A Chocolate Coated Trophy of Thanks Goes to...

There are times in teaching when the emotional moments are overwhelming. Mercifully, some of those are for positive reasons. Last night was one of them, wiping out some of the less pleasant ones of the recent past.

One of my top MA students, Eva Miszoglad, who I also advised for her thesis, set up a coffee date with me. As she approached our rendezvous spot, she was laden with a bag hanging from one arm while carrying a large baking sheet with both hands. She had mentioned that she needed a day’s advance notice before meeting as her distinctive surprise needed to be completed, but was time sensitive.

As the Pillsbury Doughboy said “Nothing Says Lovin' Like Something From the Oven!” This was especially true in this case. Eva made this with special flour for diabetics; it contains no sugar. As much as I wanted to dive in right then and there, I used control to bring it home to show Ron and our guests. 

In addition to the brownies, she gave me three books that she found on a Wish List I had set up for visitors. Now I have Sally Vickers Mr. Golightly’s Holiday, Donna Leon’s Doctored Evidence, and A Year Without "Made in China": One Family's True Life Adventure in the Global Economy by Sara Bongiorni. All three have been on my Wish List for ages, so I am so excited to have them now. Sally Vicker’s Miss Garnet’s Angel spurred us on to visit Venice the 2nd time to follow the trail in her novel. Donna Leon’s mysteries all take place there too. I have forgotten 10 other of her books. The China book had aroused my curiosity when I first heard about it. This was an exceptional surprise to add to all the other fabulous surprises students have given me over the years. I call all of these gifts, my trophies.

If you were wondering all that is left is T-H-A-N, but maybe not after dinner tonight.

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Venice is Flooding

So what is new and different about Venice flooding? It does it every year for about 200 days. Well, according to BBC news reports, this year it is REALLY flooding, marking this as the worst flood in over 30 years. The water has already reached 1.6 meters (5.24 feet) above the 'normal flood' level and is predicted to go to 1.66 meters, if it has not already today. The mayor has warned residents to stay home and if tourists were planning on coming to double think it before they do.

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Another Day in Water Wonderland

Another Day in the Water Wonderland

Our first task of the day was to go to the train station to verify our train tomorrow. It will be a very long day starting at 7:00 am and not getting back to Budapest until after 10:30 pm. A shorter route would take us through Slovenia, which is not covered by our Europass and it does not fit the Minister of Finance’s budgetary plan to shell out another $80.00 for the portion of the trip through that country.

From the train station, Ron wanted to see the Rialto area in the daylight again, so we took the waterbus to that stop. There are dozens and dozens of shops in this area that were open and bustling with locals doing their shopping. I found The Body Shop there and was able to get a lotion that I have come to depend on for tired aching feet and was approaching the dangerously low level of my bottle. I swear by this stuff and there is no The Body Shop in Budapest. I had thought that I was going to have to cajole someone to send me some or ask our friend Dawn to bring some back with her when she returns to Budapest from the States. I bought two bottles for less than what they cost in the States. It does not make sense, but what a bargain.

The next official shopping experience was a tie store. I found a tie with elephants on it and many of you know my serious elephant collection mentality, so this was necessary purchase if I have to wear a tie. The second selection was one with bunnies on it. Since I am writing a children’s book that involves bunnies, I may wear this while I am writing for luck and inspiration. For thirteen euros fifty each, even if they do not last long, they will be great souvenirs from our trip.

Most of the day we spent looking for the restaurant that we had eaten in on the first night and a mask shop that we had passed just last night. As we walked past it, I had said to Ron, I want to photograph that mask in the window. It was a woman’s face with a large scallop shape over the forehead. On the scallop were painted scenes of Venice. It was dramatic and I thought it would make a great picture. He convinced me to wait until the daytime to take the photo since I would not have to peer through the security gate to get the shot. No matter how hard we looked, we could not find that store again. We really put in miles today walking, enjoying the sights and scenes, but also looking for our two lost establishments. By sheer luck, we found the lost restaurant and this time, looked at every landmark going from the restaurant to the waterbus, so that we can go there for dinner again tonight.

