I had the earliest flight out of the airport, at 6:35, so I caught the vaporetto at 4:29 to catch the bus at 5:00. Oy, so early. At least it gets me home by noon Pacific time.
Venice Marco Polo airport is relatively small considering how many international flights come through there. There is one terminal and about thirty gates. It's a very efficient airport in comparison to say, Oakland or Sacramento. From even the farthest check-in counter you walk maybe two minutes to the security line and once beyond there, the farthest gate is no more than four minutes away. Why am I explaining this? Read on...The aircraft today was a 737-700 from Venice to Amsterdam; twenty rows with three seats on each side of the aisle, so approximately 120 possible passengers. The flight was about one-third full, there couldn't have been more than forty-five people. Oh we could stretch out comfortably. There wasn't any rain or fog that would be delaying us, yet the door wasn't being shut on the craft. The staff was on phones to the gate, there were staff from inside the airport coming on the plane with papers and lists in hand. Something was definitely up. At ten minutes past departure time the captain finally came on the speaker, telling us that we were missing three people so we would be giving them a few more minutes then offloading their luggage.
What the heck. How can you check in, check your luggage, get through security but not get on a plane, not make it to a gate? You can't get lost in this airport, it's just too small for that. Did they go outside to smoke and decide they didn't need to go to Amsterdam after all? And they didn't need the luggage either? Interesting.
So as I was looking out the window I saw my very distinctive bags on the tarmac. They are a purple and gold brocade, so you can't miss them. I got a little nervous seeing them there, and even more nervous when they were placed on a transporter golf cart. Um, excuse me? Why only mine?
Imagine my relief when other bags were also placed on the back of the cart. Yes, that's how perverse I am. If my bag is going bye-bye I can at least be comforted knowing that other people would be inconvenienced right along with me. It was completely loaded up, then to my horror the guy drove it away. This had to be a joke. There had to be cameras on us to catch our expressions, because a lot of folks started to freak out. Then the guy came back, facing the other direction, to continue loading bags on the wagon. I mentally gave myself over the idea that I wouldn't be rejoined with my things in San Francisco. They would get back to me eventually. Le sigh.
Finally, the three suitcases apparently in question were located, set aside on the tarmac and we watched all the rest of the bags get loaded back into the hold. The man in front of me turned and said, “If those people come onto the plane now after all of this commotion I think the other passengers will strangle them before we get off the ground.” I agreed.
Landing at AMS I turned on my phone and saw there were voicemails and messages, but I was only interested in calling and checking in with the husband and mother. Everything else can wait. It was Marco anyway, and I was sure he was just wishing me a safe trip, since he wasn't around when I said goodbye to Mamma the night before. I would call him from SFO as per usual when I went home.
The plane in Amsterdam was way full, but I had a place near the back and one of the few empty seats next to me. Ahhh, comfort. I watched five movies on the way back. I should have been sleeping, I was so overtired, but no. My brain said I wasn't going to close my eyes, not when there were films to be had! I swear, almost all my movie watching is on planes these days. I rarely go to the theater. It's not such a bad thing- I can stop it if I need to and other people don't disturb me with their comments or ringing phones or texting during the show, and I can't hear them smacking their popcorn because of headphones. Sure, I'm risking deep vein thrombosis, but I'm a captive audience, so bring on the entertainment!
Landing in San Francisco I turned on the phone to find a voicemail from the husband telling me he wasn't meeting me at the airport, but we were going with plan B – I take BART to MacArthur station (call him from West Oakland) and he picks me up. I was a little sad at this news. I wanted to see my sweetheart's smiling face when I got off the plane, not an hour later. Oh well. I held off listening to Marco's voicemails. I'd get to those once I was out of the airport and on BART.
My prediction came true. My luggage was not at SFO. They called my name on the overhead after I got our of passport control. Apparently a transport belt broke in the behind the scene works of Schiphol airport in Amsterdam and my bags never even made it onto the plane. They took my information from my luggage tag receipt, my contact information and a full description from me and promised they would have it to me within 48 hours. Alrighty.
I made my way to BART and hopped on, finally listening to the rest of my messages. Marco had called three times and wrote twice, each seeming more urgent. And now I knew why. Mamma had collapsed that morning and passed away unexpectedly. The paramedics were not able to revive her. Complete devastation is the only way I can describe it. I called him back and got the briefest of details from him and promised I would call him tomorrow. I know he had plenty of details to take care of.
I managed to hold it together until I got off the train, hugged my husband and got into the car. And then the tears came. I could barely tell him what happened and actually had to tell him twice. I felt bad for him as well; here he is dealing with family loss, his wife just came come and now she's falling apart doubly over two recent losses that were very important people in her life. He tried to comfort me, but I think I was semi-catatonic after a while. Just sat on the couch and stared at the television wondering where do we go from here? I didn't even pick up the phone to call my mother until the next day. Maybe if I didn't have to explain it to anyone else it wasn't going to be true, just a bad dream.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
28 February, Tuesday – A Perfect Day
I was packed up and had the suitcase by the front door at 7AM, even though I wasn't leaving the house for 21 hours. Nervous energy. I made my way over to the Hotel Monaco & Grand Canal to meet everyone.
The upside is that I made it through the day without being a total fool, so I have that going for me. Before we even left the lobby I told D I am a huge fan and I felt like a schoolgirl, so please excuse me if I get tongue-tied. He was very kind. Not self-aware and very self-deprecating. They were both so normal. Whew. They both allowed me to pick their brains on the acting process. I'm not an actor, but more like a psychology fan, so I like to know how their brains work to get into a role. Especially since they are both Brits and play Americans a lot. How do you do that, etc.?
But it was a lovely time. We laughed. The kids stayed in line. He wore a cap and sunglasses and wasn't recognized. She had her hair in a messy ponytail and wore no makeup, just sunglasses. There were a few times I caught people looking as if their brains were trying to figure it out. Whether they did or not, they didn't approach. The kids wanted pizza at “that place we were before” so we went to Francesco's. I was treated like a princess, with much fussing over the table by Francesco and the staff. They are always so good to me.
I was a little distracted by a city worker crew in the campo. They were up on ladders and moving about. Up a ladder, do something, hand down or hand up wires and cables, down the ladder, move it five feet. One of the crew was definitely not Italian, but an African. I found it fascinating. I've never seen an African on a city working crew, except for a street sweeper in the Rialto market. I find it fascinating – their immigration stories. I excused myself and went out to talk to him.
After a few minutes of chatting and asking him how long he's been here, etc., he asked me if I would do him a favor and mail a postcard when I got home. For his kids. Sure. He wrote his address down and also his phone number. I told him I wasn't trying to get a date. He said he understands, but if I want to interview him on my next trip when I had more time. Okaaaaay. Still not certain if he believed me this want not a come-on.
I rejoined the group, they paid and we left. I dropped them at their hotel and I went on to Giudecca to go say goodbye to Mamma. Made dinner for her and watched some television. She hugged me hard when I left. Kisses, kisses, kisses on the cheeks. “Ti amo, tesoro.” I love you, my treasure. “Anche io, Mamma.” I do too, Mamma.
It was going to have to be an early night so I was out of there by ten because four AM gets here too early.
The upside is that I made it through the day without being a total fool, so I have that going for me. Before we even left the lobby I told D I am a huge fan and I felt like a schoolgirl, so please excuse me if I get tongue-tied. He was very kind. Not self-aware and very self-deprecating. They were both so normal. Whew. They both allowed me to pick their brains on the acting process. I'm not an actor, but more like a psychology fan, so I like to know how their brains work to get into a role. Especially since they are both Brits and play Americans a lot. How do you do that, etc.?
But it was a lovely time. We laughed. The kids stayed in line. He wore a cap and sunglasses and wasn't recognized. She had her hair in a messy ponytail and wore no makeup, just sunglasses. There were a few times I caught people looking as if their brains were trying to figure it out. Whether they did or not, they didn't approach. The kids wanted pizza at “that place we were before” so we went to Francesco's. I was treated like a princess, with much fussing over the table by Francesco and the staff. They are always so good to me.
I was a little distracted by a city worker crew in the campo. They were up on ladders and moving about. Up a ladder, do something, hand down or hand up wires and cables, down the ladder, move it five feet. One of the crew was definitely not Italian, but an African. I found it fascinating. I've never seen an African on a city working crew, except for a street sweeper in the Rialto market. I find it fascinating – their immigration stories. I excused myself and went out to talk to him.
After a few minutes of chatting and asking him how long he's been here, etc., he asked me if I would do him a favor and mail a postcard when I got home. For his kids. Sure. He wrote his address down and also his phone number. I told him I wasn't trying to get a date. He said he understands, but if I want to interview him on my next trip when I had more time. Okaaaaay. Still not certain if he believed me this want not a come-on.
I rejoined the group, they paid and we left. I dropped them at their hotel and I went on to Giudecca to go say goodbye to Mamma. Made dinner for her and watched some television. She hugged me hard when I left. Kisses, kisses, kisses on the cheeks. “Ti amo, tesoro.” I love you, my treasure. “Anche io, Mamma.” I do too, Mamma.
It was going to have to be an early night so I was out of there by ten because four AM gets here too early.
27 February, Monday – Going Out Of My Head
My phone rang early. It was a Venice landline number, but not the Europa hotel, which is where most of my unknown calls come from, one way or the other. It was Ms N – she apologized for calling so early, but she was letting me know she had a change of filming schedule on Tuesday and she woulod be free for the day. Could she have the boys tour with me and she'd join us? Sure. She said she would insist on paying for my time. I told her she could buy me lunch. Okay. I would come to their hotel at 10AM on Tuesday.
I made my way to the Europa for my last morning with the Toyota horribles. Along the way N rang again, asking if it was alright that her costar come with us as well. Not a problem. She said “Perfect, I'll just let D know to meet us in the lobby. Thanks, bye.” And I about fell over. Her costar is one of my actor crushes. Fantastic actor. We've been admiring his work for a number of years in my household. How am I going to keep it together to appear not like a squealing thirteen year old fangirlie? Oh boy. Sqweeeeeeeeeeeee!
