from Venice to Paris

Wow, what good fortune. Or rather, what an absence of real bad luck. Or is it that I do not take for granted all the ways in which we averted travel headaches? I appreciate every wrinkle-free detail of our days. I know snafus make for good stories later, but right now, I like the slow coast through adventures without too much trouble. And today was one of those days without too much trouble. From the beginning.

First thing to note: we could have had a rough day of it. Snowdrop went to bed too late last night. That was my fault: I was hurrying to work through photos and I said ten more minutes, then I forgot myself and it was nearly ten when I realized she was still up.

Too, she still does the new time zone wake-up and separately, so do I. She is extremely easy to put to bed and to transition to sleep, but still, it does mean that I need to build in a cushion into the night for wakeful moments. I did not build in that cushion last night.

Finally, we have a flight to catch at noon. So we can't just sleep in. Now, how early to get to the airport? The million dollar question! Early, if there will be lines and chaos. Later, if it's Madison, or an equally smooth pass through the various checkpoints. Basically, it's a great unknown.

I do choose to book a taxi over to the port of the airport. From there, it's about a ten-fifteen minute walk. Can we manage with three bags and two backpacks? Will she be up for the challenge, given the short night? 

And finally, there is the weather. It started to rain today. The Venetians I'm sure are deliriously happy. The tourists -- less so. I know Venice is atmospheric when it's damp and you need an umbrella, but for us, it would have been less fun to navigate it in the rain, especially since almost all our activities were outdoors. But it held off until this morning - how good is that!

So, how did we cope? I woke up Snowdrop and without complaint, the girl hopped in and out of the shower in minutes. We were down for breakfast in plenty of time, though both of us ate very modest breakfasts. It felt early, even though it was getting late.

I did have to go an ATM -- all these taxi people like cash (as does the hotel maid), and thankfully the hotel offered us their umbrella so I did not have to get ours wet. A fun little outing for one last look at Venice, a city of umbrellas today.

Good bye you fascinating and beautiful place!

We were early for our taxi and from the port, Snowdrop maneuvered her own suitcase and carried her own heavy pack...

... and there was no chaos at the gate or at security and so we had time to sit down for a coffee (for me) and an S cookie (for her).

And then we were off, which itself was no small accomplishment as the earlier Air France flight today was cancelled. Maybe the strike is still on at the airport? Who knows...

I did watch Snowdrop's face crumble when she finally settled with relief into her seat on board, and her tablet malfunctioned. Blasted technology! You take a book, you open it, it's always there, unless you spill coffee all over it and the pages stick together. But a tablet depends on... who knows what. So yes, a disappointed girl. But, on the upside, she is mature enough to recover quickly. And to compensate, I offered  to read to her from her Dogman Book. Typically these are hers to read and reread and reread, but I'm told it's fun when I take on the characters and do it for her. I'm not sure the whole Air France cabin appreciated my character interpretations, but there you have it. [I was reminded that we are changing cultures. French people tend to be quiet in public spaces. Yesterday, when Martina wanted to get her cab guy's attention, she shouted out to him across the lagoon. Then she caught herself and smiled apologetically. We Italians, we're so loud! Yes you are. One more reason why it's so cool to bring children along to your country!]

(Tablet working!)

Because of Covid, I now skip the crowded train to central Paris and I dish out the cash for a taxi. And now we are here, in my beloved room of my beloved Paris Hotel Baume. Only this time, the bed is made up for two: grandma and granddaughter, traveling together.

(The hotel outdid itself in its welcome: we are without much food today and our fruit consumption this week has plummeted and so I was touched to the core by the plate of deliciousness and the books for Snowdrop... she devoured all the oranges and berries within seconds, and I gobbled all the red currants.)

So happy to be here! I dont know a place that treats its guests better.

Honestly, it's tough to step out. The luxury of not being in a hurry hits hard in the belly. Snowdrop is delighted to be given tablet time and me, I could just take my sneak peak out the window and embrace the grandness of being in Paris, and at the Baume again.

But we do need to eat dinner and in this last day of March, the Luxembourg Gardens (just two blocks up from my hotel) are open until 7:30, so she and I take a detoured walk through them. This, to me, is always the most beautiful beginning to any Paris visit and right now, the tulips and primroses and forget-me-nots are at in top form. Heaven...

By the way, one gust of a chilly wind and Snowdrop asks for her jacket. It is much cooler here than it was in Venice.

(A quick stop at the local bakery: at last I can stock up on some macarons for the long evenings spent on Ocean posts!)