Walking streets, alleys, climbing up and down bridges, seeing the same stores two or three times, covering more than three sections of Venice, we still did not come across that mask again. I was however, able to get some wonderful shots of the gondolas sitting in the dock and some with gondoliers and passengers. With http://www.photopoint.com/ dead, I cannot share my pictures and longer anyway, so I guess I can live without the mask picture. At various times, we stopped for a little snack in one place and a cappuccino in another. We have covered a lot of mileage in two and a half days and helped the local economy in a small, but positive way.

When it was time for our afternoon coffee break, Ron said, “I want to tell you something, but I want you to think about it and not respond right away.” I hate those prefaces. He continued with the desire to stay in Budapest, but to change apartments. He said that this apartment did not get enough light and the noise was getting to him. Since our bedroom windows are flanked on both sides by balconies on either side of us, I had the same idea, but was hoping to wait for spring at least. When I asked when he wanted to do this, he said immediately. I shared my thoughts about moving also, then immediately dubbed him Minister of Housing and told him he could immediately start looking for another apartment, but the actual move could not take place until after my diploma arrived. Since it takes two to three weeks to get mail here, I am certainly not going to trust the postal system to forward mail. We have to give thirty days notice to break our lease here, so that gives the post offices a grace period. Be on the look out for a new address.

We walked back to San Marco’s Basilica. The huge square was filled with pigeons. There are about six vendors selling corn to feed the birds, like they need more incentive to stick around. One vendor walked about from his stand for a couple of minutes and the pigeons swarmed the cart and started pecking at the bags. Pigeons can be a nuisance, but they are not stupid birds by any stretch of the imagination.

The basilica is a tremendous feat of artistry. The outside has a wider variety of marble then I have ever seen in one structure before. The colors of the marbles are amazing. This theme continues into the interior. It is a tile setters dream. There are hundreds of mosaics done in marble of dozens of colors decorating the floors in various prints. Some look a great deal like the work of M.C. Esher. The ceilings are covered with mosaics of religious stories and all surrounded by gold tiles. It was awe inspiring and photographs and videos are banned.

Nearby the basilica, there was a store that had scarves on sale. Ron found one made of 100% lambs wool that he bought. With the change was received a euro from France. This has been my secondary passion, to get a full collection of coins from the various Euro nations. I was able to get a complete set of Austrian and Italian coins and I have four coins from the other countries in addition. It speaks to the fluidity of one currency and people are traveling and spending money. It was also much easier to go from Austria to Italy and not have to convert currencies. The Italians seem to be a little more stymied by it then the Austrians. They continue to ask customers if they want their change back in Lira or Euros, which from what the reports have said, they should only be giving Euros in change. The Italians seem to be more dependent on their calculators too, making conversions at the last minute, since not all prices are in Euros and Lira.

Our last daylight mission was to try to find the San Raphael of Miss Garnett. We went back to the square where we had discovered the small version on the wall in the courtyard. As we walked around a yet undiscovered street, there was an entrance to a church, the Church of the Archangel Raphael. Inside there was a lot of construction going on as described in the book. Most of the church interior was closed to public view. On a table with informational literature in four languages was the history of the church. The English version stated that there were five paintings on the organ’s parapet that feature the Stories of Tobiolo, which was the secondary story in Miss Garnett’s Angel. The information sheet explains the same story that the author Sally Vickers wrote in her novel; only here it was a condensed version. There was an unusual excitement to see a novel come to life in this way. Ms. Vickers must have done her research before writing this book. It was a wonderful discovery, the only disappointment was that the organ was on the other side of the construction and could not be viewed.

Sitting in the church like a perpetual penitent was an elderly man. As we were walking out, he called us back in Italian. He pointed to a construction wall and there were six photos of the Raphael and Tobiolo pictures that graced the organ. He hobbled over to us and kept yelling in Italian “Toca! Toca!” With his charades I did not need my little knowledge of Italian to figure out he wanted me to take out my wallet. He was selling sets of these pictures. We would have loved to buy a set, but he only wanted Lira, not Euros. I think what he was explaining was that he did not have change for the Euros and wanted exact change in Lira. After a little back and forth, he finally understood that we did not have Lira and he was not going to make a sale. He threw his hands up in disgust and went back to his chair of meditation.

