgier and we can do what we like. It is not a palace.
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