Vivendo a Venezia: Ten Weeks in the Serenissima.

Sunrise from San Marco. Image ©.location 2011

Prior to my ten-week jaunt to Venice, I had hidden all things travel-feature related from my sight, so that the delights of la serenissima would be a complete surprise to me. What I hadn’t vouched for was the fact that this was a foreign city, with a foreign language, and I had to arrive there by myself… with only vague directions to my new lodgings in hand.

‘Good plan,’ I thought begrudgingly, as I haphazardly tried to navigate my 23kg suitcase onto an over-crowded Vaporetto. “San Marco…. that’s the one with the huge tower, right?” I felt so stupidly naive, Venice being one of the most famous cities on earth, and here I was rocking up late at night with no phone signal, and a bunch of dismayed flat-mates looking for me in St. Mark’s square. Squeals of “Oh my gosh, you’re alive!” greeted me as I finally dragged my now one-wheeled suitcase across Piazza San Marco, and stumbled into my housemates by pure chance.

The nightmare navigation of my journey into the city had somewhat robbed the instant impression of its beauty. It was only when I had found my flatmates and realised that no, I wasn’t going to be sleeping on the street, that the sheer beauty of the place hit me. And hit me full force, it did. Standing in Piazza San Marco, I couldn’t believe my luck. The atmosphere was buzzing; three quartets were staged in the periphery, with crowds of people huddled around them, some sitting, some dancing, some being harassed by the rose sellers, and some just appreciating the beauty of this Renaissance piazza’s delight. Did I really live here? Was this really university life?

I think I can speak for all of my university course mates when I say that the first three weeks were spent ignoring all work, as we ran around exploring the city, visiting each other’s apartments, and getting lost as many times as we found some of Venice’s hidden gems. I’m reluctant to give them all up; I guess that’s one of the benefits of living in a tourist haunt for ten weeks: you feel like you have become a local. I loved the fact that by the end of the term, I knew the names of the waitresses in my favourite bar, and the local supermarket staff knew the back-story of why I was around for so long (all conveyed in Italian; apparently learning the language for two years did pay off. Result!) But for every hidden gem known to the locals and those with time on their hands, there is an equally overpriced tourist trap, waiting to suck your euros off of you faster than you can say “un momento, per favore”. So I do feel somewhat duty bound to pass on some helpful advice to those wishing to pay a visit to this watery cityscape.

Tips for staying in Venice.

If you visit Venice during winter, take Wellington boots if you have them. There will be flooding, sometimes twice a day. You definitely don’t want to end up walking around barefooted in the acqua alta. Sure, they’ll put up walk boards, but if you’re hit with over a metre of water then even they won’t be forgiving to your best ballet pumps/loafers! (Oh, and watch your back on these things, there can be nasty pile-ups as people stop to photograph the rising water. I’d hate for you to be impaled by an umbrella).

Vaporetto passes are expensive, so this depends on the length of time you have to spend in Venice. You can buy one journey for  6, or buy 36/48/72 hour passes. But for almost the same price you can buy an Imob card (think of it as Venice’s oyster card equivalent) for  40, and then either buy a monthly pass, or a ten-journey ticket. Alternatively, if you just need to cross the Grand Canal, then you could catch a traghetto; a sort of giant gondola that ferries people between stops for 50 cents a go.

Walking is the best way to explore and get off the beaten track, so if you don’t have a schedule, then I’d definitely recommend exploring the back streets. Word of warning though: if you find a shop/bar you want to go into, do it immediately. These back streets seem to have an amazing ability to change in a very Narnia-esque fashion, and chances are if you pass by that beautiful mask/book/paper shop, you will never find it again! (I’m speaking from experience here.)

Eating out can be expensive. Avoid anywhere within a five minute walk from St Mark’s Square. Definitely avoid anywhere with photographs of the food stuck to the windows, usually with a very neon “Tourist Menu” sign plastered above it in five different languages. It’s not that these places will give you food poisoning or something             equally heinous, it’s just that for walking a little further afield you will get much better value for money, and better service too. Try areas near to the Strada Nova in the north of the city; Osteria Obbligatoria is a great lunch bar, and Vini da Gigio boasts some of the best Venetian fish around.