Eventually, we did find the restaurant that we had been hunting for, quite by accident. We happened to meander by the street and I happened to look down that way and noticed the sign. Later this evening, we enjoyed dinner there yet again, but this is strange also. It is Friday night; we arrive at 8:30 pm, get our food, and sit down to eat. There is not another soul in the restaurant. I return to the front to get a dessert and all of the tables and signs have been taken in from outside and are sitting in the entryway. The entire food bar has been dismantled and all of the food has disappeared. This is Friday night people!! This is Italy and you are Italians. It is your custom to eat late. Why are you closing so early? These are the things I would have said if I had paid better attention when my grandparents were speaking Italian, but since I did not then, I could not now.

After dinner, Ron insisted on looking further for the mask that he talked me out of photographing the other night when we saw it. We covered half of Venice twice looking for it again and could not find it. It was then a thing of beauty that I wanted to capture on film, now it was a pain in the ass piece of crap that was keeping me out in the cold air walking when I had had enough and wanted to go someplace warm and cozy. We never did find it again, but in some store window there is a mask of a woman’s face with a scalloped headdress, painted with scenes of Venice having a good laugh at our expense.

Closer to our hotel, we stopped for coffee and Ron had his dessert. We had been to this place the night before late in the evening. When the waitress saw us again, this look of terror crossed her face as if to say, there are those two again who do not speak Italian. She screamed for the waiter with the limited English. With his bored, “Oh, it is you again” look in our direction he took our orders.

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A Real Day in Venice

A Real Day in Venice

We had our first real day in Venice. There was no train to catch, no airport schedule forcing our plans into a condensed version. We had all of the time we wanted to do what we wanted. We found that a traditional breakfast is not provided at our hotel, but there are supplies for making tea and coffee plus there are snack goodies to bide your time with until you get real food. However, the restaurants in Venice do not believe in real food by American standards. There are no restaurants open where you can sit and eat a meal. The restaurants that are open in the morning are coffee bars. The key word here is bar. Italians drink their coffee on the run, they do not sit and savor it for hours, after all, the cups only contain a shot glass full of coffee anyway, and so how long could it take to drink it? For food, there are various types of sandwiches that are served in foccacia breads, pita breads, and different types of rolls. These too, you are expected to eat standing up or on the run to somewhere more important than the coffee bar. This limited our choices considerably.

Finding a coffee bar with tables was a coup on our part. They did not, however, have the sandwiches, which we thought would be our morning feast. They had a small selection of pastries. We each ordered an apple pastry and Ron started off with a café grande. The confused barman said the only grande they had was a cappuccino, which suited us just fine. We ordered two, but made him pour a whole lot more milk in it since it would only have been espresso with milk foam otherwise. It is only at coffee times that I am very grateful to find a Starbucks or as a last resort, a McDonalds, just for a decent sized cup of coffee. Do not tease me with the drippings and say that is a cup of coffee. For a leprechaun, it may very well be satisfying, but for an adult who likes coffee, it is only an appetizer of the appetizer.

