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.
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