Venice isn’t known for it’s nightlife, and has only a handful of questionable “clubs”, including the absolutely infamous Picolo Mondo, and Billa Bar on the Strada Nova. Campo Santa Margherita in Dorsoduro is the well-known student hang out, but even this can get a bit dull. I’d recommend Campo San Giacometto, which has lively bars, cheap prices, and is located just off the Rialto Bridge. This is home to Naranzaria, my all-time favourite bar in Venice. It has amazing wine and seating on the Grand Canal, but luckily it doesn’t have tourist prices. I know I recommended getting off the beaten track, but this is probably the one exception to the rule! For live music and a rowdy atmosphere, make for Paradiso Peraduto near Fondamenta della Misericordia, which serves cicchetti (Venetian bar tapas) along with its drinks.

Other than that, just explore. Venice has hundreds of churches, most are free to enter and contain incredible artworks. You never know when you’ll stumble into another Titian painting. Or, just take a leisurely stroll down the back waterways, and stop off for a Spritz (a potent orange drink that you will become addicted to). But my biggest tip? Relax. Don’t rush around the place trying to cram in every last nook and cranny. When you live somewhere as beautiful as this, you often end up storm trooping down the tiny alleyways, cursing the tourists as you go about your daily business, forgetting to take in the serene beauty of this miraculous city. So take some time, don’t feel too bad about walking at the tourist pace. But while you’re doing so, please, please walk to the right. And look out for my damned suitcase wheel!

Think you can handle one night in Hollywood? Think again. This town is not for the faint hearted.

The Dragonfly (image © .location 2010)

“Well, you’ve picked a great spot for a vacation. But whatever you do, don’t go to Hollywood.” These wise words were ushered to me late one night at a house party in San Clemente, California. I threw my head back and laughed; “Oh, it’s too late for that! I was there last night.” The apparent mind reader went on to explain that the most normal person can drive up to Hollywood, and the second they step onto the side walk, it’s guaranteed that their world will be shaken up by a series of dramatic events.

Roll back twenty-four hours, and this was exactly what was happening to me. Travelling up from the O.C. for one night only, no sooner had we pulled onto Santa Monica Blvd than a heated fight had broken out amongst our previously high-spirited group. Luckily, this didn’t disturb the mood for too long, as we were soon exclaiming at the sight of a trouser-less man flashing at a bus stop. Not quite the image I expected to be greeted with when entering the glossiest city on the planet. Turns out, this was Hollywood’s way of telling us our time in the city would be more ‘glossy-mess’ than ‘glossiness’.

After a quick drive around the very surreal Beverley Hills, we decided to grab dinner at nearby Mao’s Kitchen, an off-the-beaten-track restaurant that channels a vibe of Asian industrial warehouse come art-installation, complete with stark interiors and a somewhat dungeon-like restroom. Post borderline-creepy dinner, at my request we attempted to see the infamous “Hollywood” sign. However, this just led to an hour-long traffic jam along the very neon Hollywood Blvd, followed by encountering a fire at The Highlands, and witnessing a million paparazzi flash away at a movie premiere.

So instead, we opted to troll around North Hollywood, now keen to get to The Dragonfly, a grimy underground club boasting some of the best Dubstep and Drum & Bass nights around. Entrance to Thursday night’s “Respect” was $10, with drinks at $4 before 11pm: a cheap price to pay in Hollywood.

By the end of the night I had witnessed a fire, a premiere, encountered several marital break-ups and make-ups, and had even been introduced to people who somehow already knew who I was. I couldn’t help but wonder; what is UP with this place? In one final display of hilarity, Hollywood gave us as ceremonious an exit as it did with our entrance. Albeit, this time it came in the form of witnessing a rabid street fight amongst a group of Transvestites. Wigs flying and heels kicking, we drove away laughing, and I was left contemplating our weird and wonderful night out in the media frenzied bubble. If I learnt anything about this place, it’s that for any unsuspecting tourist wanting to see the lights and feel the glamour, Hollywood will take you on, chew you up and spit you out. So I guess the only question is; are you ready for your ride?

O.C. Living: An English Country girl gets a dose of life in California.

Sunset at San Clemente Pier. (image © .location 2010)

Everyone knows the stereotypes of Orange County. Stick thin girls with a mass of blonde hair bigger than their waist size, fawning over their tanned male counterparts who’re fresh off the beach. All with a decent load of cash, expansive beachfront homes and plush cars thrown into the mix. Thanks to a cleverly crafted media image, the rest of the world has only been exposed to an idea of the O.C. that has been fabricated by shows such as “The Hills” and “Laguna Beach”. You’d be forgiven then, for thinking that there was nothing beneath the surface of Orange County’s glamazonian residents and their environment.