I have to admit I was starstruck and he wasn't even there. I was smiling like a goon during my tour with the peeps of Rialto, Frari and San Rocco. I was going to have to work hard to keep it together tomorrow. I usually get quiet around celebrities, when I've met them, or if I've been drinking I can certainly carry on a conversation, but this guy, I can totally see myself turning into a shy teenager again like when Jeff Cyr worked across the way at the mall and I made cow-eyes at him all day from the register at Taco Bell over to him at the counter at Stone Soup, until I was led over by my friend Leah to meet him and all I could do was stare at my shoe. True story, many years later that same guy turned out to be the brother of a close friend of my folks and just bringing up his name again I got flushed and embarrassed at the idea of possibly talking to him. He wasn't even present, but the very idea, even decades later, eroded all of my normal self-confidence and reduced me to a squirming, embarrassed fourteen year old.
I felt exactly the same way right then. Oh help me get a grip before tomorrow.
Feeling a little giddy on my return to the hotel, I barely saw Marco motioning at me. He finally caught my attention and I scurried over, whereupon he reached under the counter to hand me a box. From the Houstons. Aww, they gave me a gift for showing them around. The same necklace in black and silver, but a different pair of earrings than the Mrs, mine were in silver. How sweet.
Most importantly, I was done with the Toyota people. I didn't stick around to see if I was getting tips. I really, REALLY did not care. I went to the bar and showed Giorgio my gift. Then I was off to Giudecca to see Mamma for the rest of the day. I had serious doubts I would get any sleep, I was so excited for Tuesday. I am such a dork.
26 February, Sunday – Expats and Other English Speakers
Went to Giudecca to pick up Mamma for early church services and made sure she was set up for lunch. I would try to get back and eat with her but it wasn't guaranteed, depending on the timing of coming back with my people from Murano. Marco was working crazy extra shifts at multiple hotels, even after Carnevale. That was weird, but maybe there was some kind of blue-flu going on in town.
We continued chatting and left at the same time so I showed her to the vaporetto. The boys were still a bit wild and she got frazzled when we got aboard, realizing she didn't really remember the way to her hotel. She was looking for coins for the tickets and I asked if I could help. She told me the name of the hotel and I said I'd show her, I know a shortcut. I told the boatman that she was just crossing to the other side of the canal, could he just charge her the ferrying price (most people don't know about this.) He recognized her, got wide-eyed and said “no problem no problem.”
We took three water taxis out to Murano for glassblowing and shopping. A lot of people bought a lot of stuff. Most of it would be shipped to them, but quite a lot of wives were spending sales bonuses, I could tell. We got back just after noon and I was able to hop over to Giudecca and eat with Mamma before coming back to meet the Houstons.
What a lovely couple. I took them around San Marco, to the Rialto, the Frari church and Scuola San Rocco, over to Dorsoduro to the Zattere and Santa Maria Delle Salute and back over the Accademia bridge to do some shopping. She wanted to buy some Murano glass jewelry so I brought her into my new favorite shop and pointed her at a bunch of things in the team colors (which happen to be my favorite colors) in case she wanted to show team spirit. There was one piece that I joked I would fight her for, just a long single strand, but really elegant looking. She bought it. I bought a pair of earrings too. I told the that if there was something they wanted them to string together in custom colors or pattern they could have it in a few hours. I don't get commission from these people, I just like their prices and customer service. She wanted to have them make a few sets of earrings as gifts to take home so she consulted with Gianna and I stepped outside to find a sandwich for Frederick. The man needs to keep up his caloric intake you know.
The Mrs came out and told us she would go back in the morning to pick things up and I walked them back to the hotel. I needed to be on my way and they thanked me profusely. No problem! I was on my way to a Sunday Salon (say it with the French accent s'il vous plaît) at the Professor's house.
Jeremy is a British ex-pat who has been living in Venice for over thirty years. He comes into the bar at the Europa late in the evening with his little dog Tobiya, who sits on his lap and eats cookies. I find him tremendously interesting, and the dog is adorable. I first met Jeremy in 2005 and our friendship led me to being able to housesit at the house of another professor last year, the place in the San Sebastiano neighborhood around the corner from where I am now. Jeremy teaches literature at University Ca' Foscari here and has been used as a fixer for location shoots for documentaries and films shot here for decades, with credits to his name. We share a love for old British comedic stories from P.G. Wodehouse, Donald Jack and Noel Coward.
Every Sunday afternoon Jeremy holds a salon in his home, where anyone is free to drop in from 5 to 7. It used to be only talking about books, but has developed into a lending library of books, VCR tapes and DVDs. Tea and biscuits, some chatting about what everyone who regularly attends is up to. It's quite a scene. Most of the people who show are other ex-pats or long time vacationers in the city like me but occasionally a student will come to check out a DVD. Jeremy has been on my case to come for years and I don't know why I never have before.
I was there to see a painting of his, The Samian Sibyl, byGuercino, a nickname given to the painter Giovanni Barbieri, the name literally meaning “the squinter.” He had painted four versions of this portrait in the early 1650's, each named for a different Arabic region with different colors in the man's robes. Each painting was owned by someone noteworthy: one was owned by the Medici family and is still in the collecton at the Pitti Palace, another was acquired by King George III of England, another has always been in a private family's holdings somewhere in Italy, and this one was purchased by Lord Byron when he lived here in Venice in the early 1800s and later owned by the Count of Uray – wherever that is. Jeremy purchased this painting at auction from Sotheby's in 2007 for a steal. Somebody was not paying attention that it's provenance included Byron.
But the interesting part of this story is that an image this particular painting is currently being used as a Amazon.com Kindle screensaver. Someone had brought it to Jeremy's attention a few months ago, but since he's never seen a Kindle and doesn't own a computer (isn't that quaint?) he has no idea if it is one and the same. I told him a few days earlier that I would bring over my Kindle and show him, as well as my computer to show him the Amazon list of screensavers. He is wondering how they are using it without having his permission, as the owner of record.
I brought along the electronics and we all had a look. It is definitely Jeremy's painting. I told him I would ask my friend Luke, who used to work for the Kindle group, if he could shoot an email off to the screensaving folks or somebody in charge just to inquire about the rights and stuff like that there. I have no idea if anything will come about. Jeremy isn't necessarily looking for any recompense, he's would be happy with a name or owner's credit.
I feel like a sleuth on a mission. But even super sleuths have to eat. I went to Francesco's restaurant afterward. I needed a lasagne fix.
I was welcomed warmly as usual and was seated next to a woman and three young boys. After a few glances I could see she was a well known actress. The boys were all pretty rambunctious and she was trying to finish a phone call so I diverted their attention for a few minutes. She thanked me and we chatted. I engaged the boys in conversation and entertained them so she could eat and get the little one to eat. I asked her if she was here on vacation or if she was filming nearby. It was the latter. She's filming in Verona. She had no airs about her, just a mom out with the kids.
We continued chatting and left at the same time so I showed her to the vaporetto. The boys were still a bit wild and she got frazzled when we got aboard, realizing she didn't really remember the way to her hotel. She was looking for coins for the tickets and I asked if I could help. She told me the name of the hotel and I said I'd show her, I know a shortcut. I told the boatman that she was just crossing to the other side of the canal, could he just charge her the ferrying price (most people don't know about this.) He recognized her, got wide-eyed and said “no problem no problem.”
I kept the kids entertained again as we walked to her hotel. She had mentioned that the nanny was with the kids all day while she went to Verona to film, so I told her that if wanted, I could show the kids around with the nanny on Monday afternoon, or I was free all day Tuesday before I headed back. I gave her a card with my number and told her to have the nanny call me. I didn't want to presume that she would be around. She thanked me profusely and told me Monday was a great idea and since the kids were coming to the set on Tuesday, I would be welcome to join them if I wanted to. Whoo boy. That could be very interesting. We arrived at her hotel and she promised to call me tomorrow with a time to meet with the kids. Okay.
A very nice woman. Famous or not.
25 February, Saturday – Serge!
I was up late calling HQ and writing emails about the events of the previous day, and also to let them know about the number count of people being so far off. I wanted them to know, number one becausee my credit card receipts and the corporate accountings were going to show more boats, more baggage transported, etc. I also wanted them to know so they didn't get taken advantage of by the Toyota Corporate Events staff. Seems they weren't entirely hinest. Yeah it was sixteen winners, but also their plus-one folks. Seems a little shady to not have those folks in the count as well.
So I arrived at the hotel bright and early to find a message for me at the concierge. Marco handed it to me and asked what had happened the night before. I promised he'd get all the details later. Believe me. So I got to have a meeting with the big boss general manager at the hotel in the morning at 7AM, after not getting to sleep until 2:30. The Toyota group leaders had been summoned as well. The upshot was that they are banned from the bar. I'm completely ok with that. I also took it up with the Toyota folks that it was not in my purview to be made watchdog for their people.
Oh, and how many peeps did I have at my lecture & walk this morning at 8AM? Three. We came back to collect a few more for the second part of the walk – and managed to pick up another half dozen. There were a few apologies – after word got around that they are banned from the bar. There were far more dirty looks and clenched jaws. Not my problem. Quite frankly, they could all piss up a rope for all I cared.
But the one thing I was excited about was that in the evening I would get to meet up with my old friend Serge and his wife Emi, here from Tokyo. We met at eleven years old in 5th grade and were in band together playing trombone and I hadn't seen him since our junior year of high school but threough the magic of Facebook we had reconnected. He's still as irreverent and hilarious as ever, online. I'm sure he is in person as well; I'd verify in a few hours. I was very excited indeed.
First I stopped in and spent the afternoon with Mamma. I made her lunch and got dinner ready for her. Marco was going to be working a shift at another hotel after work and I was out for the night, so I needed to get in some Mamma-time and make sure she was covered in the dining department. I got over and met up with Serge & Emi and had a blast!