Starting to explore, we hopped on a waterbus and chose to get off when we saw something of interest. We disembarked at San Giorgio Church. The plaza was small and the main attraction was the church, there was not much else to see. The church itself was plain inside without any spectacular décor to comment on. Signs all over claimed that the view from the belfry was one of the best in Venice and pointed the way to the elevator. We decided to see for ourselves if this were true. Of course, the elevator ride was not a free one. You paid the attendant two euro each for the ascent upward. This poor person has to stand all day going up and down in the small elevator that only holds six people at the most. He had a down jacket, gloves, and scarf on to keep warm. I have wondered if parents bring their children to see employees like this and say, “See what you will do for the rest of your life if you do not finish school?” It ranks right up there with the poor woman who collects coins from you at the public bathrooms in various countries. The other non-glamorous job is the person, both male and female that has to tie the waterbus to the dock each and every stop, let the passengers off, then allow the incoming on, and secure the gate once again before untying the ropes from the dock. Somebody shoot their guidance counselors before other misguided youth find their way to dead-end careers. The view however, was spectacular. Walking around the belfry, it was possible to see 360 degrees around the city. There is a haze that hangs over some of the parts of the city and we are not sure if it was fog or pollution, but it added to the mystery and romance. There were signs that warned the bells were ear shatteringly loud when they rang at noon. We left by 11:00 am.

Both of us were interested in going to the island of Murano. This is the home of the famous Murano glass that comes in everything from little fine glass figures to paperweights to giant vases, and chandeliers. Many years ago, I had collected Murano paperweights and have always been curious to see the area that produced them. Finding the waterbus was the trick, since it was on obscure routes, but we eventually did and the trip took forty minutes.

Murano was once its own city with an independent government, but in 1929, it was annexed to Venice and became part of the Venetian governmental system. The island is wall-to-wall with stores selling Murano glass and there are dozens of factories that one can visit to watch them create it. We chose not to and walked around instead. It seems like we walked for miles, covering the island. We got lost in some residential areas that looked like they were probably spectacular in their hay day, but have gone to seed since. Many of the residences as well as the factories looked like it has been years since there was a life force within. We are presuming that it is a factor of the economy, not having anyone handy to get the facts from. Just as surprising was the fact that many of the glass stores with windows brimming with products were also closed. This could be attributed to the tourist situation or to the Italian way of life.

We passed a bakery that sold pizza by the slice, but the slices were in squares. Deciding to walk a little further and come back for the snack, we continued on. When we returned about thirty minutes later, the place was closed at 1:30 in the afternoon. At the time we left the island at 3:00, it was still closed, not that we still wanted pizza, we just happened to be passing by. Shops have their hours posted on the door, but that is no guarantee that they will open at the time listed or close according to schedule. That’s Italian! Somehow, that gene by-passed me, I am usually early for everything. I must have inherited it from the other side of the family, perhaps.

As we meandered back and forth on the main canal, we found a little snack restaurant that proved to be a treasure. It was filled with locals or who we suspected were locals and that is usually a good sign. It was just a tiny place with no tables and chairs, just a few stools sitting around a wall bar. In a case, they had little rolls with a cottage cheese type cheese on them, little sandwiches with polenta as the bread and ham filling, roasted artichoke hearts in olive oil, and big chunks of parmesan cheese. The man behind the counter gave us a plate to help ourselves to what we wanted. Each snack came to ninety cents. With a small beer and a glass of wine, we had a hearty snack for fewer than eight dollars. I did have a surprise when I bit into the roll with the white cottage cheese on it, for hiding underneath was some creature from the sea. Ron inherited it rather quickly.

Growing tired of Murano and with the sunlight still with us, Ron wanted to explore the Rialto area, so we water bussed to that stop and walked miles more. Each section has its churches, it plazas, shops, coffee shops, and other interesting little visual feasts that quench ones hunger for beauty. I have developed this unnatural yen for ties since having to buy one in Budapest for an exorbitant amount, so I had been checking out the ties as we have window-shopped. Silk ties can be bought here for less than ten dollars. I who usually have an aversion to wearing a tie at all have come to face the fact that if I am going to teach, it may be an unavoidable evil that I will have to deal with. If that is the case, I might as well like the noose around my neck.

Having succumbed to tired backs, over exercised leg muscles, and general sleepiness, we returned to the hotel for a rest break. Ron napped while I typed and two and a half hours later, I woke him for dinner.