But what a crafty ploy that is. I have plenty of twenty-something friends in England who scoffed at my plan to spend five weeks in this self appointed plastic bubble. “Whyyyy would you go there? It’s got no soul, it’s SO fake.” I heard this time and time again as I informed friend after friend about my extended-holiday plans. Truth be told, since I was fifteen I’ve known California could be a potential future homeland for me; somewhere with a promise of year-round sun, and a healthy dose of American optimism and friendliness. But this was pre-media frenzy and size 0 hysteria to which Orange County has since become infamous for across the pond. So, how would I survive the supposed celebrity culture obsessed, super-human haunt that is Orange County? Well, I’ll give you the myths, and then I’ll de-bunk them. Because on return from my five-week jaunt, I’m quite convinced that if it weren’t for this glossy, “no-soul” image that California has created for itself, that if the truth were out there of what the O.C. is really like, then the whole world would be flocking to its shores, right now. And this, my friend, is why.

Those Californian men.

Okay, there are infinite amounts of stunning men in the O.C.  I’d be an out right liar if I were to deny this were the case. And yes, some of them do have an air of “fawn over me, I’ll keep you running” about them. It may not be right, but flash one brilliant smile, and they can definitely get away with it. This differs from good old Blighty, where the ugliest of emo kids will still act as though they’ve just been granted a modelling contract with Givenchy. The American boys will, however, at least give you a very smiley “Hi there!” which would brighten anybody’s day, instead of a sulky “I’m going to pretend I haven’t seen you” cold shoulder that everyone in England knows only too well. If, however, you do happen to catch the attention of one of these gorgeous creatures, then something happens which is totally unexpected, and quite frankly utterly brilliant. They will be forward, and let you know. And not in that tragic post-midnight, bar crawling, English “HOW YOU DOIN’ DARLIN’?” kind of way; but instead with a genuinely sincere, non-drunken approach of “I’d like to take you for breakfast, is that ok?” Talk about chivalry. Yes, I would love to go for breakfast. Any chance of a Green Card on the side?

Laguna: Not just about Heidi Dolls.

This was perhaps the mental image of California that was most instantly & completely obliviated upon arrival. Driving into Laguna during my first week, I found no sign of the plastic, un-authentic beach side town that had been hammered into my head when the aforementioned MTV programmes took hold. Instead, what I found was a rather quaint seaside (can I even call it a town?) resort complete with remarkably cute little wooden houses, boutiques and crafts galleries, all bordering a glorious stretch of golden sand. An artsy, somewhat rustic, and very authentic feeling little haven, Laguna has a rather quiet and calm air about it, given that it has only one road in, and one road out. The only sense of Californian glamour is provided by the slightly overpowering grandeur of The Montage Hotel, where on any given day you could expect to see Jen Aniston and her bff Courtney Cox gracing the palatial suites. This really is a fabricated, palm tree lined metropolis, where even the bunny rabbits have been imported for the delight of the guests. Suites will set you back a mint or two to say the least, and there are plenty of pools and restaurant hotspots within the grounds to be hired out for the afternoon. Oh, how the other half live. But don’t be fooled, Laguna really is a stunner of a place, and one of a few locations I have been scouring for homes for sale since my return to England. Who’d of thought?

The lifestyle.

One of the most appealing attributes to Californian living is the amount of good weather. If, on the off chance there is no sun, do not expect rain. I saw thirty seconds worth in five weeks, and hilariously enough it was even mildly exciting when it came. Perhaps it doesn’t seem like a big deal; perhaps you even like the constant presence of the threatening rain cloud England provides on a daily basis. But what this weather provokes is an outdoor lifestyle which makes you feel like you want to be active, or to push the boat right out, like you want to exercise. Shock horror, there it is. I’ve succumbed to the Californian health hysteria. But so what? Shouldn’t we all want to live well and be healthy? Over there, there is total delight in saying “I’m going paddle boarding”, or “my yoga class is at 6”, because in this environment it just fits. Instead of dog walking in a rain soaked pac-a-mac, you’ll be dog walking at 8am to a family run coffee shop, saying hi to half of your town because that’s just how life is. Exercise isn’t a chore, it’s a lifestyle, and it’s a sociable and fun one at that.

The law.