Serge is the same hilarious guy and Emi is super-sweet. We ate at Oniga, great trattoria on Campo San Barnaba. Afterward we walked for a bit and I showed them sights. It felt so jet-setty. Two kids from the last graduating class of Pacheco Elementary: one a former rock star (yeah, I said it – go Serge) living in Japan, and one a glamorous tour guide. We're pretty cosmopolitan.
I left them at the Bridge of Sighs so they could make their way back to their hotel on Riva Schiavoni and I stopped in at the Europa to see how things were going. Giorgio reported that there were no problems – how could there be if they weren't allowed to congregate there. He did say that one of the group had tried to call a meeting with the hotel manager, and when things didn't go his way he called the head of the hotel group in the US (Ha! Nice try buddy, good luck with that.) and he had also called to complain to my bosses. He had been having a tirade all afternoon in the hallways with management of various kinds. Great. Well, since I hadn't received any phone calls yet I suppose I am not in hot water. I would have to check my email. Yay.
Giorgio introduced me to this huge linebacker looking guy, who in fact is a football player. And a local player (back home) to boot. He was at the hotel on his honey moon. Giorgio told Frederick I am a tourguide but that I had been dispensing excellent information since before I was doing it professionally. I offered to take him and the wife around for a few hours tomorrow afternoon if they would like – no charge, no problem. Just a few people from Oakland having a round about the town. He accepted and took my phone number down. We would meet at 2PM in the lobby.
24 February, Friday – Simply Unacceptable
Today was going to be along day, and I had no idea it would be made even longer. If I had any odea how long I would have taken a three hour nap. I got up at four to make my way to the Europa and meet my folks at 5AM. We had a taxi boat to the airport so they could check in by 6AM for their 7AM flight. I took the bus back to Piazzale Roma and tromped on home for a little bit of breakfast and correspondence. My new group was coming in on the train at noon so I had some time to chill out. This hroup would be a little bit different because they are part of a corporate event so I was not a full-time guide for them, just walk and talks in the mornings. It was more of a third-party situation, since they have their own corporste leaders doing event for team building, meals and corporate meeting type stuff. Fine by me. It didn't hit me that this seemed off until later, because I had only 6 clients listed in my email. There were no dossiers since it was a corporate event, otherwise I would have seem sooner that there was a typo.
After the train arrived and I flagged down the lead Toyota Corporate Guy, as people were getting off the train and there were more and more and more, I asked him how many there were. Sixteen. Great. The email was off. I was counting heads. Hey, how many? “Oh. Sixteen, and each with a plus one. And four of us.” Hey that's great. I have to get a couple more taxis now. Called the taxi company with our account and they promised two more boats within five minutes. When they arrived I set to loading the people onto them. This was the largest group I had ever taken on – there were so many things off about this tour already. Six into thirty-six is no small matter when even the group tours we do are limited to twenty-five. I could smell an email to HQ coming. Pronto. It's not that I couldn't handle it, I thought, it's just that knowing in advance would have been lovely.
As it turned out, there were sixteen people and not six. Plus their “plus-one” guest. Thirty-six in total if you include the corporate events staff. Good thing I wasn't expected to book restaurants for them. What a hassle that would have been on short notice. They were a group of sales awards winners from Toyota's West Coast region. Most of them were from the Bay Area as it turned out. I had such high hopes for things going well. People from home, for the most part. Yay. No...
After the train arrived and I flagged down the lead Toyota Corporate Guy, as people were getting off the train and there were more and more and more, I asked him how many there were. Sixteen. Great. The email was off. I was counting heads. Hey, how many? “Oh. Sixteen, and each with a plus one. And four of us.” Hey that's great. I have to get a couple more taxis now. Called the taxi company with our account and they promised two more boats within five minutes. When they arrived I set to loading the people onto them. This was the largest group I had ever taken on – there were so many things off about this tour already. Six into thirty-six is no small matter when even the group tours we do are limited to twenty-five. I could smell an email to HQ coming. Pronto. It's not that I couldn't handle it, I thought, it's just that knowing in advance would have been lovely.
We got to the hotel and got everyone offloaded and checked in. Rooms weren't all ready but no matter. We were going to be doing a walking tour of the San Marco and a gondola ride today. But I had to make a phone call first to the Doge's Palace to secure more tickets and make sure their guide knew the group number had grown exponentially. And I went to the gondolier station outside the hotel to the let them know we would need six boats instead of one. The corporate goons wouldn't be with us on the walking tour or the gondola. I wouldn't even be on the gondola.
The peeps had been in Rome and Florence first. Mighty nice sales award. Too bad they had to also have corporate action horning in on what would have been a lovely vacation. Plus, I thought the auto sales industry was in the toilet. Oh well.The only sense of dread I has was in the fact that these people were all in car sales (and their significants.) From ages seventeen to twenty-four I worked at a series of car dealerships, including a Toyota dealership, as every kind of administrative position available at a dealership, from reception and cashier to contracts clerk to warranty service administrator. And I never liked the salespeople. Well, a select few. But in general, the whole lot of them are primarily a bunch of asshats.
It did not take long to see that I wouldn't be proven wrong in that assumption.
Giorgio & I went out for dinner at the Dona Onesta. We both got phone calls from the hotel regarding the antics of "my" peeps. Aldo had called Giorgio and the hotel manager-on-duty called me. They didn't know we were together so it was pretty funny that our phones rang at pretty much the same time. The Toyota people were acting up in the bar. They asked me to come back and speak withthose those who were patronizing the bar, because they were causing disturbances with others in the bar and with other patrons of the hotel not in our group. Did they call the Corporate Events people to get them to watch over them? You know, the people who are actually in charge of these hooligans? No, because they couldn't contact them outside of the hotel. Giorgio and I nodded at each other and said we'd be there ASAP.
We finished dinner quickly, apologized to Safwat for eating and running and caught the vap. I was already seething. I'm a third party this time around and they are not really my responsibility - just a contracted tour guide daily in this instance. Still, I was expected to go and police them for their obnoxious behavior and noise issues in the bar. The hell?
So... let's see. They broke into the grand piano and began playing it, and kept going back to it after repeated requests not to. They were overly loud. Yelling across the room to each other. This is not a night club. This is an elegant, marbled floor, gilt-framed, silk wallpapered *genteel* room. There's no jukebox. There are not flair bartenders or mirrorballs or colored lights with DJs spinning tunes. One look at the place and it should be QUITE obvious that it's a quiet and respectable place. Yet, they continued to be loud and try as they might, they wanted to turn it into a club. One guy took a silver plated champagne chilling bucket to use an an amplifier for his ipad to play rap music. Two guys pulled the lifesaving rings off the back deck outside, placed them around their torsos and decided to play sumo wrestlers. There was screeching, yelling and cackling. I had made my way around the the group three times, asking them to please keep it toned down, there were other people in the bar, there were rooms overhead that were making complaints. One woman kept coming up to me and giving the reasoning that it should be okay because “you know – we're Americans and we're just loud!” To which I responded that was unacceptable reasoning. She wanted to argue with me with “but we're on vacation!” To which I responded “And so are the other 400 guests in the hotel, but they aren't causing disturbances.”
I finally told Aldo and Giorgio to kick them out, cut the off, ban them, whatever. I wasn't having it anymore. Bunch of asshats. And the whole time, the Toyota Corporate Events people were nowhere to be found. Knew I would be having a conversation with them and with the manager in the morning, so I prepared to get there earlier than I usually do.
23 February, Thursday – I've Got A Golden Ticket
Short post for today. We went out to the islands, saw glassmaking and the clients shopped. Arriving back to the hotel Aldo told me there was a message for me at the concierge stand from Andreas, the hotel manager. I popped over and picked it up – he had a ticket for me to attend the opera at La Fenice. It was a preview show that night. Cosi Fan Tutte by Mozart. Bonus for me! Totally unexpected and very kind of him. He was working and couldn't go, but thought of me. How very nice. I wrote him a note thanking him and slipped it under his office door.
The staging of the opera was not to my liking. It was a modern staging, in that it took place in the present time and not in the mode of when it was written. I don't like that. I expect people singing a Mozart opera to look “Mozarty.” Here I was in a classic operahouse watching something written in 1790 but in modern clostume and gleaming modern sets. Oh well. It was a gift. I closed my eyes and listened to the music through most of it. At least that hadn't changed.
22 February, Wednesday – Cenare
People had been out on my street until very late celebrating the end of Carnevale. The Terminal building at San Basilio across the street from me had Djs, music and dancing until 4AM. I made sure the shutters were closed so errant bottles or flying bodies didn't crash and break anything. There was noise, but I had earplugs and felt forgiving since it was the last night so no problem. As long as no rascals played doorbell ditch or mistake my door for the college kids next door there wouldn't be any issues.
I made my way to Giudecca to pick up Mamma for church and Ash Wednesday services, but first we had eggs and toast. She doesn't fight you anymore about eating something and taking medications before church. It's a good thing. Indoctrinated for decades that you don't eat anything before a communion wafer, this has been difficult to get her brain to accept. We went to San Marco at 7AM and then over to her parish at Redentore at 830AM, so I was sprinkled with ashes twice before going to work. Marco wasn't home so it was just us girls.
I put together a quick, small lasagne for her for lunch. All she had to do was bake it. I wasn't meeting up with my peeps until 11:30. They had made plans to stay out late in the Piazza San Marco for the final festivites at midnight so they would sleep and bring their costumes down to the Atelier's shop in the ballroom at the hotel and return them by 11AM.
And it was a simple agenda for today anyway. Rialto market to meet with Contessa Nani and a cooking class. It was perfect for them in case they were feeling tired and/or hung over.
Before I left Mamma asked if we could have dinner at my place, since she hadn't seen it. Sure, no problem. I told her we might just be having leftovers from the cooking lesson, since my peeps wouldn't be bringing any leftovers to the hotel afterward. She smiled. I know she gets a kick out of the idea that aristocracy would be cooking for her. Well, not for her exactly, but that an aristocrat made the food she ate. I told her I would call her later or to have Marco call me when they knew the time they were coming over.
