Tuesday 14 Sept - It's a Small World After All (but with no animatronics)

We arrived at Venice airport at 8:00AM on the dot, 33 minutes early. Love those tailwinds! I had a row to myself the whole way - there were only two seats in the row, and my seat mate had moved to be near his colleagues. An Italian doctor from Verona who had been in Atlanta for an international medical conference of some kind. Just before the plane took off he found there was a seat near them and took off for the back of the plane. It was nice to be able to stretch out for nine hours. After dinner I slept **hard** - I imagine people walked past me and threw spitballs at me. If they did I am none the wiser. It was the best sleep I've ever had on a flight. I woke up about 25 minutes before we landed, just when we began to descend. Freshened up in the bathroom before they turned the "seatbelt mandatory" signs on. The guy across the aisle said he was envious of me for being able to sleep the whole way. I pardoned myself in case I had been snoring or drooling - he said I hadn't, not to worry - just that every time he looked over I hadn't moved and was looking comfy. He said he'd considered waking me up just so I could join in his misery. I pulled out the Skymall catalog and showed him the Sky Rest pillow for next time. Order in advance, act now!!

It was taking a while for the luggage to start down the conveyors so I went over to the biglietto machine for a ticket to the Bus Terminal at Piazzale Roma. They've changed the machine since I was here in April - they have new codes for the different routes and it's overcomplicated even for those who can read Italian. I was trying to make sense of it and saw a couple behind me so I offered to step aside while I worked this out. They told me they were following my lead. I told them how it was different from only a few months ago and we will figure this out together. I figured that as long as I found a route and got a ticket that costs 3Euro I could argue my way onto the bus. It may say I'm going somewhere else, but I paid the correct fare. I'm sure the driver had heard many times already that people can't figure the machine out. But the ticket says 3Euro - you're in!

I bought mine, and then helped them with theirs. The tickets says from Marco Polo (the airport name, like LaGuardia or O'Hare) to the Venice Air Terminal. That makes no sense - so I had assumed they mean Bus Terminal. It remained to be seen. The couple asked if they could just follow me to the bus after we all found our luggage. I said they certainly could, but I needed to stop and get my vaporetto pass. I prepaid online and got a discount. While waiting for that we chatted; they both teach at Duke University. She (Susan Marks)instructs English Lit, he (Rob Marks) is in graduate studies for Sociology. I mentioned I knew someone who gone to grad school at Duke for Sociology in the mid-90s. After giving her name, it turns out he knows her. They still are in contact. It's A Small World After All!

We went out to queue up for the bus. There were about 45 German high school students in line ahead of us. I told my new friends we may not get on this bus but there would be another 15 minutes later. Then the entire German group walked off to another line - guess they had the wrong route. We moved up in line, anticipating the coach's arrival. Then the Germans returned - oops. Well, they forfeited their place in line. Just try getting past me and my linebacker shoulders, kiddos! The coach arrived, and I readied myself to explain the ticket - the Markses were right behind me, waiting to see if we would have a problem with the driver. And... the driver glanced at the ticket and said good morning, waving us aboard. Whoo hoo!

We talked all the way in to the islands; I gave them some recommendations on places to eat, and best times to see different venues. I found out where they were staying. A small hotel very near the bus station. I showed them by map the quickest way to get there, the least amount of schlepping the bags. The directions they had been given were a bit convoluted, but to a first-timer in the city it would be the best marked route. I wrote down directions for them and offered to show them the way. They declined, saying how much they appreciated how much time I had already spent with them. They told me they were spending five nights there in Venice and then moving on to Rome on Sunday to meet up with other people. They would be back in Venice a week later for a few days and then fly home. My ears pricked up at this information, I am leaving for Rome the same day (Sunday) - so I asked "Are you joining a tour in Rome or meeting friends?" A tour, it turns out. They would be in Rome three nights, then Florence for four nights and then back in Venice for three more nights, but at a much nicer hotel. "The Europa & Regina - do you know it?"

"I sure do, that's where I'm going right now."

So I had to ask - and they confirmed it. Yes, they are on MY tour. Very Small World!

I disclosed to them that I would be assisting the leader on their tour, and in full disclosure, I am interviewing for the tour leader position and this month is my proving ground. They told me the very first thing they would do is tell Frank, my interviewer, that I was most helpful even when not required. They couldn't wait to send a compliment to the tour company. In Rob's words: "They would be stupid not hire such a naturally friendly, knowledgeable and helpful person." Yay, me!