We eat dinner at a place that is actually just a breath away from our hotel: Les Editeurs. Anyone who reads Ocean and who keeps track of eateries will recognize the name. I've eaten breakfasts, lunches and dinners there numerous times, including with the kids and grandkids. It's just convenient and spacious and there's something on the menu reliably okay for them and it requires no effort. 

I already told Snowdrop to switch her cultural mindset: from pasta and pizza we move to pommes frites and roasted meats. Today, she opted for steak frites.

And profiterolles for dessert.

Shared.

And around us, the French were fully engaged in life as they knew it. I may have seen a half dozen masks on people since we landed here in the afternoon. What a difference a border makes!

I would share in their desire to move on and at least for now, forget that there is a Covid virus on the loose, but unfortunately, the US still requires a negative Covid test before reentering the country. And so I loosen Snowdrop's precautions (it's nearly impossible for her to get an Omicron variant), but I keep my own mask handy.

(looking out at the world)

That's okay: at the moment, her happiness is my happiness.

And now is the time for all little children to be in bed! Between the macarons and profiteroles, we're having a much much longer bedtime routine. Truly the city where no one ever sleeps. Still, I am determined to keep us to better habits. Goodnight to you as well.

With a happy smile and love, from Paris.

Venice

A cloudy day, verging on rain. We knew it would be thus and honestly, I would have had a feeling of displacement had we been here without at least a shower or two. Venice, rain and March seem to me to be a solid partnership.

We are up for breakfast (where we try to make up limericks and realize our rhyming talents are limited)..

... and then I hesitate. How ambitious should our last day be? I vote for ambitious, but at a reasonable pace.

We set out on foot, across the Rialto Bridge and straight into the extremely expensive department store, Fondaco dei Tedeschi. The building itself is gorgeous: dating to the 13th century, it used to be the private quarters of German merchants. (Martina later tells me that the displays are now for Chinese and Russian tourists who come with tour groups just to spend big money there.)

Now, it has something that's very desirable: a rooftop open to those wanting a free, spectacular view over Venice. What I did not know is that tickets are required. Is it a Covid thing? Maybe. Though I think it's perhaps a general crowd monitoring strategy. You dont want more than a handful of people at any given moment in this most exclusive shopping venue.

We don't have tickets and none are available for this day.

Are there moments when you say to yourself -- I can't believe my luck? Well now, as we learn at the front door that we are not to go any further, an English speaking man with a group of three kids and a mom comes up and says to the door guard: let them through -- they are with me. He tells me he has an extra ticket, as a person from this family didn't show. He says they'll let "my kid" in on "my" ticket.

Who is this angelic guy who saves the moment for us? He claims he is the only American guide living in Venice. Calls himself "Mark the American" and I'm certain you can find him online, but in any case, he surely was sent as proof that small miracles happen all the time.

The view? Oh, tremendous! Just tremendous.

A million thanks, Mark the American. 

And since we seem to be predisposed toward magnificent views, let me take Snowdrop now straight down crooked narrow alleyways to San Marco once more. 

This Square is so grand, so illustrious, and yet it's hard to hit it in exactly the right moment. The cafes that spill out onto  the square are great fun -- in the summer. The kids chasing pigeons -- funny, until a bird swoops down on you and leaves behind a souvenir. Pigeon feeding is now disallowed, for obvious reasons. 

The crowds here are constant. In older days, I'd come here at dawn and especially at dawn in March. The vast open space is yours then, with the occasional hurrying Venetian, crossing the Square hurriedly on the way to work. But as you get old and more rigid in your habits and demands, coming here at dawn seems just plain crazy and youthful and not worth it. So you come when you can. Like just before noon.

And it's still beautiful.

I did not buy tickets to the Basilica. I hesitated and then it was too late. But I think it was wise to skip it this time around. There's such a thing as activity overload. If I want Snowdrop to experience Venice with time to digest what she sees, then being selective in what you pile into a day is important.

I did want a moment over coffee/ice cream on the Square. It's too cold to sit outside, but being indoors at Florian Cafe has its rewards.

What? Ice cream before lunch? Well why not! It's as good a snack as any!

One last glance at San Marco (we're leaving Venice tomorrow morning, so this is really a last peak at its magnificence...),  and we walk to the vaporetto stop, to take this "bus" back to our neighborhood.

It's raining now, but our walk isn't too long. I realize that it was silly to pack two umbrellas. The streets are too narrow. She cant work the thing up and down to avoid knocking it into others. And in any case, we manage just fine under one.

Except when she runs forward or back in the more open spaces.

