In the early days of reality TV, when the genre was still finding itself and the producers weren’t bound by the Court of Social Media Opinion, there was a show calledHeavyweights. In the simplest of terms, it was an extreme weight-loss challenge—and I do mean extreme. After the first few seasons, contestants started speaking out about how they were encouraged to not drink water on elimination days so the scale would “be kinder to them.” Theyexercised for eighteen hours a day, only stopping to sleep and eat meals deprived of really any carbs, protein, or fats. By the end of the show, contestants would have lost hundreds of pounds in the most unhealthy way and walk off set with unsustainable gym habits, eating disorders, and a deeply internalized shame about their own bodies.
It was horrific, and it is also the best and most severe example of rule number one: Reality TV is not reality.
When those people were on the show, their entire lives revolving around losing weight, they did. They reallydidweigh whatever unreasonably low number popped up on the scale. It was Real when it was happening.
But when it was over and they returned to their life and its demands, things that had been real while they were onHeavyweightsfell to pieces. Back home, they ate nutrient-rich food. They had to go to work for eight hours a day. They had kids and bills and hobbies. They gained the weight back.
And the people whodidmaintain the routines and carry over TV to reality? They were the unhealthiest of all.
Two things can be true at once.
This is real. I have feelings for Yumi and she has feelings for me. Waking up next to her feels like a privilege. Her pride when she finished today’s challenge made me want to grab her face and kiss her. As they would say onThe Bachelor, I’m falling for her.
Andreality TV is not reality.
Chapter 37
Simply Too Romantic
So many moments of wonderduring this trip have come from surprise. I was surprised at the existence of the Initiation Well. I was surprised at the ancient volcanic interior of Thríhnúkagígur. I was surprised at the sheer scale of the Swiss mountains. But I am not surprised at Venice—how can you be?—yet I still wonder at it. It’s impossible not to.
I doubt there’s anyone in the modern world who hasn’t met the Floating City in some form, and that’s what makes it so difficult to describe. Before there were things to reference, before people could say,It looks like a movie setorIt’s a fantasy novel come to life, I imagine Venice was the exact kind of place that invented speechlessness. Without something to compare to the liquid mirror of the lagoon, how does anyone anchor the impossibility of Venice to reality?
As our train slows to a stop at Santa Lucia station, Yumi and I are already waiting by the doors. We disembark, stepping onto the open air platform and following the signs to the exit. Of all the transportation hubs we’ve been in, Santa Lucia is by far the least confusing, though it’s clearly aided by its relatively small size and single-floored design.
Despite knowing exactly where we are and what it’s going tolook like, I’m still taken aback by the way the station spits us out directly onto a canal-side plaza.
“Find Doge Pietro II Orseolo in his Floating City at Santa Lucia station,” the clue instructed us, but even if it had just said, “Santa Lucia station, Venice,” we would have found Doge Pietro Orseolo. He’s unmissable, standing at the center of the plaza in what appears to be repurposed tapestry fabric. He wears a red-and-gold cape over a similarly patterned tunic, both far too heavy for the heat. His hat has a high back, dipping in the front like a ball of clay someone dug their thumb into.
We race up to him, and I can’t help giving a small bow even though I know he’s just an actor and not Venice’s actual ruler. It’s just common courtesy. “Doge Pietro?” I ask.
“Sì,” he responds, spreading his hands out wide. “Welcome to Venezia, where our connection to the sea is true and perpetual.” Yumi tugs the notebook from my backpack, jotting down his words as he continues, “I was the Doge of the Most Serene Republic of Venice from 991 to 1009. I fiercely protected my people from the Neretvian pirates, leading to the tradition of the Festa della Sensa, where doges would toss a wedding ring into the water and marry the sea, which lasted until the fall of the Venetian Republic in 1797.”
I glance at Yumi to make sure she got everything. She gives me a thumbs-up.
The Doge produces anAdventureverseenvelope from inside his cape, presenting it to me with both hands. “Duri i banchi,” he says, nodding as Yumi holds the spelling up for him to confirm.
We wait one more moment for him to say more, but he just stares pleasantly, waiting for us to tear into the envelope.
Individual Challenge: One team member must choose between ROW and BLOW.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “No cliffs in Venice,” I say, holding the envelopes out for her.
“True,” she says, plucking the ROW card from between my fingers.
ROW: One of Italy’s most recognizable figures is that of the gondolier. Though tradition has dictated that this role usually be filled by a man, one team member of any gender may participate in this challenge.
Adventurers must make their way by water taxi or Vaporetto to the island city of Burano, where they will learn the craft of the gondolier, including singing their beloved a classic Italian ballad. When the Adventure Master is satisfied with the performance, Adventurers will receive their next clue.
I try not to burst out laughing just picturing Yumi attempting this challenge, and I almost succeed. While the choice of rowing makes sense with our strategy of sticking to physical challenges,The Adventureversedoesn’t know what it’s in for with Yumi’s singing voice.
She fixes me with a withering look. “Excuse me. What’s so funny?”
I gather myself. “Nothing. I’m just…”
“Excited to be serenaded?” she provides.
My teeth sink into my lower lip, pulling it tight. “Oh, absolutely.”
