Sunday morning. Stopped in at the hotel on my way to the boat to Giudecca. Marco was getting off his shift so I waited for him to change into street clothes and we went together. We stopped for pastries and a coffee. A few days ago I suggested we drink coffee outside of the house so Mamma doesn't smell it and get a craving working. Sixty years of coffee drinking is hard to stop suddenly. She may eventually be able to drink it again, but not so soon after heart surgery. Stefania made googoo eyes in his direction but he acts so unaware. Hand him the award, people.
To the house, where Mamma awaits. She's ready for church. Of course she is. “Non non non. Devi fare colazione prima. E tua pastiglie.” No, you have to have breakfast first. And your pills. She sighed and went to the kitchen. I told Marco she's going to slip tight back into her old routine of no breakfast until after Mass as soon as I leave. He made the “what can you do?” face. At least she's eating more for breakfast, more than she ever has in her life. Oh, this land of coffee and cornetto. I want a stack of pancakes right about now, in my world. And eggs and bacon. And hash browns, dammit.
Mid-morning Marco went off to hibernate in his room for a few hours. I started on a pot of ragu, and Mamma and I went back to church at 1PM. When we returned we found him sitting in the kitchen with a bowl of ragu and dipping bread into it, like it was chips and dip. Hey buddy, just help yourself why don't you? I gave him the series of pantomiming hand motions which got my point across that I wasn't happy with this development, so he finished up and got out of there.
After dinner I stopped in at the hotel to see Giorgio for what I thought would just be a few moments. Spoke with a couple from Connecticut about opening times for the sites in San Marco and how to get the secret itinerary tour reservations. Another man nearby, from London, had taken a photograph of a bell tower while out walking earlier and wanted to know which church it was. I told him which one I thought it was, and confirmed on a map it was the area of town I suspected. A couple who was now seated next to me, from San Francisco, didn't believe I was from Oakland. We chatted for a while, she's a former chef so they wanted to ask me about recommendations they had been given. They were at the chi-chi types of places I take my private groups. They wanted to know where I would go for Thanksgiving dinner. Well, not a turkey dinner, but a place in lieu of one. I told them Hostaria da Franz or Paradiso. “You should be a tour guide, you know everything about this town.”
Yes, but if I do this in a bar I get free drinks from y'all out of appreciation.
Giorgio was also busy since he was working by himself. So busy he couldn't stop to eat the food waiting for him from the kitchen. I told him to go. I would stall people for fifteen minutes, tell them the barman would be right back. If they wanted to pay their bills, I would take their room numbers down to charge to their bills. If they wanted to pay cash or use a credit card, they could wait until he came back.
“Kristina you are peach. But you cannot come behind the bar.” I know this. I told him to go, I would watch over the place for a few minutes.
On his return, I had a list of guests with their room numbers and names. I also had listed which table or seat they had been at and the what type of glasses were on the table, just to jog his memory. I took care of six tables for him. Apparently they all wanted to leave at once. Cleared the tables and the top of the bar and stacked everything in the tray to be put in the washer/steamer behind the bar. So while I was behind the bar, I was out of sight, off to the side. Giorgio was extremely happy with the assistance. Cheek kisses, hugs and pronouncements that he was going to marry me one day. I told him to just give me a job and teach me everything he knows. “You would make an excellent bartender and manager Kristina. We know this already.” Yep.
Two women came in and seated themselves next to me just before Giorgio returned and were talking amongst themselves. They weren't paying attention to Giorgio's and my conversation since it was in Italian, but they stopped and watched when he was singing to me “Kristina bella...(and a lot of nonsense words) ” which he always does. The ladies were talking about the rude concierge up front. One said “What was his name because I'm going to make a complaint.”
“I think it was Marco.” Oy, I don't think I want to hear this.
“No, he was the super nice one from last night. This one was... Stefano.” Whew.
One of them turned to me and said “Scooosa may. English?” Yes, I speak English. “Do you know this city at all? Can we ask you some questions about where to go?”
Giorgio responded for me. “Kristina is the best tourguide in the city. And the prettiest.” Awww. But they were disrupting my lovefest with squeals. Mind you these are women in their early 50s. Squeals like teenagers at a boyband concert.
For the next hour I marked out a map for them, made notes on the bar's paper tablet, wrote an itinerary, gave prices for the sites they were going to see and tried to give a little bit of history to them. But they were in trouble, it was obvious. These women came completely unprepared. No research done in advance at all. They are a bit on the ditzy side, but sweet. One is a social worker and the other is a stay at home mother and the wife of a doctor. Both from Ft. Lauderdale. They didn't know enough to know that Venice is an island and renting a car wasn't necessary. So they rented a car at the airport, and the GPS directed them to the carpark in Piazzale Roma and kept saying “You are here. You are here.” They then took a “limo” boat - meaning they took a boat to the hotel that was even more expensive than the highway robbery of a taxi.
They wanted to go to Murano and Burano in the afternoon and wanted to know how much the taxi would be. I asked them if they were diametrically opposed to the bus or they just wanted to spend a lot of money, A social worker can't make that much money, after all. They said they didn't know there was public transportation, just thought there were taxis and limo-boats.
Really, people? You can't take ten minutes to look up some information on the cities you're going to visit? Honestly. If you “plan” something six months in advance, like these two did, would it kill you to maybe watch a travelogue show? Pick up a book or a magazine for a few articles? I'm not saying you have to go full bore and learn everything there is to know, but spend a modicum of time so you have an idea where you are on the damned map.
Oy. And they're doing this trip all by themselves. It's amazing they made it out of the airport.
“Would you like me to show you around tomorrow?” Squeals.
“Okay, no more of that and it's a deal.” They offered to buy me lunch and pay for my transport pass on the vaporetto if I showed them how to buy theirs. We set a time for 10AM to meet in the lobby.
I bet I could make a living sitting in that hotel bar and collecting customers for day tours and information services. I could at least feed myself and stay hydrated, or pickled to the gills.
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