(Perhaps you've noticed that everyone, everyone is wearing a warm jacket or coat. She is not. She claims she is not cold. I don't argue. I have the jacket, she likes the jacket, if she's cold, she'll ask for it.)

Lunch? Well, on the late side. But where?? Try Al Campanile! Third time, because Snowdrop loves it so much. As do I. Today, as we listen and try to decipher the gossip of  locals...

... Snowdrop gobbles her pizza (and I'm freed to order a salad with shrimp that melt in your mouth.)

Our afternoon is reserved for a final outing. Martina (who runs the Macaco program here) is showing us Murano and then the island of Sant'Erasmo.

We leave Venice, by boat of course.

(my, oh my, does the girl love these boat rides by water taxi!)

Murano's vibe is completely different from that of Venice... Maybe you can tell just from this one photo...

I had the idea that the glass making in Murano might be interesting for Snowdrop. These master craftsmen really do amazing things with glass and learning about it really does help you better understand the historic significance of some of these islands. I figured Martina would pick a factory she knows and trusts and she did just that.

We watched one specialist work on a glass horse and another work on making those beautiful glasses that have specs of color in them.

Stunning work.

Then came the shop that gathered together much of what the artisans produced. Expensive stuff. Big stuff. Small stuff too, but small does not mean cheap. Yes, I asked for a stop at a shop and yes, this did give modest opportunities for gift buying, and it was good to know that nothing there was actually made in China or Vietnam, but still, there was so much glass and Snowdrop was so full of energy and enthusiasm! (Can we please buy that Pegasus? No, Snowdrop -- too big, too expensive, too fragile. Same words over and over.) I had visions of shattered glass and depleted savings paying off accidental destruction. 

Still, I had to admire Snowdrop's ability to make something of a boring set up. I mean, a glass store. Yawn. But she never once let up her enthusiasm for the project of finding something for those back home. (Even as I kept saying no, not that either, way too many times to keep most any child happy.)

From there, Martina took us to the island (a large one -- San'Erasmo) where many of Venice's veggies are grown.

It's a stark contrast to the city and she thought I would enjoy seeing something that really isn't on any tourist path. She was right, of course, even though I suppose Snowdrop can't get too excited about a green space. She sees plenty of that in and around the farmette. Yet, how different this feels!!

And again, despite the huge amount of walking and sightseeing, she maintains her good cheer. Martina and I discussed Venetian artichokes and world politics, Snowdrop picked dandelions and threw pebbles in the nearly dry muddy waters in and around the island.

To me, it all looked green, but Martina said this was not a normal spring. Look at all the browns, the dried plantlife! We have had no rain for four months and this is supposed to be the wet season. (The rain today is pesky but only sporadic and not very plentiful.)

Still, it's a fascinating part of the greater Venice area. Martina notes that on sunny warm days Ventians come to picnic in the meadows and perhaps even swim in the muddy waters of the lagoon. She showed me wild herbs that they love to pick and take home and yes, the artichoke fields that produce this most beautiful Venetian vegetable (well, what we eat is actually the bud of the flower from this plant, but still, it's a veggie of sorts).

And then a boat (arranged by Martina) takes us home.

It was a very, very full day. I am intensely happy that I chose a dinner place that is extremely close to us -- Al Gobbo di Rialto. (Martina had an interesting observation on Rialto. Perhaps because of the market here, she sees it as touristy, yes, but also very Venetian with much of daily life playing out there as well. San Marco, on the other hand, is all handed over to tourism.)

The Restaurant is the best kind of ending you could have here. It's all  about being in Italy with kids. The expectations are that kids are a different species and you should treat them accordingly. Plain spaghetti with parmiggiano? Of course. You want to play with your toy? Well, can I play too? No dessert tonight? Then how about a cookie or two, on the house? And on and on and on. And I know it's not thought of as cool (back home) to keep calling your grandchild principessa, but still, it happens often here and it is so filled with affection for the demographic rather than anything else, that here at least, it is forgivable in the extreme.