Last night’s restaurant was worth returning to, so we headed in that direction. After an hour of walking around, we still could not find it. With or without a map, this city is difficult to find your way around. Since seventy-five percent of the streets and named alleys never make it to map status, you can wander for hours and not find what you are looking for. We gave in to hunger since it seemed hopeless that we would ever find that restaurant again. A lively place that caught our attention was a pizza restaurant, so we gave into fate and entered. The pizzas here are like a medium pizza in California. The crust is very thin and full of flavor, unlike California pizza. My choice had asparagus, ham, cheese, artichokes, and mushrooms. They do not just dot the pizza with toppings they decorate them with toppings. When you bite into a piece, you savor the blend of flavors.

Returning to the hotel, we reached for our books. Our room does not have a television and I do miss CNN and BBC, but Ron claims that he found their respective theme music to be jarring his nerves, so is happy for the break. I started reading “The History of the World in 10 ½ Chapters”, by Julian Barnes. Silly of me to think it was a condensed history book with highlights of what everyone should know, like the Reader’s Digest version of History 101. It could not be farther from that image. It is a work of fiction and after reading the first chapter, I am hooked. A British author who created a skillful blend of humor, suspense, and believability into his story wrote it. Most of my book recommendations have come from the “Book Lover’s Book a Day Calendar” and I have to say that 99% of the books that I have read based on the synopsis given of that book have proven to be charms. Unfortunately, we left before the 2002 version was in the stores or it would be gracing my desk. Amazon.com delivers to Hungary, so I need to look for it.

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Riding the Rails to Venice

Riding the Rails to Venice

Breakfast was a busy place at the Innsbruck hotel. There seemed to be a group meeting that we had to compete with to get our coffee, but we ate hardily knowing that we had a long train ride ahead of us with nothing to snack on. From what we noticed with our many comings and goings from the hotel, we think that there were only two other guests there at the time we arrived. They checked out the next morning, leaving us as the sole survivors. You would think we would have been treated like royalty who would tell the minions what a great place this was and encourage tourism. It did not happen.

We left the hotel, but 8:30 and our timing for the tram was almost perfect. We only had a minute to wait before one came rocking down the tracks headed in our direction and the direction of the station. It was with a bit of sadness that we left the mountainous scenery behind, but assured that the beauties of Venice awaited us was enough to lift transform our attitudes to the travel mode once again.

Double checking on our track number, we had ten minutes to spare. The train was right on time. We found our first class compartment, but none were completely empty or without reservations waiting. Since we opted to not make a reservation, we knew we would have to share. We chose the one with only one person in it. He had already been on the train and has spread his things out across the seats. Since we know this trick and have used it successfully ourselves, it did not dissuade me from entering and making myself at home. Ron followed and within minutes, we were equally spread amongst three of the six seats. The only drawback was that he was a cigar smoker, but that was not going to deter us from moving once we had settled in. The ride to Verona was calm and quiet. He did not speak to us and we both read, so we did not even speak to each other for almost the entire three and a half hours. A good book is the only companion you need on a long train ride. That and naps make the ride complete, unless you are taking one of the special scenic route trains, the scenery can usually be missed without regrets. The book that held my interest until the last page was, “The Forest for the Trees: An Editor’s Advice to Writers”, by Betsy Lerner. It was written with humor, but also very informational.

At Verona, we had to change trains and make our connection to Venice. I was a bit concerned about money. According to CNN and BBC World report, the Italian bankers were on struck due to the Euro conversion and their Minister of Finance resigned. Reports were that the bank machines would be empty by the end of the day on the 8^th and there would be no one to refill them. I had thought about getting money in Innsbruck at the train station, since it is now Euro in both countries, but it slipped my mind. In Verona, I saw someone at a bank machine and thought I had better stock up while having the chance. Those pretty and crisp Euro notes popped out at me without a hitch and I had a feeling the machine would have been just as accommodating if I had asked for seconds, but it seemed I should leave some for others.