What do you get if you cross a bunch of mid twenty year olds with a street fair and a 24-pack of pabst blue ribbon? Apparently, absolute comedy gold. Wandering around the wrong side of the designated drink zone at the San Clemente street fair, suddenly we’re being chased down by cops that quite frankly look as though they’ve been dressed from a kid’s toy shop. Blue suits and aviator glasses on, they tell us to sit on the curb as they pull out a wedge of tickets. I almost start laughing as I contemplate the hilarity of being told to sit on the curb… like naughty school children? Oh, they’re not kidding. One of my more irate friends starts mouthing off, asking how much the ticket is going to be, but no one is telling us anything. They dislike our tone, and decide to call for back up. Back up? Seriously!? So now there are sixteen cops surrounding the six of us, all sitting in a row on a pavement. My only girl companion puts her arm around me; “isn’t this exciting!”… Not if I get a ticket and thrown out of the country it’s not. Somehow, when the cop gets around to us girls, he lets us off. “Were you drinking?” We shrug and play dumb, and he passes us by. Unfortunately the guys don’t get off so lightly, and are lumped with pricey tickets and possible court dates. This all seems a little much for passing onto the wrong side of a barrier. We see the cops several more times throughout the day, busting more kids for the same offence. It seems a little too easy, and I can’t help but wonder if they’re doing it for the sake of making a few extra bucks. The street fair seemed designed to trick people into this. We decided not to let it ruin our day as we waltzed down to the beach to watch the sunset. I appreciate that while this was a funny sight for me, this wouldn’t happen in England, and would be a royal pain in the a** once the novelty of the comedy wore off. England, have you won out here?

The American dream vs England’s dreariness.

This is where California really gave me a reason to stay. England has a certain morbidity, a defeatist “can’t-do” attitude that’s about as cheery as the average February morning. Too many times have I discussed ideas about my future, only to have them dismissed as big let downs waiting to happen. Call it cheesy, or the remnants of the ‘American Dream’, but discuss your future plans across the pond and you’ll get a whole different reaction. “Go for it!” “That sounds SO exciting! Good luck!” they’ll chirp… and not in a sarcastic, “good luck; you’ll need it” kind of way either. They say America was built on dreams, and that vision has definitely seeped through to their everyday attitudes to life. I can practically hear the cries of “Oh that’s so smarmy, I couldn’t stand it” coming from my homeland patriots, but quite frankly I think a little optimism wouldn’t go amiss in England right now. Perhaps it’s time we got over ourselves, and took onboard a good-sized dose of American spirit.

The people.

Two weeks in to my five-week vacation, it became wildly apparent that this was no mere holiday in the sun. I had accidently and haphazardly begun a new life in California. I had a boyfriend (something I definitely hadn’t foreseen to be on the cards), a great group of friends and stand-in parents. I was even scouring the local papers for jobs. This instantaneous feeling of belonging was, of course, completely indebted to the people I was sharing my time with. California is home to some of the friendliest people I have ever met; in just saying a pleasant “good morning” to a passer by, or hanging out with people you’ve never met before, I felt completely at ease settling into my new environment. So much so, that I had joked to my friends at home I’d have to be dragged on to my return flight kicking and screaming. All joking aside however, as the five weeks drew to a close, I was absolutely devastated to be leaving. How do you start something, and then walk away, cutting it off and just leaving it behind? California had a strangle hold on my emotions, and I was in no mood to say goodbye. But, the end of summer arrived, and so did my return date. After several emotional goodbyes, I sobbed my way through LAX and boarded my flight home. I vowed to myself that in one year I would be back, and next time, it would be no five-week vacation. It would be to pick up where I left off, to carry on the life I started on the finer side of the pond. So Orange County, one year from now, listen closely to the sound of airplane tires hitting that runway. Because in the words of your very own Governor; “I’ll be back.”

The Mission

In a sea of blogs, dotlocation is one tiny buoy that will undoubtedly struggle to stay afloat. The media saturated world in which we live does not need another outlet, another critically unfounded opinion from those who fail to see that their judgement is only a subjective fancy. It is with some trepidation, and a lot of honesty, that dotlocation will root itself against the pitfalls of our media culture, in order to aim for something more. We are only one minute ‘dot location’ in this expansive webscape, but we aim to write from a point of view that will analyse without bias, and report without judgement. All in all, we are all trying to make some sense of what we see and hear, so it is dedication to truth that is our mission. We hope you wish us well.