It just goes to show you that you never know who you're going to encounter at any given time.

I have one photo to share in today's missive. This gentleman was sitting in front of me on the bus from the airport. I was mesmerized by his hairpiece. Dude, blend your hair color. Seriously!



Eventually I got myself to the hotel. I'm not used to managing so much luggage. Ugh. I am dumping half of this as soon as I can. Either leaving it at the apartment I have access to or at the Marson house. There is no way I'm schlepping this up and down buses and train. Reassess the packing situation ASAP. I was given my room number, which I recognized - room number 110 - which was actually an upgrade from the closets they usually give tour leaders. It's customary for the hotels to give a complimentary (albeit tiny) room when a tour group is booked to the property. This was not one of those rooms; in fact it was the very room I first stayed in when I was on tour 8 years ago with my in-laws. It is right over the lobby, with a lovely balcony overlooking the courtyard in front of the hotel. I assumed it was because I was an add-on, but when I arrived in the room and found a bottle of wine from Giorgio (my "uncle" the bar/restaurant manager) and flowers with a note from Marco, I knew they had something to with the bigger room.

I had four hours before the group arrived so I struck out to the Marson house to go get blessed with Mamma. The last phone call with her & Marco was an indication that I needed to go with her to church immediately for the priest to bless my travels. Okay. I give myself over to your instructions, Mamma.

Hugs and kisses from her. Marco was sleeping last night's work off. We went off to church, I was given the attentive prayers of the priest. It was the same one I met for Francesca's and Chiara's funeral services. I guess I'm truly an honorary member of the family. He hugged me hello and goodbye, just like Mamma. Back at the house I had a brief lunch and took off to get back to the hotel. I left a note for Marco before going, saying thank you for whatever magic he worked in getting me a room upgrade. I would see him later that evening. He's on graveyard shift all week because the regular night concierge is on vacation.

The front desk called my room to alert me that the group was on the way from the train station. Another special notation Marco made in the book for me.

I met everyone at the back of the hotel (the entrance facing the Grand Canal) and helped everyone to the front desk to assist in checking-in. I made my introduction to Frank Heston, the tour leader, and was immediately comforted to see he's got that aging hippie look. White ponytail, three small earrings in his left ear. I had been worried I would have some guy with a three piece suit to deal with. He's warm and gregarious. I think we'll get on well.

After getting everyone settled, he and I went to the terrace to acquaint ourselves and conference for a while. It is an absolutely beautiful afternoon. Not a cloud in the sky, approximate temp of 75 with a slight breeze. Simply lovely. When Giorgio came out to the terrace to take our orders it was more than I could have hoped for. He hugged and kissed me, shook Frank's hand and sat with us for a few minutes. Giorgio told me he had been telling Frank about me for years; my love for Venice and all of Italy and how this is the perfect career for me. Giorgio was one of my references for getting this interview. He had written a wonderful letter of recommendation telling of how often I engaged guests of the hotel when visiting the bar. Make me blush! I told them about my encounter with the Marks couple and how eager they are to talk to Frank when they meet up with us in Rome.

Giorgio left to get our refreshments and Frank told me he had heard nothing but wonderful things about me from many people. He leaned in and told me I would have to do something really awful to screw this up. It's pretty much a given they'll offer me a position, but don't get complacent. He smiled wickedly. Yeah, I think we'll get on just fine.

I feel like I'm floating... my head may not fit through the door after this afternoon.

We met everyone in the courtyard at 5PM for a gondola ride, and upon return people went their separate ways for dinner on their own. I, of course, went to San Silvestro to see Francesco at his trattoria/pizzeria. Always the first restaurant I visit in Venice. I've written before about how much I love this man and his place and tonight's experience just solidifies everything all over again. I watched him move from table to table, putting his diners at ease, offering suggestions of their freshest fish dishes, the homemade pasta dishes, the light as air profiteroles for the dessert course. He brings out the limoncello and grappa and sits with the regular patrons for a few minutes. And periodically bursts into various operatic arias for no reason at all. He is a master of congeniality.

I made conversation with the couple dining next to me. They are from Idaho and retired in Texas now. He lived in the same town as my grand uncle in the 1970s, Darlington, ID and knows the family name - Van Etten. Small world all over the place. I gave them suggestions of their next day's activities and they were so appreciative they insisted on buying me lunch the next day, at Francesco's of course. We made plans so we could talk some more. A wonderful evening.