[As a funny side story, when we were in the glass factory, I asked the guy who was explaining the master craftsmen's work to us if there were any women who did the Murano glass works. He made some joke about women being 100% kept out of that skill set because glass blowing requires blowing and you can't both talk as women do, and blow glass. I was instantly in the Academy Awards moment: do I laugh? Do I slap his face? Okay, I did not punch him out. I frowned. Martina took note. She threw him a glance. He recoiled and said something that was even worse -- we know that life is all about women and god. They rule... there's nothing else. At this point, an eye roll was the best strategy. He came up later, gifted me a necklace piece and apologized. He said he caught himself right away and thought -- oh shit, I said the wrong thing. I said -- listen, I have two women as kids and three grand girls. I care about how they view their future. He apologized again. Later, Martina said -- well, you got a slice of Italian life. The thing is, he is a really good guy. I know him well. Those were just your typical Italian jokes. And I know she is right. The line drawing here is different than it is back home. I don't live here so I can't really tell how women fare in the world of men in daily life. It's too easy to draw conclusions from quick visits, but I wont do it. All I can say is that he did apologize and admitted to not even being Italian from birth, but rather -- Armenian and well, you know about the genocide there! See what I mean? You rarely know the full story in a brief exchange.]

(dinner, with principessa herself)

Let me finish with a brief description of dinner foods. I ordered the sea food platter as an appetizer. I wanted the Venetian sardines, the fish tartare, the clams in sauce, all of it. Then -- spaghetti in cuttle fish black ink.

I challenged Snowdrop to close her eyes and eat a spaghetti and guess if it was inky dark, or her regular old spaghetti. She would not do it. The mental anguish of eating something sprayed with fish ink was too much for her.

I told her: I will bet you anything that within ten years, you will be eating and liking spaghetti with squid ink.

(looking out, back at the hotel: night on the Grand Canal...)

We will have a morning in Venice tomorrow, but it will be filled with the essentials of packing and moving out and catching our outbound flight.

My next post will be from Paris.

With so much love...

Venice

When we first entered the city yesterday, by boat of course, Snowdrop, in her deep excitement, asked me, without expecting an answer -- why did I never know about this place before?!

It's one way of expressing this feeling of entering something that is beyond what you've seen or experienced. It challenges all that you know about cities, daily life, expressions of the grand and the impossible. Looking out this morning on the Grand Canal (you could say that it is the morning rush hour), I still get that feeling of how unreal and beautiful it all is.

We had our usual first night in Europe: sleep, interrupted in the middle of the night, when your body is just confused as to what it should be doing. But on balance, we rested well, which was an absolute necessity for both of us.

Ready for breakfast! A very late breakfast!

In nearly all my previous travels to Venice, all I did was walk. Yes, I saw the sights, I visited the churches, the museum, I climbed the Campanile. Once. To an art historian, the city is wealthy with stunning architecture and art. Virtually every building is an exhibit that belongs in a museum. But to me, the magic is in the entirety and the entirety is best experienced through endless walks, keeping your eye open for the unusual detail. 

But with a seven year old, my attitude toward a visit here changed. I remember bringing my girls here when they were just Snowdrop's age and a little older. We did walk, but we also paused and rode lots of vaporettos and sampled many gelatos. With Snowdrop, I wanted to do a tiny bit more. This is what you learn as a grandparent -- with your grandchild, you can always do just a little bit more. You know that opportunity is a rare bird, so you are sure to keep your binoculars on the ready!

I planned several activities, and one, organized by the incredibly creative talent of Martina at Macaco Kids Tours, takes place this afternoon. In the morning (what's left of it!), Snowdrop and I take a stroll to the Rialto Market, which just happens to be a few minutes up the Canal from us. It's the market of all markets, particularly with respect to fish of the Adriatic. She may never touch a fish on her plate again after seeing/smelling the delicious catch of the day here!

On the upside, she fell in love with the artichokes...

... and the strawberries. I happen also to love the baby artichokes here. So tasty you can (and should) eat them raw. You could never find these back home, so all you can do is drool. The strawberries, on the other hand, are totally transportable. I pick some up for our hotel room.

(A detour up the Rialto Bridge...)

Just before entering the hotel, we pause to admire the gondolas. And yes, it's the best moment to do this, because sooner or later, you know I would give in and the two of us would go on a gondola ride.

We are lucky. We picked randomly, but it happened that the gondolier was one for the ages. Sixth generation doing this. Knows his stuff. Loves his city. 

(a "road sign" telling you only gondolas are allowed on this canal)

I expected Snowdrop to be hyped, but rather, she was subdued. As if this quiet passage through the absolutely quiet backways is a different kind of magic.

(selfie)

There are currently 430 gondolas in Venice. The number goes down over the years because gondolas are expensive to maintain and they're no longer a need, but rather a service. For the romantics, as Ivan, our gondolier tells us.

("And Mozart lived there, and Goethe lived here....") 

(At the end, he of course calls his buddy to take that iconic gondola ride photo...)

