Ah, Venice

I've been perusing one of my old journals for the last few days in an attempt to remember what my personality used to be like. I think I sometimes forget that I have a personality aside from being a milk machine. I've been reading about my European adventure when I backpacked around Europe during the summer of 2002. I'm so glad I kept a journal. It's brought back some great memories and feelings of adventure. Here's an entry about Venice:

Ah, Venice. City of love. The train shot us from Munich to Verona yesterday, coming to a final halt around 9:30pm. the Veronese air was thick and warm and moist as we leapt from the train with the reverie of Interlaken trailing behind us. We decided to take a taxi to our hostel rather than deal with the bus. To our delight, the taxi spit us out in front of a large Roman structure with a large garden splayed in back and dabbled with eroded statues.
We bid adieu to Verona this morning after only one night sojourn and arrived in Venice at midday. Venice's public transportation system consists primarily of boats. No wonder Venice is internationally known for its romantic and beautiful setting. We took boat number 82 which dropped us off directly in front of our hostel. We were able to secure beds after an hour wait. We sunk heavily into our squeaky bunk beds and allowed our eyes to give in to afternoon sleepiness. I awoke to the sound of the rhythmic squeaking of the dock below our window. I gazed out the window and across the sea channel at the other side of Venice. Dark clouds loomed overhead foreshadowing an afternoon storm. Fortunately, the stagnant hot air, which welcomed us, had retreated with the rising coastal wind and forthcomeing storm.
We walked around a bit, allowing our stomachs to guide. We eventually ended up back at the hostel for dinner. It was very good pasta. We took another short walk after dinner, stopping for gelati along the way. The rain began gradually and slowly increased in intesity and rapidity. It drove us back to the hostel. Now, as I lay writing in my room next to the sea, the romantic, senseual music of three flamanco guitarists is swept into the room with the wind, along with the sloshing of water, the scraping of the dock, and the occasional murmer of voices. Ah, Venice, city of love.