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"IN 1885, there was trouble in Venice. Betrayals, friendships, panic, pretense and love. Bassanio, asks his friend Antonio, for a loan because he wants to marry Portia the daughter of a wealthy man in Belmont. . ."

My yawn interrupts Pierro's story. I'm exhausted from hours of flying. Private jet or not, Nigeria to Kenya, and Tanzania to Italy are very different types of exhausting distances. I just want to make it to the hotel and get in bed, but our boat captain, Pierro, is hell-bent on telling us what happened in Shakespeare's head and how it is supposed to make our time here better. 

By the way, I discovered shortly after we landed at the airport that cars are strictly banned in Venice, the principal mode of transportation is by boat: water taxi's, ferry, Gondolas and something called Vaporetto which is a water bus. Ivan knew and he didn't tell me. That was something, I palmed his back until I almost choked on my laughter. 

So, at 10pm, two teenage tourists; one of whom, Ivan, is slightly experienced in Italian culture, the other, me, knows nothing and is now further convinced that Europe is hard, waited by the dock for their water taxi, under cold and damp air. My flimsy tee-shirt did nothing to help as I barely made it past shivering. 

When the taxi arrived, it was unlike what I expected in my head, which was maybe a glorified canoe or a speed boat. This one was beautiful, emphasis on beauty. Made of polished wood, the really expensive smooth and glossy kind, a slim design with a raised roof, also made of polished wood. Inside, had me surprised further, it looked like a Limousine in that it can probably carry twenty people, but with purple vinyl leather couches facing each other, a floor covered in a fancy gothic rug and above, circular bright lights dotting the canvas of a painting, probably of a sixteenth century plump white woman with curly brown hair, half covered with a red silk shawl, and a quizzical gaze, the boat feels more luxurious than a Limousine. 

Five minutes since boarding, I'm still trying to decipher what the expression on the painted woman's face means. Maybe she's the Portia from Merchant of Venice Pierro was telling us about, she looks rich and sought after. 

I curl up into Ivan's lap, he pulls my hair out of my face and runs his warm hands over my arm. I get goosebumps from the warmth.

"I feel local," I whisper.

He laughs. "The cold?"

I nod. "And the winter is supposed to be worse right?""

There's a first time for everything, you'll be fine."

"What's the name of our hotel?" I ask.

"Splendid Venice Star Hotels."

"Si!" Pierro exclaims. He is a proud Italian. It shines in his voice, thick and flavoured. Flavoured in the way his words carry weight and excitement, like tomato paste. 

"Uhm, Mi scusi ma. . .non parlo bene I'taliano?" Ivan says. It sounds like gibberish to me but Pierro laughs a beefy laugh, peeking at us through the rear mirror.

"Capsico benissino," he says to Ivan. 

"I'm obviously lost."

"I told him that we don't speak Italian, he said he understands perfectly."

I roll my eyes. "So in your mind you're experienced?"

He laughs. "I've been to Italy as a child. We stayed in Rome though and my Father made us learn a few things. Plus Google translate is great to sharpen up the skills."

I laugh. "Ah. Right. Remind me to consult The Oracle so I can learn some Greek for Santorini." 

He nods and tells Pierro to carry on with the story.

"When Antonio cannot afford to give Bassanio the loan he requires, he sends Bassanio to the Jewish Merchant, Shylock, who has grudges against Antonio as a result of Antonio's anti-Semitism. Shylock then takes an advantage of the situation and places a bargain. The bargain was that if Antonio does not repay the loan in three months, he would request a pound of his flesh instead of an interest."

"Why would anyone go through with such terms?" Ivan asks.

"They failed to realize, all that glitters is not gold." Pierro replies. Ivan shrugs and he continues. "Along the line, Launcelot, one of Shylock's servants betrays him by departing to serve his new master, Bassanio, while also preparing elaborate plans for Shylock's daughter, Jessica, to escape with her lover, Lorenzo, alongside, taking her father's gold and jewels."

"Wait." I whisper to Ivan. "So the money this Bassanio guy borrowed from Shylock on Antonio's head was used to buy Shylock's servant?"

"I think Bassanio wants to have a servant so he can further impress Portia."

"I'm beginning to side with Shylock. His money, his servant and now his daughter."

Pierro laughs. "Not in a hurry."

"I'm eager to see where this goes," I say.

"After a few days, Shylock hears news that his daughter has squandered all the wealth she had stolen from him in a Christian city, that insights him to hate Christians even more. Regardless, he reminds all of Antonio's friends in Venice that if the loan is not repaid in due time, he will get his pound of flesh."

"Pound of flesh. Does that mean he wants to kill him?"

"Patience, signora." Pierro says. I presume that means young lady or something. 