Made my way from Giudecca to San Zaccaria and walked through the Piazza. What a wreck. I hate confetti. They were already tearing down the stageworks. Don't delay, people, get my city back to normal please. Streetsweepers out in force, garbage collectors picking up trash and bottles. I think this is the one holiday in the year where the city workers don't take it off, but actually work, since it's civic pride at stake. They attempt to clean up ASAP, even though they can't sweep away ALL the confetti immediately. It continues to seep from the crack in the pavements for days, it seems.
Arriving at the hotel I stopped into the bar for a coffee while I waited for my peeps. Luana and Serena were there working. Met up with my peeps and gave them a walking tour on our way to Rialto market. They had made it a night, not going to sleep until after two, but they had rallied this morning. I like when people have a good time but don't overdo it. How responsible.
The Contessa hugged and kissed me hello. There were only a few vendors open, as expected, since it was a religious holiday, but enough food products were around for her to collect for our meal together. She told me she had seen me on the Zattere a few days before and had caled out to me but I must have not heard her. I felt bad. An aristocrat (triple, actually, as both her sides of her family are from ancient lines AND her husband has lineage as well) is calling out to this peasant in the street and I missed it. Dang. I told her to holler out BOODJA and I'm sure I'd pay attention next time. She got a kick out of that.
There weren't very many leftovers after all so nobody brought them back. These people were hungry. That's perfectly fine. Eat up, you've paid for it! I was relieved it was a simple and easy day. There were still so many people wandering around town in a semi-dazed state from yesterday's festivities. Slow moving, standing in the middle of the street blocking everything tourist zombies. Oy.
I stopped at the market on the way back to get the makings for a bolognese sauce and turkey meatballs. I had a hankering to make it for dinner. Mamma and Marco arrived at seven and the sauce was perfection. I had baked the meatballs and everything was light and savory. Sometimes a meat ragu can get heavy, but with ground turkey and chicken it was almost delicate. I decided I wanted to make them into sandwiches and melted provolone onto them as well. I had everything dished up and on the table when Mr Man made a face. “Panini? Con polpettone? Per cenare?” Sandwiches, with meatballs, for dinner? Just the picture of incredulity. He's never had a meatball sandwich. Poor guy. Doesn't know what he's missing. I told him he was welcome to pick it apart and eat it however he likes, and there's pasta in the cupboard if he needed that. Help yourself. Mamma and I were happily digging into our plates and she liked it. I love that she's a more adventurous eater than he is. Mamma told him to be quiet and eat. Ha!
He left for work and she stayed with me to watch a movie on television, Dead Poet's Society. I haven't seen it in years. The guy dubbing Robin Williams had his “zany madcap voice” on throughout, instead of the thoughtful, dramatic RW voice. It was distracting. Interesting point, the title is completely different – they call it “L'Attimo Fuggente” which means “That Fleeting Moment.” Interesting choice of a title.
I deposited Mamma back home and made my way back to clean up and go to bed. A nice day, all in all.
21 February, Tuesday – Martedi Grasso
The only thing on the agenda today was for my peeps to dress up and prance about, so while my presence wasn't entirely necessary, I still was obligated to be with them. I suppose as a “minder” of sorts. We spent time in Piazza San Marco three different times, so they could be part of the people watching. All day long it was “take a few steps, stop and get asked for a photo.” Lather, rinse repeat.
At least it was a beautiful day. Waves of emotions hit me periodically, but I was able to keep my composure. Another sunglasses day though... I was still looking like a punching bag.
This is the best photo I could find of my folks, even though we were missing one guy from the shot.
20 February, Monday – Loss
I made my way to the airport by bus to get my new group. There are six of them, three couples. We came back to the island by taxi, then a water taxi to the E&R. I got them checked in and since their rooms weren't ready yet (it was only 10 AM) we headed out for the sites in San Marco. These folks have appointments to to rent costumes for the final day of Carnevale, so their appointment for fittings and selections was later in the afternoon. They weren't going to any masquerade balls; they just wanted to dress in costume and walk around on Tuesday. Good for them.
I got the email I had been dreading. My sister in law Lisa had passed away the night before. My heart is still heavy and it has taken me all these weeks to try and wrap my emotions up to try and explain this particular day. Even at this writing, almost six weeks later, I can barely bring myself to write about this day.
I didn't know her as long as the many others who have known and loved her; I met her in 2003 when she and Keith found each other again. But she and I had an instant friendship, a kindred I haven't had with another woman. I think so much of it came from the fact that we love those Strange boys, Mark and Keith. Two similar women married to brothers who are very similar themselves. I hear her laughter, her particular ways of phrasing her speech, her self-deprecating humor. We were similar in so many ways. She was honestly the older sister I didn't have. I hate that she isn't here physically to share in the joys of all our lives any longer, because the woman loved to celebrate any occasion. This doesn't begin to explain her. I don't think I can, or will ever be able to define the amazing woman she is.
(Oh this is killing me trying to write this...)
So even though it was expected, and even welcomed so that she faced no more pain, the news of her passing hit me harder than I would have expected. I was more than 6000 miles away from my family and my support network of comforting people. I have felt so incredibly guilty for not being there, even though everyone had told me beforehand not to feel that way when the inevitable happened. I know Keith was surrounded by friends and family and me not being present was probably not a big deal, but I needed to be with people I love. It's just what you do when this happens. Calling on the phone and talking to my husband and then my mother, just crying and crying and crying, it wasn't cathartic at all. I felt alone.
I called back to Connecticut to the company HQ and let them know I would need to be getting a replacement in place soon. They have been aware of the impending situation and had told me that all I needed was to say the word and they would get me back home. However...
My next group was a referral from former clients, and they had specially requested me. Oy. Work therefore asked me to please think about staying for that group; they could ask them if they wanted to reschedule, but I read between lines and took it to mean that I really should stay if at all possible because the clients had just dropped tens of thousands of dollars and requested me specially. To add to it, the replacement wouldn't be able to come until the 28th. So there you have it. I couldn't really leave until the 29th. What if it had been one of my parents passing unexpectedly? I can assure you I would have been on the next plane out. Oh well, suck it up. All I could do was hope that my family would be setting the memorial service up for a few weeks later. Lisa had told me that she wouldn't be buried and services wouldn't happen immediately. There was a particular priest she wanted ans they would need to schedule with. Mentally I crossed my fingers and hoped I would be able to attend.
I had to fix myself up to look human and rejoin my clients, even though I looked like I had been punched in the face with sandbags. It was going to be a sunglasses kind of day, even after sunset.
I got back to the hotel and met my people in the lobby and told them I had received bad news from home, and to please bear with me. They were so very kind to me. I took them to their appointment with the Atelier Flavia folks, who had a ballroom reserved at the Europa with racks of costumes and accessories to choose from.
I went back out to the lobby, caught Marco's eye and motioned for him to meet me outside in the courtyard. He knew by looking at me that I was shook up and upset. Hell, people from a block away would be able to discern that I think. I told him what had happened. He knew about Lisa's illness and asked what he could do to help me out.
And I completely lost my composure. I told him I needed Mamma. I had been there for them in their grieving and I didn't have my family now, didn't have my mother here to comfort me and I needed to borrow his. I told him I would get a car and drive down to Bologna myself to get her if I had to, but please, get her here. It wasn't a pretty scene to see I am sure. This was a big ol' snotfest. Didn't want to get his uniform dirty, but he just kept hugging me and gave me his handkerchief, letting me soil his lapels while he called his cousin in Bologna and asked if they could put her on the train that evening. They said they'd drive her immediately. And I just kept crying. Where do all the tears come from? Just when you think you don't have any more, another flood of them arrives.
We would meet his cousin at Piazzale Roma in three hours to bring Mamma home. I went back inside, stopping in the bathroom to attempt to wash my face, and back to the clients. They had made some lovely selections. The men were not so enthused about the fancy shoes with a bit of a heel on them, higher than I ever wear, in fact. They were good sports about the whole thing. The costumes would be delivered to their rooms for the next day while they were out for their gondola ride and at dinner that evening. I walked them back outside to the gondola station and they took their ride. I bid them goodnight and thanked them for putting up with my personal problem. Not a problem, they insisted. We agreed that tomorrow would be a better day.
I waited around for an hour for Marco to finish work. He asked me when I had eaten and I told him breakfast so we went for a pizza on our way to the station. We were not waiting very long at Piazzale Roma when his cousin called to say they were driving on the causeway from the mainland. A couple of minutes later, the car wasn't even at a full stop when Mamma was opening the door to get out and hug me, issuing forth another flood of tears. “Kricka Kricka mia Kricka... mi manchi!” She missed me. We thanked them for coming so quickly, got her suitcase and went to the vaporetto. She held my hand the whole time, not letting go for a minute. Barely kissed her son hello, but she was gripping me like I was going to disappear.
We got back to Giudecca and Marco opened a bottle of wine, which we drank pretty quickly, and he opened another, as we sat watching tv. Mamma was in between us, holding our hands or patting us on the leg occasionally. “Miei figli.” My children.
Got her settled into bed after a negotiation that I would come over first thing in the morning and take her to church. I was pretty tipsy, but finally not crying at the drop of a hat. I wasn't meeting my people until 10AM, so I would be back to take her to church at 7:30. Marco came with me to the vaporetto stop, probably to make sure I didn't fall into the water. I thanked him for calling his cousin. “Niente.” It is nothing.
Only it's not. It meant everything to me.
We did the sites in the Piazza – the basilica, the campanile, the Doge's Palace and even the Clock Tower before heading back. I showed them into Vino Vino for lunch and told them I would meet them at the hotel at five for their appointment with the Atelier. Three hours was sufficient time for them to eat, do some souvenir shopping without me and get back to the hotel. I needed to get back and do some correspondence.
I got the email I had been dreading. My sister in law Lisa had passed away the night before. My heart is still heavy and it has taken me all these weeks to try and wrap my emotions up to try and explain this particular day. Even at this writing, almost six weeks later, I can barely bring myself to write about this day.
