Choosing a Rent-A-Car in Europe

For the next few days, Jack Sh*t is chronicling his adventures on his recent trip to Italy as well as including tips to help you plan your own international travel. It is his special way of saying "Nanna nanna boo boo, I went to Italy!" to all his loyal readers.

 There are a variety of choices available when it comes to renting a car in Italy. I've tried to provide some pros and cons of the most popular models available at the rent-a-car agencies.

 

The Dodge Deathtrap is somewhat safer than riding a bicycle, though not quite as fast. Pro: Easy to park. Con: Blows away in moderate winds.

 

The Ford Flapadoodle is a small yet sporty roadster that gets 75 kilometers per pint (tank holds two pints). Pro: Chicks think it's cute. Con: Can't get out of a pothole.

 

The Casalini Canoodle seats one and a half comfortably. Pro: Impossible to get speeding ticket. Con: Windshield made from Saran Wrap.

 

The Berkshire Brouhaha is a stylish, economical choice with enough trunk space to carry several pine cones. Pro: In accident, chances are other car won't have a scratch. Con: Only one pedal for clutch, gas and brake.

 

The Daimler Doodlebug offers plenty of headroom and can turn 360° in place. Pro: Dishwasher safe.  Con: Last mechanic that knows how to work on it died in 1997.

 

The Honda Hootenanny lets you basically go anywhere a motorcycle can go. Pro: Can fit into virtually any parking spot. Con: People constantly coming up to you and yelling "Was anybody hurt?"

 

The Fiat Flibbertigibbet has some parts that are actually made of metal. Pro: Glove compartment doubles as toaster oven. Con: Won't go in reverse.

 

 The Ford Filibuster provides more leg and headroom than you'd expect and fewer gears than you'd like (two). Pro: Fantastic gas mileage. Con: Zero to 50 in less than a week.

 

Oooooooooooooooooor... you can say "The hell with saving up for my retirement!" and go with the Peugeot 307 Coupé Cabriolet convertible like I did.

That's what I'm talking about!

 Ciaó, bitches.

When’s the Best Time For a Gondola Ride? Right This Very Second!

For the next few days, Jack Sh*t is chronicling his adventures on his recent trip to Italy as well as including tips to help you plan your own international travel. It is his special way of saying "Nanna nanna boo boo, I went to Italy!" to all his loyal readers.

 

Every time my wife Anita and I spoke to a gondolier while in Venice, he assured us that that very moment was the best time to take a gondola ride.

10 a.m.? The perfect time! You beat the crowds!

1:30 p.m.? The ideal time! Everyone’s at lunch so you get a better deal!

4:45 p.m.? No time perfecter! Everyone else is preoccupied buying genuine Italian glass made in China!

We finally broke down and took a gondola ride. I mean, you have to! It’s Venice, for God’s sake! Yes, it’s touristy and cost too much, but you just have to do it.


Do’s and Don’t of Gondola Rides in Venice

DO negotiate for the cost, details and duration of your ride.

DON’T pay with a jar of pennies and nickels.

DO ask your gondolier to sing a beautiful Italian ballad.

DON’T ask your gondolier to riverdance.

DO sit back and enjoy the splendor of an old-world tradition.

DON’T engage in gondola races along the Grand Canal.

DO nod in appreciation when the gondolier tells you that you’re passing the home of Marco Polo.

DON’T ask if he’s the dude that invented that pool game.

DO use this as an opportunity to practice your Italian.

DON’T use this as an opportunity to join the “Rock the Gondola” club.

DO offer a friendly wave to folks on bridges as you go beneath.

DON’T scream out “LOOK AT ME! I’M ON A GONDOLA, BITCHES!”

The Really Good Restaurant Adventure

For the next few days, Jack Sh*t is chronicling his adventures on his recent trip to Italy as well as including tips to help you plan your own international travel. It is his special way of saying "Nanna nanna boo boo, I went to Italy!" to all his loyal readers.

 Mostly our eating plan while on our Italian vacation has been (a) to stop someplace that looks pretty good when we’re hungry and/or (b) stop someplace that looks really good whether we’re hungry or not.

However, I had some across a tremendously well-reviewed restaurant that my wife Anita and I were dying to try.

I wasn’t sure either of us was going to have much of an appetite after visiting the Rialto Street Market, a huge collection of vendors peddling fresh fruits, vegetables and seafood. The appetite-killer was the little butcher shop that appeared to specialize in horse-meat. Giddy-up!

After a morning wandering through the market and an afternoon of more ancient church visiting (and stair-climbing), we decide to make our way to the restaurant for an early dinner.


All the guidebooks tell you one of the things to do in Venice is to “get lost”. Seeing as how the “streets” appear to be designed by a committee of lunatics, we have no trouble at all following this advice. As a matter of fact, we appear to spend most of our time fully dazed and disoriented.

I finally bite the bullet and turn on the data roaming on my iPhone, with the full understanding that it’s probably going to cost my daughter Pisa her college education. Thankfully, the phone’s GPS figures out where we are and leads us to our destination straightaway.

Unfortunately, it’s 5:30 and the restaurant doesn’t open until 7 p.m. Hungry and dejected, we wander over to a neighborhood park and hang out for a bit, watching some local kids race scooters around and older folks let their dogs visit the one phone-booth-sized square of grass in the area.