"Bassanio is successful with Portia, and they get married, but soon after, news arrives the ears of Bassanio and Gratiano in Belmont that Antonio's ships have been lost at sea, and that his bankruptcy and inability to repay the loan has caused Shylock to arrest him."

"A twist of fate. Now Shylock will get his pound of flesh whatever that means." I say.

Pierro laughs again. I love how thick it feels, like a slow brewing storm.

"What happens next Pierro?" Ivan asks.

"Well Bassanio and Gratiano leave Belmont and Antonio is taken to court where Shylock demands his pound of flesh. This is where everything changes. Portia and her servant Nerissa also leave Belmont, without knowledge of her husband Bassanio. At the court in Venice, they cross dress as a lawyers, Portia as Balthazar who pleads on Antonio's behalf. Bassanio now married to the rich Portia, offers Shylock his wife's money with more interest than required, unknown to him that she is the lawyer standing before him, but Shylock refuses, he only wants his pound of flesh."

My eyes widen. No way. "Why won't Shylock accept it?" I ask almost annoyed by the turn of events. 

"How does he even intend to get his pound of flesh?" Ivan asks.

"Well, Balthazar, who is Portia in disguise explains that the bond is for flesh but not for a single drop of blood and there is no possible way through which he can get his flesh without spilling blood, so he cannot get his pound of flesh."

"Wow." I start laughing, Ivan joins me and Pierro joins us. Maybe this story does make Venice more interesting.

"By law, for threatening a Venetian, Shylock becomes obligated to forfeit all his properties to Antonio and Bassanio. However, Antonio only demands that Shylock becomes a Christian." Pierro says.

"Too bad for the Jew." Ivan says.

"Anyway," Pierro shrugs his big shoulders. "At last, Antonio's ship is recovered and it seems as though they wasted a lifetime chasing shadows. . ."

I sit up and turn around, looking outside the clean glass windows. Along the water, a smaller boat rows past, our own boat seems faster, probably because it's powered by an engine. The smaller boat looks like a canoe, a glorified canoe, long and sleek with curled up elevated ends, the man paddling stands, rowing with intensity and grace, He smiles and yells something inaudible when he sees me. I smile back at him. 

"la Piazza," Pierro announces. I'm lost again.

"The square." Ivan says as our boat docks. "We get off here."

I look around from the window again, everywhere although well lit by glowing lampposts, is still vaguely dark and empty. "Where's the hotel?" I ask.

"A five minute walk from the square." Ivan says.

I look at him sternly. "What do you mean, five minutes is a lot of walking for an exhausted person."

He laughs. "I want us to see the square first, it's the only time we'll have the opportunity of finding it empty. During the day, it's a stampede."

"That's great to know but I'm exhausted so I don't care much."

"Bo," he says. I roll my eyes and fold my arms. "We're getting off, you'll love it. We missed the sunset, you wouldn't want to miss this, trust me."

I look at Pierro, he nods, urging me to go on. Ivan grabs our suitcases and leads the way. I follow behind him.

"What's the square called?" I ask, pouting.

He laughs. "St Mark's Square."

I look about, a lamppost shines above us, casting its light on the brown boat and adding a shimmer to the rippling water. The dock is quiet, only the sound of the water as it splashes against the wooden docks. The air is so chill, I can't help but shiver.

"Here." Ivan hands me his coat, concern dripping out of his eyes.

I take it and wrap myself. "I'm fine though, just local." I say and he smiles.

"Buona note!" Pierro says as the engine revels to life. Ivan repeats. I presume it means good night or bye so I wave and the boat sails away.

"Sorry about the walk," Ivan says.

"This better be good." I trudge ahead. He pulls the suitcases along the interlocked ground, as we walk in through what appears to be a gate. 

The concrete interlocking is then replaced by tiles glossed from the damp air. Slowly, the scene comes into view, buildings, huge ones, like castles and cathedrals with thousands of illuminated columns holding golden lights in each one. Then there are statues, gargoyles on pillars, and human beings who might be famous men but I don't know who they are. In the low light of probably three hundred or more lampposts, all the buildings seem to shimmer. The tiles become marble-OUS towards the centre, I can't tell if they're black or blue but the checkboard pattern interlacing dark and white is magnificent.

"I love the tranquil, it's perfect." I say, breathing in fresh Venice air, it smells like sweet cold rain probably because the city is a maze of Islands connected by canals and bridges. 

"It is." Ivan says.

 Ahead is a tall brick tower, painted in dull red and cream white. I haven't seen anything as tall as this, it almost makes me dizzy from looking.

"Why aren't we taking pictures?"

"Thought you were exhausted?"

"I am." I smile, "but we don't want to miss this."

He smiles his half-everything smile and I take a stand next to a concrete gargoyle, smiling a big venetian smile.