I didn't know her as long as the many others who have known and loved her; I met her in 2003 when she and Keith found each other again. But she and I had an instant friendship, a kindred I haven't had with another woman. I think so much of it came from the fact that we love those Strange boys, Mark and Keith. Two similar women married to brothers who are very similar themselves. I hear her laughter, her particular ways of phrasing her speech, her self-deprecating humor. We were similar in so many ways. She was honestly the older sister I didn't have. I hate that she isn't here physically to share in the joys of all our lives any longer, because the woman loved to celebrate any occasion. This doesn't begin to explain her. I don't think I can, or will ever be able to define the amazing woman she is.
She had been battling colon cancer and “the nasties” as she called them, for a year and a half. Shortly before I left she had announced that she would be transitioning to hospice care. I spent a day with her, both of us knowing it would be for the last time. We had heartfelt talks, just as we always do, but this time with special instructions from her imploring me to take care of Keith, and to remain in contact with Keeva – her granddaughter. Lisa said she wanted Keeva to grow up knowing me because she and I have so much of the same spirit.
(Oh this is killing me trying to write this...)
So even though it was expected, and even welcomed so that she faced no more pain, the news of her passing hit me harder than I would have expected. I was more than 6000 miles away from my family and my support network of comforting people. I have felt so incredibly guilty for not being there, even though everyone had told me beforehand not to feel that way when the inevitable happened. I know Keith was surrounded by friends and family and me not being present was probably not a big deal, but I needed to be with people I love. It's just what you do when this happens. Calling on the phone and talking to my husband and then my mother, just crying and crying and crying, it wasn't cathartic at all. I felt alone.
I called back to Connecticut to the company HQ and let them know I would need to be getting a replacement in place soon. They have been aware of the impending situation and had told me that all I needed was to say the word and they would get me back home. However...
My next group was a referral from former clients, and they had specially requested me. Oy. Work therefore asked me to please think about staying for that group; they could ask them if they wanted to reschedule, but I read between lines and took it to mean that I really should stay if at all possible because the clients had just dropped tens of thousands of dollars and requested me specially. To add to it, the replacement wouldn't be able to come until the 28th. So there you have it. I couldn't really leave until the 29th. What if it had been one of my parents passing unexpectedly? I can assure you I would have been on the next plane out. Oh well, suck it up. All I could do was hope that my family would be setting the memorial service up for a few weeks later. Lisa had told me that she wouldn't be buried and services wouldn't happen immediately. There was a particular priest she wanted ans they would need to schedule with. Mentally I crossed my fingers and hoped I would be able to attend.
I had to fix myself up to look human and rejoin my clients, even though I looked like I had been punched in the face with sandbags. It was going to be a sunglasses kind of day, even after sunset.
I got back to the hotel and met my people in the lobby and told them I had received bad news from home, and to please bear with me. They were so very kind to me. I took them to their appointment with the Atelier Flavia folks, who had a ballroom reserved at the Europa with racks of costumes and accessories to choose from.
I went back out to the lobby, caught Marco's eye and motioned for him to meet me outside in the courtyard. He knew by looking at me that I was shook up and upset. Hell, people from a block away would be able to discern that I think. I told him what had happened. He knew about Lisa's illness and asked what he could do to help me out.
And I completely lost my composure. I told him I needed Mamma. I had been there for them in their grieving and I didn't have my family now, didn't have my mother here to comfort me and I needed to borrow his. I told him I would get a car and drive down to Bologna myself to get her if I had to, but please, get her here. It wasn't a pretty scene to see I am sure. This was a big ol' snotfest. Didn't want to get his uniform dirty, but he just kept hugging me and gave me his handkerchief, letting me soil his lapels while he called his cousin in Bologna and asked if they could put her on the train that evening. They said they'd drive her immediately. And I just kept crying. Where do all the tears come from? Just when you think you don't have any more, another flood of them arrives.
We would meet his cousin at Piazzale Roma in three hours to bring Mamma home. I went back inside, stopping in the bathroom to attempt to wash my face, and back to the clients. They had made some lovely selections. The men were not so enthused about the fancy shoes with a bit of a heel on them, higher than I ever wear, in fact. They were good sports about the whole thing. The costumes would be delivered to their rooms for the next day while they were out for their gondola ride and at dinner that evening. I walked them back outside to the gondola station and they took their ride. I bid them goodnight and thanked them for putting up with my personal problem. Not a problem, they insisted. We agreed that tomorrow would be a better day.
I waited around for an hour for Marco to finish work. He asked me when I had eaten and I told him breakfast so we went for a pizza on our way to the station. We were not waiting very long at Piazzale Roma when his cousin called to say they were driving on the causeway from the mainland. A couple of minutes later, the car wasn't even at a full stop when Mamma was opening the door to get out and hug me, issuing forth another flood of tears. “Kricka Kricka mia Kricka... mi manchi!” She missed me. We thanked them for coming so quickly, got her suitcase and went to the vaporetto. She held my hand the whole time, not letting go for a minute. Barely kissed her son hello, but she was gripping me like I was going to disappear.
We got back to Giudecca and Marco opened a bottle of wine, which we drank pretty quickly, and he opened another, as we sat watching tv. Mamma was in between us, holding our hands or patting us on the leg occasionally. “Miei figli.” My children.
Got her settled into bed after a negotiation that I would come over first thing in the morning and take her to church. I was pretty tipsy, but finally not crying at the drop of a hat. I wasn't meeting my people until 10AM, so I would be back to take her to church at 7:30. Marco came with me to the vaporetto stop, probably to make sure I didn't fall into the water. I thanked him for calling his cousin. “Niente.” It is nothing.
Only it's not. It meant everything to me.
This was a face of bravery. Lisa Frances Benedetti Strange. One of the most amazing human beings I have ever had the privilege of knowing. I am proud to have been able to call you sister, family, friend. I already miss you Lisa, even though you remain here in my heart always.
19 February, Sunday – O Fortuna
While the boys slept I read in the kitchen nook. It was a book a previous guest had left at the apartment and it was awful. "Elements of Style" by Wendy Wasserstein. Some chick-lit crap which would be appealing to someone who appreciated "Sex & The City" and things on that order. No thanks. But it was available and I found myself turning page after page, if only for the horror of discovering that this was the “entertainment” some people find interesting. Ugh.
I snuck out of the apartment shortly before eight without waking the boys, so I could get over to Giudecca and go to church. You are probably wondering why is she going to Mass when Mamma isn't there? Thank you for asking. Purely for selfish reasons – I needed to meet up with Mamma's church lady friends to see who might be still offering a place for me to stay. There had been four ladies offering up places to me last year; some were private locations, some were rooms in their houses. Signora Ferri had told me yesterday that the heating man said he didn't know what the problem was with the heat, but she advised me not to stay there while it was cold. She reiterated that doesn't want me getting sick. I could always just stay in a hotel and the company would pay for it, but long-term in a hotel is not my scene and I'd rather pocket the per diem than spend it on a hotel. I just needed to send out my feelers and see what, if anything, was available to me so I could make plans for the next month.
I was met with smiles and cheek kisses from the ladies, asking me if I had heard from Mamma in Bologna. They had already heard from Signora Ferri about the problem with the heat and two of them asked me if I wanted to stay with them. News travels fast with the Posse of Church Ladies. One was a private place, so that would be my first choice. I told Signora Vallota I would like to talk to her about it after Mass. I was invited to sit in the pew with them and inwardly I cracked up, thinking “I'm in with the in crowd now.” I spied Marco coming in and taking a seat in a pew across the aisle and a few rows back so I waved him over. He moved seats, kissed the ladies hello and sat behind us. After services we all stood outside talking and Signora Vallota told me her son could meet me at the building in Dorsoduro to show me the studio apartment this morning. It needed some cleaning and there was some excess furniture they were currently storing in the place but I was welcome to use it. They had another space to temporarily move the extra furniture to. Whatever I needed to make it comfortable. Marco said he could come with me to see it, if it was okay. He mentioned he hadn't seen her son in a long time. She called her son on the mobile phone and said we would be right over. Marcello would meet Marco and I at the San Basilio vaporetto stop in 20 minutes.
For not sleeping all night I was holding up pretty well, although at this point I needed to just power through until Jullion and Igor left to catch their train at three. A double espresso was on my agenda ASAP. Maybe a few of those.
Marcello met us at the vap stop and exchanged pleasantries with Marco in Venetian dialect. They know each other from around town and their mothers are tight friends but they aren't friends themselves. Marco is probably seven or eight years older so they weren't friends in school or as altar boys or anything like that. This is a small town though, so they definitely know each other from passing in the street even if their mothers didn't see each other daily at church. Marcello spoke in English to me that his mother insisted that the family do whatever needs to be done to make the little apartment comfortable for me. “You are an important guest for my mother. She thinks the world of you.” Aww.
Well it was pretty perfect for my needs and it there wasn't much cleaning to be done at all. He told me he would bring down some pots and pans from his place (“Don't worry, we have so much things in the kitchen it will not be missed”) and a television set that he could hook into his satellite upstairs, plus bed linens, towels, etc. for me to use. He checked the hot water heater that it was turned on, insisted that the heat was working gave me a key. Presto! I have a new place to move to. So it looked as if my sleep would be delayed further after Jullion and Igor left. I needed to throw my things in the suitcases and grab my groceries. Easy peasy.
I asked Marco if he wanted to come back with me to the apartment. We were going to get something to eat before the guys took off. He said ok, and he would help me transport my things after. He didn't need to work until evening. But I warned him... he would be around a gay couple. Laughter from him. “Okay, just no sex on our first date, ok.” Wow – Mr. Enlightened. I called Jullion and warned him to get decent, we would be there in a half hour.
We ate the Chinese restaurant around the corner. It was a very interesting dynamic. I speak English, Italian, Spanish and a little Portuguese. Marco speaks Italian, English, and French. Igor speaks only Italian. But Jullion takes the cake - he speaks English, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese and Mandarin. He joked with the waitstaff, ordered in Chinese, translated all the characters on the decorative objects in the place and entertained us all with stories of his spring & summer in Beijing. He is such a quick study in language; he's fluent now in Italian and has learned it all since September. Like me, the transition from Spanish facilitated the speedy learning curve. “I'm just a poor gay black boy from the slums of Delaware and here I am holding court with you all!” I love this kid.
