Gen-X Solo-Travel: Will She Make it to the Airport?

A few months ago, my 22 y/o niece, Keisha, decided that she wanted to travel to Europe. She'd just quit her job in a grocery store, prior to that she'd quit her job in a cafe, and prior to that, she'd quit her job working at a theater box office. She stopped attending classes at the local community college because she didn't think it was worthwhile. And why not? She was active in her high school's drama department and hoped to move to L.A. or NY to get discovered (or rich?), a lá Lana Turner at Schwab's soda shop or like J-Lo bumping into the senatorial candidate in Maid in Manhattan.

Her grandmother decided that there was not enough room in her Malibu home for granddaughter Keisha, aka Juliet Marks, or Lily White (stage names) to live while her budding acting career launched itself into Hollywood's open arms.

Because she lacked income, her boyfriend booted her from their shared apartment. She moved back in with my brother, Tommy the single father.

Then she decided to travel. She'd ventured with Tommy --who made all arrangements and studied the guides-- to Seattle, Chicago, the Oregon Coast, and Las Vegas. It was this latter point of interest that spurred her Big Trip.
They tip-toed through the Wynn, open-mouth awed the Chihuly jellyfish glass beauties at the Bellagio, admired the sultry legs of the Pharaoh-clad employees at the Luxor, and dreamed of 5th Avenue at NY-NY. Around 10pm, they leaned over the canal at the ever-daylight Venetian boat launch area and Keisha was bitten. "I love this!" she said to Tommy. He wasn't sure if it was the dusky lighting, the gondola or the striped gondolier, or the $8 she just won in the Wheel-of-Fortune slot machine, or even M&M World which they strolled to earlier in the day that she adored. It didn't matter anyway.

Three months later, she's in Venice, Italy for a solid week of travel. The real Venice, not the Venetian, which may have been a better, English-speaking option given her travel-saaviness. She's traveling alone this time, not with Tommy, though. At present, following two-and-a-half days of Venice, she's holed up in her hotel room with a dead cell phone and a credit card that's mounting in debt.

One week ago, she arrived in Venice with two outfits. Once she leaves Italy, she's planning on spending a week in London. She had no hotel reservation, nor a hostel reservation. She's knows nary a lick of Italian language other than a few entrées and Peregrino. She has not a map of Venice. And, despite my brother's urging to purchase an adapter, "Dad, quit telling me what to do! I know what I need!" she has no means for communication other than the $1000/minute hotel phone. She purchased a phone card in the airport when she landed, she's already used it up. Since she doesn't know any Italian, she doesn't know where to buy another.

She took a cab from the airport to a hotel recommended by an [employed attorney] family friend. Her room overlooks a canal. I wonder if this is a good thing or bad thing given ambient temperature and wind direction.
Day one in Venice: Step outside the hotel, walk two cobblestone blocks (again, no map or guidebook) and she's lost. Can't ask for directions because it's Off Season, so the major English-speaking touristy peops aren't there. Lost. In Venice. Three hours later, return to hotel.
Day two in Venice: She asked the hotel's front desk person for assistance in finding a cafe and a couple sites. Cobblestone turn, cobblestone straight, cobblestone turn, a canal, a turn, an old building, and, voila! Lost again. Four hours later, return to hotel. Call father and cry during expensive phone call. "I hate it here! It all looks the same and I keep getting lost. I'm not leaving my hotel room again."

Prior to this whole trip, while my brother was in Reno, he received a desperate phone call from Keisha. She bawled on the phone, gasping for air between sobs. "Slow down," he said, "tell me what's going on." Again, I'd like to point out she's 22 years old.

"It's ONE WAY! I'm stuck there. It's only One Way!" sob sob sob.

Tommy sat down and pressed the phone to his ear, as if this would help him comprehend the situation better. "What's one way? What are you talking about?"

"The ticket. It's One Way. I'm stuck there. I'm just going to let it go and forget about this whole stupid trip thing. How was I supposed to know?"
Apparently, in her independent state of mind, she failed to notice that her online purchase of said ticket to Venice from Portland, via Washington, DC was one-way versus roundtrip. $600.

I decided to try doing this myself, to go through the very confusing process of purchasing a one-way vs. roundtrip ticket from Portland-Venice, Italy-Portland.
First, I googled Flights to Venice, Italy. Seemed clear enough. Lots of choices. I went with Cheap Flights, then plunked in the information, you know, starting point, end point, list by price etc. Right there, all neon and clear it defaulted to Round Trip. I had to physically click One Way. Found a RT for $629. About ten minutes with distractions.
I'm still trying to figure out how she managed this minor oversight.
Because she was debilitated and he was out of town, Tommy's friends helped her out. Got her back stateside by way of London, through Dublin. Another $600. Cha-ching! Said atty's son/family friend suggested that as long as she was flying out of London, she might as well stay a few days, hence the 5 days there beginning this Friday.
Little problem: how oh how is Keisha going to get from way-south Italy to way north England? Oh my oh my. Just a detail that's a bit overlooked and she has no Eurail pass, nor enuf for a bumpy 3-day taxi or busride. I'm thinking mule. Anyone else agree on this?

So, there's my neice, someone who would be eaten alive in NYC (although she loved the NY-NY hotel in Vegas). Someone who would openly sit at a romantic Venezia cafe and tell some handsome English-speaking Italian hotty that she 'can't believe how hard it is to get around Venice! It's a good thing I'm carrying my cell phone, passport, plane tix, and all my cash right here (points to belly) in my money belt! Don't know if I'll ever get back to my hotel room!'
And with that, Hotty Italiano will wink at his buddies across the cobbled road and they'll offer to walk her back to her hotel, the name of which she's butchered to "L'Hotelio Venezia, or something like that." And somehow she'll find a way to help them out financially with their broken down Fiat or ailing mother's health or some taxicab-hydroplane scheme that will help her get up to the island London.

I told Tommy to locate his local Western Union office, and that the next time he speaks with Keisha (via costly hotel phone) he should tell her to do the same as I foresee a financial deficit in the near future of my wise-cracking crystal ball. If she's not pick-pocketed or scammed of all her low-value American dollars in Venice, I wonder what will happen in London where they speak English and she, naive and all, still has no idea where she's not going.

Mind you, some people are really good fly-by-the-seat-of-yer-pants travelers. Keisha is not one of these people..... yet.

In the meantime, I'm hoping that she can simply bump into another English-speaking traveler in the hotel lobby who can help her get a good meal or cup of espresso, or at least a regular route out-and-back from her hotel.