I made my way back to the hotel and spent a few minutes with Marco, who was now on duty. He let me in on a secret - he had changed my hotel guest profile to show I'm to be upgraded every time it's possible, for all the Westin/Starwoods. We stay in these hotels for all the cities we're in. If this happens, this will be sooo sweet!

Such a lovely day in what is quite possibly turning into a charmed life. I know things won't always be this easy and perfect, so I am savoring this.

Monday 13 Sept - I Only Fly so I Can Shop the Skymall!!!

I didn't sleep, as I expected. No worries, I wouldn't have been able to anyway. There were two toddlers in the row behind me who are now tied with my quasi-grandchildren as "World's Worst Travelers, Children Edition." I understand that it was early, the plane took off at 6 AM, they flew in their pajamas. Their parents were clearly exhausted, after all, they slept the whole way. The parents. Yep, through the crying and the whining, and the screaming, the parents did basically nothing to keep the two boys (approximate ages 2 and 3) from annoying the other passengers. Fantastic. Four and a half hours of having the back of my chair kicked, fingers poked between the seats, screaming when the ball fell on the floor.

Remind me to have five next time. Children. EXACTLY like them.

And of course, they fell asleep as we were descending into Atlanta. It was like that Bill Cosby routine about the little boy Jeffrey on the plane, except the parents weren't following after him with "Jeffrey, Jeffrey. Come here Jeffrey. Don't touch that Jeffrey..." what with them getting their beauty rest on the plane. But with the children not wanting to wake up at the end of the flight, my flightmates appeared to delight in jostling them about to ready themselves to deplane.

Atlanta airport was uneventful, except I got to experience my first Chik-Fil-A meal. No big deal.

I'm a people-watcher, in case nobody has noticed. I love sitting in airports and watching people before they go. There's usually stark contrast to when they get off the plane, which is fun to see as well. There were a few groupings around me at the gate who apparently were going on a cruise once they reached Venice. It's to be expected - there are a number of cruise ships that embark from there. So you see the typical cruisers - older Americans with their cruisewear and their sandals. The ladies have just had their hair coiffured and teased to heaven in hopes that they can make it through the week without needing to make an appointment aboard the ship. The woman sitting closest to me had this look in the bright Henna-Red hue. She also had the prerequisite pre-flight reading materials of National Enquirer, Star AND Look, about which she conferred frequently with her travel companion. Same look, except in blond. They both were in their late sixties, sounded as if they were from New Jersey by way of south Florida (given the real, deep, leathery tans) and they had amazing fingernails. I actually took out my camera to get a couple of snaps. These were nails I hadn't seen since my days at CSAA Emergency Road Service when I worked with Jennifer Daniels and her 3-inch masterpieces.


(Beware... The CLAW)

The care that went into the turning of the pages of the newspaper held me enthralled. The conversation was equally enticing to catch snippets of: "Oh they're still together. I thought she had dumped him. That Johnny Depp, he cleans up so nice. Why does he insist on looking so ratty?" I'm sure Johnny would love to know he was the talk of Gate T01 at ATL.

Once on the plane I could feel my eyes getting heavy, although I needed to stay awake until the meal was served. I kept myself busy with the Delta Duty-Free catalog and the Skymall magazine.

WHOO HOO. I love looking at Skymall. So much unnecessary crap in one place for your enjoyment!!! I would love to share my favorites with you now.


This does not look like it would relax me, and in fact looks like it might be illegal in some states and Saudi Arabia. Look at the prong near her mouth. It's shaped a little differently than the others.



Hmmm...



Doesn't everyone need their own six foot monolith in the patio area?



This is probably the only thing in the whole catalog I might consider. I've been known to pile my blankets and jackets to sleep this way. But it just looks awful.



This page scares me. Spy cameras to see who is in your house while you're away, secret recorders, okay. People need nanny-cams, I get that. But the one at the top of the page freaks me out. If you need to recover your loved one's deleted text messages and you're reading this on a plane, maybe you need to be home more. Am I right?



And finally, the pet-related stuff. I have at least 15 rants in my head about people and their neuroses with their dogs. I won't go into it here, but they all boil down to this - I grew up with animals and they were not neurotic. The dog traveled with us to Grandma's when we vacationed, but we didn't have specialized equipment for her. She was in the backseat with my brother and me. Furthermore, the whole entitlement thing with owners believing they can bring their pets into stores with them just rubs me the wrong way.