We finished up and went back to the apartment and the boys took off after much hugging and kissing. I am invited to come down to Bologna and stay anytime. Jullion said he owes me so much he couldn't begin to repay me for kindnesses. It was his trip last year that confirmed he needed to apply for the program in Bologna. “You made it real easy to fall in love with Italy. Listening to you talk about the history and the cultural differences and the crazy bureaucracies here – I said I have to check this place out in depth.”
They took off and I went next door to the freezing apartment and tossed my clothes into the suitcase. I instructed Marco to put everything in the kitchen pantry and refrigerator in my grocery bags. I pulled all the linens off the beds and put them and the towels in the washing machine and called Carlo to say I was leaving the key on the kitchen table. We were out of there in about 20 minutes. My energy was really starting to drag. We got to the apartment in San Basilio and Marco bid me adieu. Marcello had brought the tv, the kitchen items and linens, made the bed for me (aww!) and taken away the coverings from the furniture and the extra endtables and chairs that weren't needed.
After putting things away I was a little keyed up again with adrenaline. I knew I needed sleep but if I went to bed at four in the afternoon I would undoubtedly just wake up at midnight. I consulted the yoga schedule and decided I would go to a session. Twice in a week – that's huge for me. The studio is two minutes away from the apartment in San Basilio. Afterward I would be home before the sweat had time to dry.
And I slept like a rock until six in the morning. Glorious sleep.
I snuck out of the apartment shortly before eight without waking the boys, so I could get over to Giudecca and go to church. You are probably wondering why is she going to Mass when Mamma isn't there? Thank you for asking. Purely for selfish reasons – I needed to meet up with Mamma's church lady friends to see who might be still offering a place for me to stay. There had been four ladies offering up places to me last year; some were private locations, some were rooms in their houses. Signora Ferri had told me yesterday that the heating man said he didn't know what the problem was with the heat, but she advised me not to stay there while it was cold. She reiterated that doesn't want me getting sick. I could always just stay in a hotel and the company would pay for it, but long-term in a hotel is not my scene and I'd rather pocket the per diem than spend it on a hotel. I just needed to send out my feelers and see what, if anything, was available to me so I could make plans for the next month.
I was met with smiles and cheek kisses from the ladies, asking me if I had heard from Mamma in Bologna. They had already heard from Signora Ferri about the problem with the heat and two of them asked me if I wanted to stay with them. News travels fast with the Posse of Church Ladies. One was a private place, so that would be my first choice. I told Signora Vallota I would like to talk to her about it after Mass. I was invited to sit in the pew with them and inwardly I cracked up, thinking “I'm in with the in crowd now.” I spied Marco coming in and taking a seat in a pew across the aisle and a few rows back so I waved him over. He moved seats, kissed the ladies hello and sat behind us. After services we all stood outside talking and Signora Vallota told me her son could meet me at the building in Dorsoduro to show me the studio apartment this morning. It needed some cleaning and there was some excess furniture they were currently storing in the place but I was welcome to use it. They had another space to temporarily move the extra furniture to. Whatever I needed to make it comfortable. Marco said he could come with me to see it, if it was okay. He mentioned he hadn't seen her son in a long time. She called her son on the mobile phone and said we would be right over. Marcello would meet Marco and I at the San Basilio vaporetto stop in 20 minutes.
For not sleeping all night I was holding up pretty well, although at this point I needed to just power through until Jullion and Igor left to catch their train at three. A double espresso was on my agenda ASAP. Maybe a few of those.
Marcello met us at the vap stop and exchanged pleasantries with Marco in Venetian dialect. They know each other from around town and their mothers are tight friends but they aren't friends themselves. Marco is probably seven or eight years older so they weren't friends in school or as altar boys or anything like that. This is a small town though, so they definitely know each other from passing in the street even if their mothers didn't see each other daily at church. Marcello spoke in English to me that his mother insisted that the family do whatever needs to be done to make the little apartment comfortable for me. “You are an important guest for my mother. She thinks the world of you.” Aww.
Well it was pretty perfect for my needs and it there wasn't much cleaning to be done at all. He told me he would bring down some pots and pans from his place (“Don't worry, we have so much things in the kitchen it will not be missed”) and a television set that he could hook into his satellite upstairs, plus bed linens, towels, etc. for me to use. He checked the hot water heater that it was turned on, insisted that the heat was working gave me a key. Presto! I have a new place to move to. So it looked as if my sleep would be delayed further after Jullion and Igor left. I needed to throw my things in the suitcases and grab my groceries. Easy peasy.
I asked Marco if he wanted to come back with me to the apartment. We were going to get something to eat before the guys took off. He said ok, and he would help me transport my things after. He didn't need to work until evening. But I warned him... he would be around a gay couple. Laughter from him. “Okay, just no sex on our first date, ok.” Wow – Mr. Enlightened. I called Jullion and warned him to get decent, we would be there in a half hour.
We ate the Chinese restaurant around the corner. It was a very interesting dynamic. I speak English, Italian, Spanish and a little Portuguese. Marco speaks Italian, English, and French. Igor speaks only Italian. But Jullion takes the cake - he speaks English, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese and Mandarin. He joked with the waitstaff, ordered in Chinese, translated all the characters on the decorative objects in the place and entertained us all with stories of his spring & summer in Beijing. He is such a quick study in language; he's fluent now in Italian and has learned it all since September. Like me, the transition from Spanish facilitated the speedy learning curve. “I'm just a poor gay black boy from the slums of Delaware and here I am holding court with you all!” I love this kid.
We finished up and went back to the apartment and the boys took off after much hugging and kissing. I am invited to come down to Bologna and stay anytime. Jullion said he owes me so much he couldn't begin to repay me for kindnesses. It was his trip last year that confirmed he needed to apply for the program in Bologna. “You made it real easy to fall in love with Italy. Listening to you talk about the history and the cultural differences and the crazy bureaucracies here – I said I have to check this place out in depth.”
They took off and I went next door to the freezing apartment and tossed my clothes into the suitcase. I instructed Marco to put everything in the kitchen pantry and refrigerator in my grocery bags. I pulled all the linens off the beds and put them and the towels in the washing machine and called Carlo to say I was leaving the key on the kitchen table. We were out of there in about 20 minutes. My energy was really starting to drag. We got to the apartment in San Basilio and Marco bid me adieu. Marcello had brought the tv, the kitchen items and linens, made the bed for me (aww!) and taken away the coverings from the furniture and the extra endtables and chairs that weren't needed.
After putting things away I was a little keyed up again with adrenaline. I knew I needed sleep but if I went to bed at four in the afternoon I would undoubtedly just wake up at midnight. I consulted the yoga schedule and decided I would go to a session. Twice in a week – that's huge for me. The studio is two minutes away from the apartment in San Basilio. Afterward I would be home before the sweat had time to dry.
And I slept like a rock until six in the morning. Glorious sleep.
18 February, Saturday – Doing The Most
We spent the morning in the northern part of the city in the Cannaregio district, mostly in the Ghetto. The clients were leaving mid-afternoon, so I had them until noon and then we took a water taxi to the airport. They were very nice people but I was happy to have a day and a half off. My friend Jullion was coming up from Bologna with his boyfriend and we were going to join the rowdy street celebrations of Carnevale.
They arrived around three at the train station. That place was a mobbed madhouse. I have never seen it wall to wall like it was. Everyone and their mother's cousin was coming to Venice for the night, apparently. They poured out of the arriving trains and the rowdiness easily suggested that most everyone aboard had been imbibing. Some had cans and bottles in their hands. This was going to get interesting.
I cooked dinner for all of us and we went out and about town for the evening, Walk a ways, stop and have a drink in a campo. Listen to music, people-watch, dance to the music, move on. The streets were all heavily crowded but after all it was a Saturday night during Carnevale. Standing atop the Rialto bridge we were blocked from walking down the other side by a couple who stood stock still in their tracks taking photo after photo of all the people on the bridge. Not of the view over the canal, but of the swarm of bodies. I understand the need of taking a picture, but when you are shoulder to shoulder in a crushing press of lemmings don't add to the situation by continuing to block the flow of traffic. I mouthed off in a low voice with “It's a bridge. Take your picture and move on.” The girl looked back over her shoulder and in the typical nasally tone of a young woman from somewhere in the US of A she snarled “Ummmm...hello? It's our first time here and we're enjoying ourselves. Stop being so mean! Guhhhhoy!”
To which Jullion and I almost fell down laughing at her exasperated “Guuuhhhhhoy!” Poor Igor had no idea what he had missed, so he just stood and watched us having fits of laughter. She turned round and stared at us completely bug-eyed but pointed her finger at my torso and whinged out “Whaaaaaaaaaaat is your problem – have you and your boyfriend been drinking too much? And honey, he is too young for you. He's just going to move on when your trip is over. You are NOT all that you think you are!” Talk about getting your signals crossed.
“Siete pazzi insieme!” You two are crazy together.
We managed to keep ourselves in check for the remainder of the evening with no interactions. However about every twelve minutes either Jullion or I would spout off with “Boo Boo! You are doing the most!” The highlight was watching Igor mimic Jullion's actions. Not speaking English, mind you, just gobbledygook coming out of his mouth as if he was speaking English and with a charade of J's body language. Down pat. Hilarity. I guess you had to be there.
Arriving back at the apartment after 2AM we were getting ready to crawl in beds when I heard a ruckus outside in the calle. Lots of drunken giggling from multiple females. Three women, mid to late 20s, were standing in the alley and squatting to pee out there, right outside my door. I threw the door open wide and hollered in Italian my righteous indignation at having my street used as a toilet. They were scrambling, trying to pull pants up or push skirts down. One was still peeing down her legs as she ran off. Good riddance, I hope everyone is able to smell that urine on her for the rest of the weekend. That was nasty and just plain rude.