With thirty minutes to spare, Mr. I Live in a Different Time Zone Than the Rest of the World, wanted coffee and a snack. It Italy, in the little cafes, you do not just go up and order what you want and pay for it. You have to decide what you want ahead of time, pay for it and then turn in your receipt for your purchase. If you remember the Ireland episode, Ron’s ability to make snap decisions regarding food is about as quick as trying to boil water when you have to rub two sticks together to get the flame first. I am standing there watching the lines to pay get longer and longer as a flood of people are barging ahead of me. The Italians never learned to queue and although I do know how to curse with the best of them in Italian, it did not seem like it would be in my best interest at the time. We did get our snacks and Ron had the satisfaction of the train being late. In all of Europe, you can set your watch by the trains being on time, except Italy.

Having studied the train diagram twice and we knew that the first class compartments would be in Sections D and E and we were standing there waiting patiently for the train to arrive. The train arrived. It had five less cars on it then the diagram showed and those cars did not stretch much beyond the B section, leaving us to run up the platform in order to get on the train. There was no first class section. We slummed in second class, which was actually quite comfortable, but the entire train was non-smoking. Thank gawd, it was only a two and half hour train ride.

We knew we were pulling into Venice when both sides of the train were flooded with water. This was my fourth time in Venice and Ron’s second, but neither of us have spent longer than a day here. The last time we came to spend an overnight, it turned out our hotel was in the next town, also with a Venice in the name. By the time we trained in and out of The Venice, to get back to our hotel, we did not see much. All of my previous times were day trips on my way to Rome or Florence. We had three nights booked and we were going to see some of Venice time around. What had prompted this trip was the fact that both of us had read “Miss Garnet’s Angel” and the book is placed in Venice. The book was so appealing that we had to see some of the sights that Miss Garnet had seen, which escaped us on past trips. Of course having forgotten the book in Budapest, memory alone will have to service our needs.

In the hotel information center, Ron went to get directions to our hotel and his map, while I waited outside shoving away water taxi drivers, hotel hawkers, and other tourist merchants. Shortly after, Ron arrived with a map in hand and directions to take the number 82 water bus to San Samuele stop and then it would be a short walk from there to the hotel. Since Venice is formed by buildings on stilts that were built a hundreds of years ago with canals as streets, there are no land vehicles. All transportation is by walking over narrow streets with the occasional square, ascending over footbridges or by waterbus, water taxi, or the romantic gondola.

The aura of Venice penetrates my soul immediately. At first glimpse of the buildings with their aged faces looking haggard, but proud still, they softly speak to my soul sotto voce, the history that has occurred in this city and the love that has been shared with millions over the years. The water is the life force of this city pumping new blood to each vein to cleanse the body of the city anew bringing people from one section to the next to maintain the vibrancy. I have read repeatedly in many travel reviews that people either love Venice or they hate. There does not seem to be a middle meeting point. I guess I am one of the great admirers since I keep returning for more. This city is in trouble as it is flooding more often then in years past. It is easy to see from the lines of discoloration on the walls that the water has reached over to flood the streets at various times. There is also some discussion about the city sinking.

As I am standing in line waiting to purchase our transits tickets and deciding whether or not the seventy-two hour pass will be more economical in the long run then the forty-eight hour pass, Ron is lagging behind speaking to a young attractive presumably Italian woman. When he approaches me, he is explaining that she has a transport pass to sell for three euro cheaper than what it would cost us. She turns to me to say that her father purchased it for her, but now she needs to return to Rome sooner than planned and cannot use the pass. Over the years, Ron has been approached by ever schemer know to the traveling public. In the early years, I had to pull him out of some potentially dangerous situations that he refused to believe would be dangerous until reading about them in travel books and articles. So, I was not surprised that this young woman would pick him out. I showed her pass to the ticket sales clerk, he verified that it was good for seventy-two hours once it was validated and that it would be all right to purchase. I gave her the fifteen-euro and bought another pass for eighteen euro and change.