This is last one. Ugh. The whole "dog crating" thing BAFFLES me. But who am I to complain? I have birds in a cage. But you know what? They are birds. Not dogs. If you need to lock up your pet in your absence, you aren't doing something right. But you can at least make it pretty, right? It's not a cage if it's pretty... I'm sure the already-neurotic dog won't mind that you put your cocktail on top of them or pile magazines there either.

Sunday 12 September - Bags Packed, At Last

My goodness. That took forever.

I know I'm taking more than I need to, but I don't know what I'll need. Next time I will have a much better handle on things. I am bringing two suitcases, but will store one either at the apartment in Venice or ask to keep it at the Marsons' house. The week away from Venice (in Rome & Florence) will give me an idea of how much I'll need on a touring schedule.

My mind is reeling and I'm aware that I'm over-thinking it all. I won't sleep tonight, but it's to be expected. I'm too excited. I'll crash on the plane as soon as it takes off at 6am. Most likely.

The adventure begins!

Saturday 11 September - A Fine Day For Nuptials

Okay, so going to San Francisco isn't technically travel for me, but I wanted to share some wedding photos from today. My beautiful niece Katherine was joined in marriage today to Chris, her fine young man. They will be very happy together. It was a beautiful wedding in a gorgeous location.
















I will see them next week in Venice when they arrive, on my days off between tours. Feels very jet-set to say I'm meeting them in Europe during their honeymoon.

Friday 10 September, 2010 - Catch Up

A lot has happened in my world since I last wrote.

My last entries here were in February 2010, when a few days before my scheduled vacation my "adopted Venetian family" suffered a tragedy. Francesca and her daughter Chiara were in a car accident and Francesca passed. I shared in their sorrow, tried to help out with Chiara in the early stages of healing her body, and in her grief of losing her mother.

I returned home and in the weeks that followed communicated with "mia famiglia" often. Between emails and phone calls, I was in contact with Marco, Mamma or Chiara about every other day. I worried a lot about her, about them all; reeling from their loss and this major change in their lives. Cultural differences reared their heads at my insistence that she get some kind of grief counseling, but they only knew to put their faith in the church. It is their way. After a number of weeks, Marco did approach the idea of counseling through the church for her - a program for young people grieving that he had finally looked into. Chiara was not opposed to the idea, and would start going in mid-April. I was hopeful.

Unfortunately, Chiara felt she was a burden on those around her, and took her life before she began with the group. I got the phone call from Marco after hours of him looking for her. She hadn't come home. He was the one that found her. This poor man. This poor family.

I returned to Venice for Chiara's funeral.

I got caught in the Iceland volcano mess and ended up having to stay an additional week due to all of Europe closing their airspace. Was lucky enough to be joined for a few days by my buddy Luke, who was holed up in Barcelona. I was able to spend more days with Mamma so being a volcano refugee wasn't entirely a bad thing. Until I got home and faced the music with my employer.

The bad news - I ended up losing my job. It's complicated, but it's actually for the best.

I am returning now to Italy with a job prospect. I have a contract for one month as a tour leader. If all goes well, I will be offered a full-time position starting after the New Year. My airfare is paid for and I keep the SkyMiles. My hotels are paid for and I keep the Starwood points. My meals are paid for and I eat well. I have the opportunity to impart my knowledge and love of the art, architecture and humanity of this beautiful land and her people. And I get paid to do it.

I'm packing my bags and crossing my fingers.

Tuesday 23 February - But is it really art?

I had a mission for myself in the morning.

I was going to get to know the back streets of the sestiere Castello, I know the main byways and arteries, but I wanted to get into the small nooks and crannies so I would be more familiar. This is the only sestiere where I have to still look at a map to get from one church to another. I want to know wehre the hardware store is, the guy that makes keys, where to get another hairdryer when I blow mine out.

I made one wrong turn at the outset and ended up walking in circles pretty much for an hour. Dead end. Dead end. Dead end.

I did find the hardware store, and I do know where to get keys made. And I discovered the best housewares store in Venice. They have EVERYTHING. Even Hello Kitty pantyliners. Because, hey girls, you know you need some of that.