Again we fell into fits of laughter. Calm down, get tranquil and go to sleep. But it wasn't meant to be. Jullion started having breathing problems that were akin to an asthma attack. He tried breathing steam, breathing cold, nothing was working for him. It wasn't getting progressively worse, but it wasn't going away. We decided we needed to trek over to a night chemist. I looked up which pharmacy was on rotation, since it's published online and in the Guest In Venice magazine. We called to make certain they had inhaler meds on-hand he could get over the counter or if we would need to go to the hospital emergency. They had it and could dispense it. We walked from Rialto at 4:30AM over to Santa Croce near the bus station, consulted with the chemist, purchased the Albuterol and walked back with Jullion puffing on it periodically. By the time we got back to the house it was almost 6AM and he was doing much better, but definitely needed some sleep. I was completely wired up so I told them I would let them sleep and wake them up at noon.
I met Jullion last year on a train and had kept in touch after I had put him up for a few days in an emergency couch-surfing episode. He's in Bologna as part of a Masters program with a pretty prestigious US university. And he's a hoot. I was definitely interested in meeting the boyfriend, since my Italian friends seem to ignore the idea of gays in Italy. Plus, his name is Igor – I've never seen an Italian named Igor.
They arrived around three at the train station. That place was a mobbed madhouse. I have never seen it wall to wall like it was. Everyone and their mother's cousin was coming to Venice for the night, apparently. They poured out of the arriving trains and the rowdiness easily suggested that most everyone aboard had been imbibing. Some had cans and bottles in their hands. This was going to get interesting.
Igor is from Basilicata, in the south, think of the arch of the sole of the boot-shaped country, and he speaks no English. He's a schoolteacher to middle school kids and he's adorable but reserved. In comparison to Jullion. That boy is wild. But we laughed so much just in the time we walking home from the train station that I could feel my stomach muscles cramping like I had been at a comedy club.
I cooked dinner for all of us and we went out and about town for the evening, Walk a ways, stop and have a drink in a campo. Listen to music, people-watch, dance to the music, move on. The streets were all heavily crowded but after all it was a Saturday night during Carnevale. Standing atop the Rialto bridge we were blocked from walking down the other side by a couple who stood stock still in their tracks taking photo after photo of all the people on the bridge. Not of the view over the canal, but of the swarm of bodies. I understand the need of taking a picture, but when you are shoulder to shoulder in a crushing press of lemmings don't add to the situation by continuing to block the flow of traffic. I mouthed off in a low voice with “It's a bridge. Take your picture and move on.” The girl looked back over her shoulder and in the typical nasally tone of a young woman from somewhere in the US of A she snarled “Ummmm...hello? It's our first time here and we're enjoying ourselves. Stop being so mean! Guhhhhoy!”
To which Jullion and I almost fell down laughing at her exasperated “Guuuhhhhhoy!” Poor Igor had no idea what he had missed, so he just stood and watched us having fits of laughter. She turned round and stared at us completely bug-eyed but pointed her finger at my torso and whinged out “Whaaaaaaaaaaat is your problem – have you and your boyfriend been drinking too much? And honey, he is too young for you. He's just going to move on when your trip is over. You are NOT all that you think you are!” Talk about getting your signals crossed.
I thought Jullion was going to collapse from not being able to breathe, and I thought I was going to pee myself I was howling so hard. Poor Igor. We'd explain it to him in a minute but Jullion composed himself somewhat, set his jaw, put his hand on his hip and started moving his neck around like an old southern baptist churchgoing woman upset about the collard greens being ruined at the potluck and he went off, in full-on flaming gay ghetto mode, responding with “Oh Boo Boo, don't you worry about us. You are doing TOO much. You are JUST doing the MOST and you don't need to be. Enjoy the rest of your evening and scoot along now. Just move on and get out the way before my gurrrrlfriend here has to take off her earrings and all her jurreee and put the vaseline on her cheeks before she gets her razor out her mouth she keeps hid in there for when crazy fools be poppin' off. She's from Oakland – you know? Oakland! And she can get snappy when she needs to. Don't test her! Thank you Precious. Enjoy your evening!” We had to pull off to the side at the bottom of the bridge after that and after watching them scurry away. We continued sidesplitting laughter for a few more minutes. We had to explain it all to Igor, of course. He thinks we are both crazy, more because of the guffaws than for the content of what was said.
“Siete pazzi insieme!” You two are crazy together.
We managed to keep ourselves in check for the remainder of the evening with no interactions. However about every twelve minutes either Jullion or I would spout off with “Boo Boo! You are doing the most!” The highlight was watching Igor mimic Jullion's actions. Not speaking English, mind you, just gobbledygook coming out of his mouth as if he was speaking English and with a charade of J's body language. Down pat. Hilarity. I guess you had to be there.
Arriving back at the apartment after 2AM we were getting ready to crawl in beds when I heard a ruckus outside in the calle. Lots of drunken giggling from multiple females. Three women, mid to late 20s, were standing in the alley and squatting to pee out there, right outside my door. I threw the door open wide and hollered in Italian my righteous indignation at having my street used as a toilet. They were scrambling, trying to pull pants up or push skirts down. One was still peeing down her legs as she ran off. Good riddance, I hope everyone is able to smell that urine on her for the rest of the weekend. That was nasty and just plain rude.
Again we fell into fits of laughter. Calm down, get tranquil and go to sleep. But it wasn't meant to be. Jullion started having breathing problems that were akin to an asthma attack. He tried breathing steam, breathing cold, nothing was working for him. It wasn't getting progressively worse, but it wasn't going away. We decided we needed to trek over to a night chemist. I looked up which pharmacy was on rotation, since it's published online and in the Guest In Venice magazine. We called to make certain they had inhaler meds on-hand he could get over the counter or if we would need to go to the hospital emergency. They had it and could dispense it. We walked from Rialto at 4:30AM over to Santa Croce near the bus station, consulted with the chemist, purchased the Albuterol and walked back with Jullion puffing on it periodically. By the time we got back to the house it was almost 6AM and he was doing much better, but definitely needed some sleep. I was completely wired up so I told them I would let them sleep and wake them up at noon.
17 February, Friday – Abbreviated Posting
This is one of the things I feared about writing these posts so long after the fact: I only remember the bulletpoints from today's notes. Can't speak to any conversations I had. Maybe that's not such a bad thing. Not every single day brings some amazing revelation that must be repeated.
We were scheduled for a cooking lesson today. We went to the Rialto market and met up with the Contessa, then back to her house to prepare a sumptuous seafood feast.
In absence of anecdotes, I give you this video. It's from a horrible movie my parents and I stumbled upon the teevee one night while we were in Florence. Awful movie, amusing scene. I would like to think my friends Aldo & Giorgio would have been doing this back in the 70s & 80s to entertain their patrons. Actually, this is pretty much what every evening is like when I hang out at the bar with them.
www.youtube.com/embed/U9j90jWL0n8
www.youtube.com/embed/U9j90jWL0n8
16 February, Thursday – Nippiness and Namaste
The little magazzino wasn't any warmer in the morning. I called Signora Ferri and asked her about the heat but she had no answer for me. She would have someone come over to look at the heating system but she said it would be a good idea if I decided to move. She doesn't want me to get sick. I love these little Italian grandmothers. They all want to keep you bundled up to prevent you from catching a cold because it would definitely turn into consumption and/or pneumonia in a cold garage space. In their minds a draft on your neck puts you in the grave. I told her I would wait to hear what the maintenance man said and they had my permission to come in whenever needed as soon as he could come over.
My peeps and I spent the morning at the Frari church and Scuola San Rocco, then lunch and a tour of the Accademia. As I was walking home I passed a woman with a yoga mat slung across her back so I doubled back and asked her where the yoga studio was and which kind of yoga classes do they offer. She told me it was near Terminal San Basilio and they had many disciplines. I asked if they offered Bikram but she wasn't familiar with it. She told me to walk with her, that she was on her way there now.
I am not a regular practitioner but when I have taken classes I have felt so amazing afterward. I am by no means as flexible as other attendees but stretching out in the hot steam-filled room makes me feel energized. It really de-stresses me. If these classes were offered at this studio I would be amazed. In talking to the teachers they told me they do offer a hot yoga, but it isn't the official Bikram discipline. I signed up for a class later that evening to check it out. A warm steamy room is all I really wanted anyway and it was wonderful.
My peeps and I spent the morning at the Frari church and Scuola San Rocco, then lunch and a tour of the Accademia. As I was walking home I passed a woman with a yoga mat slung across her back so I doubled back and asked her where the yoga studio was and which kind of yoga classes do they offer. She told me it was near Terminal San Basilio and they had many disciplines. I asked if they offered Bikram but she wasn't familiar with it. She told me to walk with her, that she was on her way there now.
I am not a regular practitioner but when I have taken classes I have felt so amazing afterward. I am by no means as flexible as other attendees but stretching out in the hot steam-filled room makes me feel energized. It really de-stresses me. If these classes were offered at this studio I would be amazed. In talking to the teachers they told me they do offer a hot yoga, but it isn't the official Bikram discipline. I signed up for a class later that evening to check it out. A warm steamy room is all I really wanted anyway and it was wonderful.
15 February, Wednesday– Freezing on the Islands
(Yes, yes, I know... it's been FOREVER since I've written and I am behind. It's weeks after the fact, but I am here nevertheless.)
First stop at Murano, where we toured two glass factories and half a dozen galleries, along with the two larger parish churches of San Pietro Martire and Santi Maria e Donato. The latter is a favorite of mine, with its Veneto-Byzantine architecture and the mosaic floor that is so similar to San Marco. One of the couples purchased a large vase that was simply gorgeous. The other ordered a full set of amazing barware and stemware that should be delivered to them in six weeks. They promised to send me photos. It will be stunning, I am certain.