We get back to the restaurant right as it opens and, of course we hear the inevitable “Do you have a reservation?”

Whoops.

Apparently other people read reviews, too, and the place is booked for both tonight and tomorrow night, our last night in Venice. Anita has the good sense to check on lunch the next day (they do).

The next day, we give ourselves plenty of time to find the spot again. However, we spent so much time around the restaurant yesterday that we know it like the back of our hand. We walk straight to the place, and wind up getting there over an hour early. Are you kidding me?

We head back to our park to kill another 75 minutes, and I start getting worried that the expectations for this meal can’t possibly live up to all the time we’ve invested in it. This is setting up to be a disaster.

 

  

An hour or so later, we’re at our table and purring over a cheese plate and tapping our sparking prosecco glasses together. We’ve declared this our honorary 25th wedding anniversary meal.

No, it’s not a late-night candle-lit dinner, but like our marriage it may be unconventional at times, it may be something that we’ve had to work at sometimes and… it’s everything we hoped it would be.

Cheers!

More Italian Food Porn

Postcards from Venice

Nearly Sunk in Venice

For the next couple of weeks, Jack Sh*t is chronicling his adventures on his recent trip to Italy as well as including tips to help you plan your own international travel. It is his special way of saying "Nanna nanna boo boo, I went to Italy!" to all his loyal readers.

 The moment I stepped outside the train station and viewed the Grand Canal in Venice, one thought ran through my mind: “Why the hell did I lug these heavy golf clubs over here?”

Seriously, Venice is a one-of-a-kind spot. I was going to waste a bunch of time describing it, but instead I think I’ll just include a link to this trippin’ virtual tour.

As we were riding on the water bus to our stop, we realized that our directions to the hotel were… ummm… a little less than specific. As a matter of fact, there was nothing after, “Get off the water bus at such-and-such stop.”

We got off the boat and saw the most impressive churchal structure I think I’ve ever seen. We slipped inside and I fired up my iPad, thinking we could use its GPSishness to locate our destination. Only the battery was on about 1% because I had been watching an entire season of Storage Wars on the train ride over.

So we start wandering the “streets” of Venice, lugging heavy bags down creepy alleyways that I’d never even consider walking down if I were in any other city on earth. After about forty minutes of wandering, Anita ducks into another hotel and asks for help.

Five minutes later, we’re at our hotel without being mugged, spending 500 euros or dropping a suitcase into the water.

This vacation’s looking up!

The Pickpocket Incident

For the next few weeks, Jack Sh*t is chronicling his adventures on his recent trip to Italy as well as including tips to help you plan your own international travel. It is his special way of saying "Nanna nanna boo boo, I went to Italy!" to all his loyal readers. 

 They warn you about pickpockets on the subway in Milan, but how can you know they mean you?

We’re bumping about, standing room only, in the subway on the way to the train station and a young pregnant girl is parked behind my wife Anita.

We’re still in a travelers daze, trying to figure out which stop will land us at the train station. Next thing I know, Anita is stooping to pick up her wallet, which the girl has dropped trying to ease it out of her backpack. She slinks back, away from us, and takes a seat on the subway. If she feels any remorse or shame, it doesn't show in her eyes. It’s just another day at the office for her, I suppose.

Anita buries her wallet and phone deeper in the pack and starts wearing it front-ways. I move my own wallet to my front pocket after briefly considering shoving it down in my underwear.

We’re both a little shaken by the near-disaster, and I continuously feel a little panicked when I can't immediately put my hands on my wallet. As if traveling in a foreign country isn't stressful enough...

At the train station, we purchase tickets to Venice at a self-service kiosk, but the machine won’t take my credit card or chip-and-pin card for some reason, so I wind up having to feed it most of my remaining euros. A day and a half in and we're already more over budget than a Lord of the Rings movie.

The kiosk allowed us to pick the seats we wanted, but somehow we’ve managed to put
ourselves a dozen rows apart for the 3-hour train trip. I settle in and hold my wallet with
both hands.

Next stop: Venice.

What I Learned From Staring at The Last Supper

For the next few weeks, Jack Sh*t is chronicling his adventures on his recent trip to Italy as well as including tips to help you plan your own international travel. It is his special way of saying "Nanna nanna boo boo, I went to Italy!" to all his loyal readers.

 WWJE? (What Would Jesus Eat?)
There’s a professor at Cornell who has done some interesting research about the link between food and religion.  One of his discoveries was that the portion size of the food--as well as the size of the plates--has increased over the years in depictions of the Last Supper. It’s true; the plate size over the years (from 1000 to 2000) has increased by 66% and serving sizes have increased accordingly.

No I’m Not Going Around!
I also learned that convenience trumps artistic integrity. A portion of the lower part of the work (including Jesus’ legs) were cut away to make room for a doorway. I thought it was just because Leonardo couldn’t paint feet…

Oh Snap!
I also learned that the more important the art, the less likely that they’re going to let you take a picture of it.

Okay, So What About The Next-To-The-Last Supper?
I also learned that if you want to see The Last Supper, you better get your tickets months in advance like my wife Anita did.