My journey of self discovery completed for the time being, I had a date with the Galleria Accademia. This is the one time in my lifetime I may be able to look upon Leonardo da Vinci's original copy of the Vetruvian Man from his writings. They haven't pulled it out for the public in about 30 years, I think. They also have a great interactive components to go along with it. Genius observed.

At the Palazzo Grassi is a contemporary art exhibition, a showing of the collection of Francois Pinault, this generation's Peggy Guggenheim. Meaning he buys a LOT of art. Who's to say it's any good or not? I am not impressed thus far. The outside of the museum has an installation of a giant pack of cigarettes imbedded in a chair. What?

In comparison with doodles from da Vinci, I know what I vote to win as to what should rightfully be called 'art' but I know it's all subjective.

Hello Kitty pantyliners. I can't get over it. Ick.

I headed over to the see Chiara for the afternoon. She kicked my butt in cards again. In preparing lunch for us I managed to slice my thumb across the pad. It feels like a gaping wound, but it's about a half-inch. I couldn't find a bandage at their place, so I put some superglue on it. Chiara thinks I'm crazy of course. I explained this was the original reason it was made (or so I heard.) I read about how medics in the Vietnam war used to it patch soldiers up in the field. It did the trick until a bandaid could be found when Mamma & Marco got back from church.

After dinner Mamma insisted that Marco get out of the house for a while. We opted to go to the movies. We were almost there when I asked him what was playing. He told me it was "Amabili Resti." Oh crap. The last thing you want to see after recently burying your sister is "The Lovely Bones." I told him I had read the book, please don't go see it, it's about death and reaching out for your family from the beyond. He agreed he didn't want to see it. Crisis averted.

We went for a vaporetto ride to Burano instead, one of the outlying islands in the lagoon. It is the island of lacemakers and fishermen. I've never been on the boats out that far at night. There was a couple near us on the way back that were having a very animated conversation in Venetian dialect. I've stated it before that I don't understand it - sounds like talking with oatmeal in your mouth. There was plenty of gesticulating and passionate statements were made between them. I wondered if we were witnessing a breakup in process. We moved away from them as the boat came into the landing. What on earth were they arguing about?

"She thought the chicken was dry at the restaurant. He didn't like the vegetables."

Monday 22 February

The morning sky looked like it was going to open up in a serious downpour, which was totally befitting of the mood we were all in.

Having never been to a funeral in a foreign country, I had no idea how openly emotional they are. I have been to services in the US that were extremely raw, and I've been to some where there was not a tear in the house, but that was most likely from valium, I'm sure. Needless to say (but I say it anyway) some folks don't allow themselves to show emotion in public, as if it's unseemly.

Rigo arrived at the house on Giudecca just after I did and he loaded Chiara up into his arms for the flight down the stairs. It's a walk of a few blocks, and he carried her like an infant. She has crutches but hasn't gone any farther than from the length of the house in them yet. Neighbors looked out their windows as we passed by, perhaps knowing that since the family was at the church they could now go as well. The pied pipers.

I went to take a seat in the second pew to allow the family to be in front, but neither Chiara nor Mamma would have it. Chiara just held on to my arm the whole time, tucked into my side. I'm like an oversized pillow to her. I stayed seated with her while everyone knelt and stood during the Mass. There were no testimonial moments (for lack of a better word) but what I mean to say is, there were no stories or memories given by those who knew her; only the funeral Mass and homily. I don't think anyone in the family would have been capable to speak anyway.

I could tell there were a lot of people in the church from the line of people receiving communion, but it wasn't until after the services, when everyone came forward to file past the family and pay their condolences that I realized exactly how many people there were.

Many of Chiara's friends from school came with their families, which was very kind. Lots of people from their town of Mogliano , those who worked with Francesca, but the amount of Venetians blew me away. Everyone from their neighborhood on Giudecca island, it seemed. And so many from the hotel- Marco's co-workers. I recognized so many faces. Managers from the hotel, the night staff, the porters. All the people from the bar who I am friends with as well- Giorgio, Serena, Aldo, Luana - even Donato and Riccardo who don't work there any longer. It was very kind of them to come to support Marco in his loss. My neighbor upstairs, Viviana, was there.

One person I had forgotten would be there was the cousin Bruno, whose family came up from Bologna. I met him in 2003 when I testified in a criminal case. Backstory - I was mugged in Sicily; he happened to be on the state prosecutorial team. Small world. He was very surprised to see me, and very happy that I've kept in touch with the family - he had no idea I was still coming to Italy, since I gave up the idea of working there after the incident.