Torcello was next, and as we rode across the water we saw various fishing boats shrimping, clamming and doing their thing. I am not used to seeing commercial fisherman out during daylight hours. In the SF Bay I always have the impression that it all happens in the middle of the night. I know that Rigo, the only commercial fisherman I know in Venice, works at night, so I didn't completely know what these guys were doing out here this “late in the day” - it was 11AM after all. It's another mystery to solve at another time.
We had lunch at Trattoria Gatto Nero on Burano and I couldn't help but think of last year at this time with my friends Luke and Charlene in tow. We arrived to find the place closed due to Carnevale festivities. Charlene hasn't let me live it down yet, because she still hasn't been able to taste their world famous risotto. Next time, I promise.
We fortified ourselves for the chilly ride back (from inside the cabin) by having extra post-meal drinks before climbing back aboard. The cold weather actually affected me a somewhat. I could feel my voice straining a little after five hours of yapping. Maybe if they drink a little more and I talk a little less everything could still work out.
On return we had an appointment at Squero San Trovaso for them to briefly see the gondola workshop in action. This was my first visit here. Previous clients hadn't been interested in the boatmaking, but these were, thank goodness. I find the process endlessly fascinating. The Squero doesn't usually offer public tours but apparently the home office has some sway with the owner because we are one of the only outsiders allowed in outside of travelogue television cameras. I felt rather privileged. There are only two gondola makers in Venice these days. It's a dying art in a city with once housed dozens of these artisans. Afterward we walked to the Gesuati church at Zattere and over to Santa Maria delle Salute. A full day of touring and they weren't dropping in their tracks yet.
They left to relax and get ready for their dinner reservations and I made my way to Giudecca to meet up with Marco before he went to work the graveyard. I needed to pick up the key to my little apartment Signora Ferri lets to me and to get the bag of clothes I left there in November. I also wanted to see if I could talk him into the idea of having Mamma come home sooner than next week. She wasn't supposed to come back until the 25th and his crazy hours working during the Carnevale season would prevent him from being able to care for her but I wanted to offer my assistance since I would be around. I was sad my parents didn't get to meet her but I still wanted to be able to spend my downtime with her as much as possible.
And I was summarily rebuffed. Grouch. She would remain in Bologna with his cousin and family for the rest of the season. They were enjoying themselves and his family was having a great time having her there. “She is happy with them.”
Even though they are snowed in down there? “Kricka, she is coming back next week. That is my answer to you.”
Apparently our friendship is still strained from my last trip. I thought things were copacetic, but I guess not. We had a series of misunderstandings back in the fall. Short but heated arguments during his mother's hospitalizations and recovery. I had chalked it up to too much time together during a stressful period. We had continued weekly phonecalls checking on Mamma's progress and we sent emails with the normal chitchat with no problems. I don't know why seeing me in person was conjuring up this animosity. Plus, I knew what he was saying wasn't exactly true. When I had spoken to Mamma on the phone that morning she complained that she wanted to come home; she was stuck in a house that wasn't hers and the weather was much better back home. Perhaps she wasn't letting on to him how much she wanted to come back so instead I got to be the fly in the ointment. Yay.
I would try again at a later time to persuade him. No sense in arguing it anymore right then. I took my clothes and bid him a fabulous evening. He asked if I was cooking dinner for myself and could he come over? Really? It'll cost you... bring your mother back to town and I'll cook for you all you want. I told him it wasn't a good idea tonight because he needed to get ready for work and I didn't have anything ready to prepare. I supposed that it was a good sign that things weren't too bad between us if he wanted to hang out. Not tonight though.
Back at the apartment in Rialto I moved my clothes down the alley from Carlo's apartment to my little place. I had use of the larger apartment until Sunday but wanted to set up my things in the small place in advance. However, the small apartment was cold. The heat was on, but it was weak. I left the heat on even though I wouldn't be spending the night in there, just to get it warmed up. It hadn't been in use while I was away so I needed to get it up to cozy temperature. Hopefully in the morning it would feel warmer in there. I would talk to Signora Ferri in the morning to see if there was something to be done about the temperature. If not, I needed to start looking into another place to stay. I can't stay somewhere that is fuh-reezing.
Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head... you know the words.
I had recovered from the drinking the night before with no problem. On the way home while walking through the streets the night before I had been accosted twice by (presumably drunk) people with them calling out “Ah-dell-ay” to me. As if I was the singer Adele wandering about at 1AM. It could happen here, I suppose. But they were seeing the big auburn hair and the black eyeliner and the rubenesque lady in black. I'm probably a foot taller than she is, but yeah. The next time someone says it I will bust out “Rolling In The Deep” on them and see what happens. Yes you may have my autograph.
I had recovered from the drinking the night before with no problem. On the way home while walking through the streets the night before I had been accosted twice by (presumably drunk) people with them calling out “Ah-dell-ay” to me. As if I was the singer Adele wandering about at 1AM. It could happen here, I suppose. But they were seeing the big auburn hair and the black eyeliner and the rubenesque lady in black. I'm probably a foot taller than she is, but yeah. The next time someone says it I will bust out “Rolling In The Deep” on them and see what happens. Yes you may have my autograph.
I met up with my clients at the vaporetto stop near their apartment and our private taxi came at the appointed time to whisk us to the outlaying islands of Torcello, Burano and Murano. We had him for five hours of service (at the discounted pre-negotiated corporate rate of 60E per hour) and would actually only use the boat for under an hour total, the rest was standby time. Not my choice, but then again, it's not my money. It wasn't snowing or iced over in the city, but the winds blowing across the lagoon were cold. Having the seating inside where it was heated was very welcome.
First stop at Murano, where we toured two glass factories and half a dozen galleries, along with the two larger parish churches of San Pietro Martire and Santi Maria e Donato. The latter is a favorite of mine, with its Veneto-Byzantine architecture and the mosaic floor that is so similar to San Marco. One of the couples purchased a large vase that was simply gorgeous. The other ordered a full set of amazing barware and stemware that should be delivered to them in six weeks. They promised to send me photos. It will be stunning, I am certain.
Torcello was next, and as we rode across the water we saw various fishing boats shrimping, clamming and doing their thing. I am not used to seeing commercial fisherman out during daylight hours. In the SF Bay I always have the impression that it all happens in the middle of the night. I know that Rigo, the only commercial fisherman I know in Venice, works at night, so I didn't completely know what these guys were doing out here this “late in the day” - it was 11AM after all. It's another mystery to solve at another time.
We had lunch at Trattoria Gatto Nero on Burano and I couldn't help but think of last year at this time with my friends Luke and Charlene in tow. We arrived to find the place closed due to Carnevale festivities. Charlene hasn't let me live it down yet, because she still hasn't been able to taste their world famous risotto. Next time, I promise.
We fortified ourselves for the chilly ride back (from inside the cabin) by having extra post-meal drinks before climbing back aboard. The cold weather actually affected me a somewhat. I could feel my voice straining a little after five hours of yapping. Maybe if they drink a little more and I talk a little less everything could still work out.
On return we had an appointment at Squero San Trovaso for them to briefly see the gondola workshop in action. This was my first visit here. Previous clients hadn't been interested in the boatmaking, but these were, thank goodness. I find the process endlessly fascinating. The Squero doesn't usually offer public tours but apparently the home office has some sway with the owner because we are one of the only outsiders allowed in outside of travelogue television cameras. I felt rather privileged. There are only two gondola makers in Venice these days. It's a dying art in a city with once housed dozens of these artisans. Afterward we walked to the Gesuati church at Zattere and over to Santa Maria delle Salute. A full day of touring and they weren't dropping in their tracks yet.
They left to relax and get ready for their dinner reservations and I made my way to Giudecca to meet up with Marco before he went to work the graveyard. I needed to pick up the key to my little apartment Signora Ferri lets to me and to get the bag of clothes I left there in November. I also wanted to see if I could talk him into the idea of having Mamma come home sooner than next week. She wasn't supposed to come back until the 25th and his crazy hours working during the Carnevale season would prevent him from being able to care for her but I wanted to offer my assistance since I would be around. I was sad my parents didn't get to meet her but I still wanted to be able to spend my downtime with her as much as possible.
And I was summarily rebuffed. Grouch. She would remain in Bologna with his cousin and family for the rest of the season. They were enjoying themselves and his family was having a great time having her there. “She is happy with them.”
Even though they are snowed in down there? “Kricka, she is coming back next week. That is my answer to you.”
Apparently our friendship is still strained from my last trip. I thought things were copacetic, but I guess not. We had a series of misunderstandings back in the fall. Short but heated arguments during his mother's hospitalizations and recovery. I had chalked it up to too much time together during a stressful period. We had continued weekly phonecalls checking on Mamma's progress and we sent emails with the normal chitchat with no problems. I don't know why seeing me in person was conjuring up this animosity. Plus, I knew what he was saying wasn't exactly true. When I had spoken to Mamma on the phone that morning she complained that she wanted to come home; she was stuck in a house that wasn't hers and the weather was much better back home. Perhaps she wasn't letting on to him how much she wanted to come back so instead I got to be the fly in the ointment. Yay.
I would try again at a later time to persuade him. No sense in arguing it anymore right then. I took my clothes and bid him a fabulous evening. He asked if I was cooking dinner for myself and could he come over? Really? It'll cost you... bring your mother back to town and I'll cook for you all you want. I told him it wasn't a good idea tonight because he needed to get ready for work and I didn't have anything ready to prepare. I supposed that it was a good sign that things weren't too bad between us if he wanted to hang out. Not tonight though.
Back at the apartment in Rialto I moved my clothes down the alley from Carlo's apartment to my little place. I had use of the larger apartment until Sunday but wanted to set up my things in the small place in advance. However, the small apartment was cold. The heat was on, but it was weak. I left the heat on even though I wouldn't be spending the night in there, just to get it warmed up. It hadn't been in use while I was away so I needed to get it up to cozy temperature. Hopefully in the morning it would feel warmer in there. I would talk to Signora Ferri in the morning to see if there was something to be done about the temperature. If not, I needed to start looking into another place to stay. I can't stay somewhere that is fuh-reezing.