At the waiting area for the waterbus, we easily deciphered what direction we needed to go since the route signs are well marked. The bus arrived and we made our way the three stops, to San Samuele. From there, we followed the directions of the tourist lady and tried finding our way to the hotel. We did not! We asked directions. We got lost again. We asked directions again and we got lost again. We arrived at the bus stop at 4:00 pm, it was now 5:30 pm and we were no closer to our hotel than if we stayed in the next town over with the other Venice in its name. Finally, we asked this older couple, who seem to be getting younger everyday now that I have had another birthday. They explained in Italian that Venice is broken into four districts and San Paulo is a district and not a street. We had been looking for the street San Paulo, thus walking in huge circles with dysfunctional directions from the tourist office as well as the strangers on the street. The couple suggested that if we have the phone number, we should call and get the street address within the San Paulo district. Thanks to my Spanish, I was able to understand what they were saying. We thanked them profusely and said good-bye after asking where we could find a pay telephone.

At the plaza where they directed us, we found a bank of pay phones. Of the ten phones, only one took coins. All of the rest were phone card phones only. The one coin operated phone did not take Euros, just Lira, that ‘old’ stuff. We did not have a lira to our name. As I was about to practice my best Italian string of profanity, I turned to find the older couple standing behind us. The woman had her phone card in her hand and inserted it into the telephone. Ron called and received the corrected directions. I offered them money for the time lost on her card, but she adamantly refused. Again, we thanked them repeatedly. Then it dawned on me that Miss Garnett was not the only one that had angels in Venice. We had our own angels with their wings hidden under their coats, their halos dimmed so as not to betray their identity, but yet they were there to rescue us in our time of need.

After taking the waterbus once again and getting off at the corrected stop, we were able to find our hotel in a matter of minutes. Due to the shortage of visitors all over the world, especially the North Americans, the hotels have been deeply discounted. It would have been impossible to find a budget hotel in Venice a year ago. Now we found a lovely room with a double bed in a very nicely decorated and modern little hotel that is a block away from the waterbus for the equivalent of $50.00 a night. That was a bargain we could not pass up.

Dropping our stuff on the bed, we set out to explore Venice. Using the waterbus once again, we went to San Marco’s Square, the most famous tourist attraction of the city. It was close to six by that time and many of the shops were closing, but the square is magnificent in its humungous glory. The square itself is huge and desolate, but surrounding it on two sides are dozens of shops that range from clothes, to masks, to puppets, to glass. Venice is know for its masks, due to its famous Mardi Gras celebrations and also for Murano glass, which comes from this area. You can find glass in any shape, size, form, or color to meet your decorating needs and desires.

Following the narrow streets going up and down and this way and that, we looked in dozens of shop windows. This is a shopper’s paradise and the sales are good right now due to the lack of tourism. Walking through the streets is like walking a maze. No street lasts for long and you are forced to choose left or right and a few times, there is no choice, but to go back and start again. This is a cartographer’s nightmare, since in order to show all of the streets, alleyways, and accesses that are used daily for getting from one place to the next would require a map the size of a large wall mural in order to fit all of the names on it. Some streets or walkways have names that last longer than the street or walkways does and many have similar names. It is not surprising that people can give you directions if you know the landmarks associated with where you want to go, but few know the names of the streets that will take you there. What we did find due to Ron’s sense of direction and his being inspired by Miss Garnett, was the wall relief of the Archangel Raphael with the child and dog as was described in the book. Later, we will look for the statue.

Getting close to 8:00 pm, we found our choices for restaurants were narrowing at an exponential rate. Shops and restaurants close early, many by 6:00 pm. We had wandered by a self-service restaurant that looked appealing and headed back to it. Due to the cold weather, I had a yearning for soup and the bean with pasta sounded like something from my childhood. Ron chose a plate of pasta. The soup was close to what my grandmother used to make during the winter months and I was transported back in time to her Italian kitchen filled with aromas that could awake dead senses and soothe the soul.

Walking the bridges to return to the waterbus, we crossed over gondoliers sailing the canals with passengers. Their shiny enamel black boats with gold ornaments sailed slowly and soundlessly as the gondola captained his boat from the rear, with a strong hand. Couples were nestled under blankets seemingly enjoying their ride in the moonlight. As the boat passed by poles painted, blue and white or red and white stripes as they sailed by added to the image that is dominant of one’s vision of Venice.

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