It was an amazing show of respect for the family, for all these people to take the time.

Respects paid, people cleared out and we went in Rigo's boat to the mainland to get in cars for the ride to the cemetery in Portogruaro. It was pretty much family only. I've been with them before on All Saints Day when they tend to the niches in the mausoleum. Now there's another to tend. Sad.

We arrived back at the house and I heated up one of the many casseroles for us to eat. Then it was back to church in the afternoon for Mass again. They will continue with multiple masses for the coming weeks, it's what they do in their culture.

And finally, the end of the day came. I had been surrounded by people all day, but felt very alone. I am happy to be here to lend whatever support I can, but it is incredibly draining emotionally. I miss my family.

Sunday 21 February - Critical Mass

Today was full of going to Mass.

Mamma, Marco & I went to 7am Mass at Redentore, their home parish.

I went back to their apartment and made Chiara breakfast while they went to 8am Mass.

They came back and I had breakfast for them, then Marco & I went to 9am Mass.

The priest came over and had Mass for Chiara at 1030 during his break in the day.

I hung out with Chiara while Mamma & Marco went over to San Marco for 1230 services at the Basilica - she wanted to be blessed by the archbishop.

Mamma & I went to Mass again at Redentore at 3pm.

Mamma & Marco went back to the Redentore at 430 for another Mass while I stayed and played cards with Chiara. She kicked my butt at gin rummy.

I taught her how to play blackjack. The kid is good. We're going to Vegas.

In the meantime, calls and telegrams continued to come. It's endearing to see the outpouring of sympathy and support for these good people.

I think after all the church services this week, I am exempt from any more for the rest of the year. It has been decreed.

Picture Page

The corridor alongside Doge's Palace running toward the Basilica San Marco.




Above the entryway into the courtyard of the Doge's Palace.




Someone left their socks out in the rain... I don't think that I can take it, 'cause it took so long to bake it, and I'll never have that recipe again.



Detail of a column in Doge's Palace corridor



Corner of the Doge's Palace. The Four Kings - in poryphory stone. Clutching each other for dear life, as if to say "don't go in, nothing good can come of it!"



Sweeping out a swamped store.





Even the Ferrari store got some of the flood waters.



Serena & I feeding the birds some cookie crubs on the bar counter. Don't tell Giorgio!



Piazzetta of San Marco from the water.




Why hello!




Kids on a school trip to the Mayor's office




One of the Palazzi Mocenigo - this is currently being rented by Brad Pitt & Angelina Jolie for 3 months while she films "The Tourist" with Johnny Depp here. Child Army alert!!




Packages out for delivery, non-mail or FedEx.




Scaffolding on a restoration

Saturday 20 February - is that the "il corposo rosso o la rossa corposa" ?

**Note: I am writing now with a few days of perspective behind me, so as not to be quite so melodramatic and maudlin. While getting all the feelings, interactions and goings-on down in writing, I realize it has got to be a giant ol' bummer to read. Don't get me wrong, there's lots to be maudlin about but I'll try to keep it to a minimum from here on out.**

After cleaning up my breakfast dishes (yogurt, toast, jam, an egg and tea) I headed out to catch the vaporetto to go around to the north side of the city, to where the florists are. There are a number of them strategically located on the Fondamenta Nova that people going to the cemetery island of San Michele can bring them to their loved-ones gravesites on the vap.

I ordered a spray of chrysanthemums and roses to be delivered to the Redentore church for Monday morning. I asked if other orders had come in for the funeral and she showed me their tickets. I wanted to make sure I wasn't getting anything ostentacious in comparison. I'm not, so whew!

I walked back by way of the Strada Nova (or the bossanova if you're Mark Strange) and stopped in to the optometrist to drop off my glasses for new lenses. I've bought a few pair from him over the past few years. It's actually cheaper than using my Kaiser employee discount on one of their frames (well, except for airfare to get here, but you know what I mean.) Frames and lenses for under $150-200, I can't get that at home unless they are ugly old plain frames. I find I'm only stylish in my glasses these days, so I run with it. Getting the lenses changed to my new prescription is only 30Euros for me today. Whoo hoo! I told him I would come back before closing today and pick them up.

