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...