And before you know it, it's lunch time. And  wants to go back to Al Campanile, and we have the same waitress, and Snowdrop orders the same thing for herself and for me, and this is one way you get yourself recognized and remembered!

Apart from us, there are only the regular men who stop work and come here for lunch. They are the real regulars (as they leave, I hear the "ciao, a domani" -- bye, see you tomorrow). Another regular? A dog. Snowdrop is apprehensive with strange dogs, but this one she likes!

From here, we walk, along the lovely Dorsoduoro ("Left Bank") loop, where everything seems always sane and not like one big shopping venue for cheap souvenirs.

(Hey, daughters, remember this produce boat? The vendors used to scowl at me for wanting to take a photo. That was then. We live in different times now.)

(Dont like to peel your own artichokes? They'll do it for you.)

And yes, I do step into one glass shop today. Venice/Murano is, of course, a glass making center, but the art is practiced by many small artisans, and a group sells out of a shop that has always seemed to me to be manageable and fun. A great place to pick up something for, say, your other granddaughters.

Colors of spring:

(Colors of peace)

From here, it's a short hike to the Accademia Bridge. Iconic view, right here!

Okay, let's go for the post card version:

We pick up a vaporetto to take us to Arsenale. Of course, first we have to find the vaporetto stop. Here, she's given up on me. "Are you sure you're not lost"

We get there! Arsenal: even if you think you know Venice (me!), you probably don't know about this district of it: it's at the very tip of the island group and it's really where Venice began. It's where the navy developed its ship building technologies 500 years ago. I have to admit that I've only touched on this area once. And I dont remember any of it. But it's where we meet Carlotta -- our Macaco guide for the next couple of hours.

She is magnificent. She has the history at her fingertips, and she has the skills to lead a scavenger and puzzle hunt that's perfect for any kid any age.

("Look at this painting by Canaletto, who painted all the details of a good photographer. And look at this same scene now. What's different?")

Snowdrop is at first tentative, but very quickly fully engaged. We play games, we discover small secrets of ancient monuments.

(And Gogs grabs a quick macchiato...)

And by the way, Carlotta did not know I'm the grandmother, which is kind of funny because I wear a knee brace and have tons of gray hair. I think it's because of the unexpected nature of this journey of grandmother and child. She learned quickly though that I stay behind when they race each other to the next point...

... and the one after.

(such a narrow street!)

One last puzzle to work out, at the "doorway to Venice."

I had signed Snowdrop up for another activity with Carlotta: mask decorating. In the greenhouse of a park. Who knew Venice had such corners?

(aprons)

Here, we learn about why there is a Carnavale celebration to begin with, and what's with all the masks around Venice, and finally, how to free your imagination and create something special. 

Both Snowdrop and I did this, even though my artsy skills are very... so-so.

We said good bye to magnificent Carlotta and walk over to a gelato shop in this very Italian part of Venice.

(for me)

(for her)

Truly, Arsenal does belong to the Venetians. And for this reason alone, it is magnificent.

And then se catch the vaporetto back to our Dorsoduoro hotel. For once, Snowdrop lands the perfect seat with the perfect views. (And yes, masks are required in all transportation, even with outdoor seating. They wont let you on the boat without it. And pretty much everyone over the age of ten wears N95's. This is why Italy's current surge is way less strong than France's, where mask reluctance is as high as it is in the US.)

On our walk back from the vaporetto stop, we pass a place that sells masks done by local artisans. If ever there was a perfect souvenir to take back home...

Home. We make the time to talk to Sparrow and mommy back home and I Zoom call Ed. How good it is to touch base in real time!

In the evening Snowdrop and I eat dinner at San Silvestro Ristorante. This was a find after a deep search back home. [It needs to be close to the hotel (the girl is tired by 7pm). It needs to be well liked (but of course). It needs to have Venetian foods. And it needs to have a reputation for being nice to families, just so I dont have to worry every time a piece of parmesan cheese doesn't make it from the spoon to the pasta dish, though God knows the kids have had plenty of practice in this particular skill back home.]

It is a wonderful dinner. I order pasta carbonara for the girl and she does eat it, even if she thinks it best to first eat the bacon then the rest. But, too, she sample my seafood fritto miso. She accepts the calamari, she accepts the shrimp, but she likes best the gently friend carrot strips. (We talk about vegetarians. Will she one day join their ranks? I don't think so... she loves bacon!)

On our way back to the room, we check out the rooftop bar. Same view as from our room only higher.

I pick up a couple of pieces of hard candy for her troubled airplane ears. And a glass of Veneto wine for myself.

And now I sit back and digest it all. And share it with you.

With love...