Walking back through the streets it's obvious how many merchants got hit with the highwater last night. Just about every shop has someone, sweeping the dregs of the wetness out by broom, shop vac or mop. The streets smell like bleach from their rinsing and disinfecting the floors. What a pain in keister that must be.

Over by the Doge's Palace on Piazza San Marco I found a discarded pair of socks, seemingly discarded from last night. I wonder how many pairs of shoes and socks this city ends up with in a month? I hope they don't just throw them away.

Caught to vap over to Giudecca and walked to the Marsons' place. Half a block down there were three older ladies talking and gesticulating in my direction. One of the ladies is their next door neighbor who had let me in to their place. I walked over and gave her the extra set of keys back, before I forgot and brought them back to the US. She smiled at me and leaned up to give me three cheek kisses. In broken English to me: "Good girl, good friend you are." Ok, thank you. See you later...

The entrance to their apartment building is now decorated with a black-ribboned wreath. One of the neighbors probably put it up. There are cards tucked into the doorjamb also, surely condolences from the neighbors. I saw a few funeral notices up on my way over, but couldn't make myself stop to read them. Nobody has probably opened the door yet this morning, so here the cards are.

I picked them out of the jamb and knocked. Mamma answered and attacked my face with pecks and pinches. It was late morning but they hadn't had breakfast yet. I guess they had a late night. I made some toast and tea and brought it into Chiara. She's looking better today, except for the blackeye which is starting to get that green tinge to it. At least it's not getting darker, right?

Over the next few hours, the doorbell kept buzzing - incessantly. Telegrams from family and friends from all over. Italy still has a stranglehold on the telegram market, apparently. They may not have a large greeting card industry, but telegrams are still the way to go when it comes to getting your message out. The telegram guy came 7 times, each visit with at least 2 or 3 telegrams. Wow.

The phone rang constantly. There was no use in me trying to answer the phone - I can't understand the Venetian dialect that most of the calls were in, judging by the responses from Mamma and Marco.

In the afternoon the doorbell started up again, this time with the neighborhood offering up casseroles and soups for the family, most of the indicating it's for Chiara's convalescence. They don't expect to be asked in; they know the family is grieving and they don't want to sit and visit. Rather different than what I'm used to seeing. At least it saves the family from having to tell the story over and over every ten minutes and make smalltalk. They have food for an army for at least two weeks. I know their tiny freezer can't hold it all.

Chiara was sleeping again and Marco asked if we could go out for a while. I think he's a little stir-crazy. He offered to walk in the Giardini by my place. I told him sure, plus he hadn't seen this apartment yet. The gardens are also where the Bienniale expositions take place every other year, a world-wide celebration of art, theater, music, dance, architecture and archival history. There are pavilions built to house the works, but as it's grown over the decades the exhibition locations have spread throughout town. Palazzos are now rented out for exhibitions and temporarily renamed as for the country of exhibition, e.g., "the Czech Pavilion" for the duration of the summer the Bienniale is on.

We walked around for a while and I asked him if he was aware of the reputation the park has at night. He looks at me as if I'm crazy. "Reputation? It's a park." I told him all the guidebooks talk about how it's a cruising spot for anonymous rendezvous, of the "in the bushes" kind.

"Mamma mia, you make up the nonsense, Krix."

Yeah, pal, I have nothing better to do than make this stuff up to give your city a randy reputation.

"What are you talking about? People come here to walk the dogs. In the middle of the afternoon? What is the cruising? The boats are over on the Riva Schiavoni."

Ok, cultural and transliteration differences abound in this subject. So I broke it down to him what cruising is. Again, people here seem to think that gays don't exist - they are just tourists making their way through or something... except for the one guy who works at the hotel, Roberto. "The" gay of Venice. Right. Except he lives with his longtime companion. So wouldn't that technically be 2 gays in the city?

He doesn't believe me that cruising happens. He wants to see it firsthand. That set me off laughing until I choked. I could just see this, him sitting on a bench with his eyes peeled for evidence of an encounter happening. I told him, "Oh you'd know it when it happened, because you would be the one accosted."

"Noooooooo. They would not talk to me." Whatever, man. Keep your head in the sand, small town boy. A guy sitting in a cruising spot who looks a lot like George Clooney would NEVER get hit on.

I wanted to stop at the store and get a bottle of red wine and something for a quick meal. We walked to Via Garibaldi, the main commercial street of this area of Castello and I found the tiny little Co-op store. It's not even as big as my apartment, what a teensy place! I grabbed a bottle of valpolicella, some romaine and a chicken breast. I've got the makings for the dressing at home, so it looks like caesar salad for me for dinner. Mmmm!

Marco took the bag with the groceries and walked out ahead of me. I had the wine bottle tucked under my arm and emerged outside a giant gust of wind which blew my skirt up. Not quite Marilyn Monroe, but pretty impressive. So glad I wear tights and a slip - it's not just for warmth, ladies. I looked over to my right and Marco was being talked to by an old gentleman. Very animated conversation. They both laughed and went their separate ways.

"What was that about?"

"Lui non sa che gli piace di più - il corposo rosso o la rossa corposa." He said he didn't know which he likes more, the full bodied red wine or the full bodied redhead.

I feel all a-twitter now. Men talking about me on the street. I've still got it. Ha!

We got back to my apartment and were standing outside. On the way there from the store I had been retelling the meeting of my neighbor upstairs and how she showed me over and over the proper way to close the door when she pops her head out the window on the third floor and asks me if I needed help getting in.

"Or did you forget???"

Crap. Leave me alone, lady.

And then... "Marco? È che tu, caro?" (Is that you, my dear?) He looked up and answered her. "Viviana! Come stai?" (How are you?)

Yes, they know each other. Of course they do. He tells me she used to work the switchboard at the hotel until 1999. She met us in the hallway and gave her condolences to him (word travels SOOO fast in this town, seriousl) and told him that anything he needed, just ask. When she left she actually smiled at me and told me she hoped to see me later. She smiled!

Wonders never cease.

Friday 19 February - Can I get amoebic dysentery from Acqua Alta and other mysteries of the universe

I woke early and was starving. I didn't made it to the market yesterday and the only thing I knew was in the cupboard was a bottle of Bardolino red wine. Not good for 7am. I opened the cabinets to make an inventory of anything available to me right now. Usually in rentals there is something left by previous tenants.

Bonus! There is an assortment of tea, three kinds of coffee, flour, sugar, a large assortment of spices, even pasta and rice. Multiple types of oils and vinegars. There are granulated broths for chicken, vegetable and beef. And croutons. Sweet! If I get locked in I can eat for a few days, no problem. The fridge has ground mustard, olives, capers and jam. In the cooler beneath the fridge was some leftover tuscan bread.

I made some tea with toast and jam and made a grocery list. While doing this I realized I should probably just concentrate on food for when the Marsons come home. I called Marco to see if he had an idea of when they would be back. They were going to run into logistics problems with Chiara immobilized in casts.

Plus there is a fout hour planned transportation strike Friday from 10am to 2pm. Labor unions periodically have these planned throughout the year to remind the public how much they are relied upon, however they do it most of the time so as not to hugely impact the general public. Kind of contradiction to say "hey you guys need us!" when you're striking after commute hours. If you really want to prove your point, do it on a Tuesday at 8am, why don't you?

Marco said she wouldn't be released until after 10, and he would get her back to Venice in his car. She could stretch out in the backseat. (Note, the car is pretty tiny, it's a Fiat, so there's not really any stretching out to be had.) I asked about how he would get her from the car park to the house when there's a strike on the vaporetto lines? Should I come in a hired taxi boat? Whatever he needed, I would help to accommodate. He said he had a friend with a boat who will help. I offered to bring groceries and have lunch ready for them, but I would need to get inside the house while they are out. He said he would call the neighbor to give me a key when I arrived. I made out a list for grocery and left to catch the vaporetto. I was hoping I was able to time it right to get to the store when it opened, shop and get back on the boat before they began the strike.

If you're on a vap at the time a strike starts, they take you to the next stop and dump you off. I wanted to at least be on Giudecca island when they did that. If on a train, they do the same or you can just sit it out. That suuuuucks. I have also heard that when Alitalia strikes and you are in the air at the appointed time, all flight attendant service stops - no food or drinks are distributed. At least the pilots keep flying the plane. If planning to come to Italy, it's a very good idea to check to see if a planned strike is happening during your stay. It makes it easier to plan your day. I've been in Venice during a planned strike a few times. One was a 24 hour strike general strike throughout the whole country, one was a 12 hour in Venice only, and now this, a 4 hour throughout the country. Tourists really freak out when they find they have to walk - oh the horror! It would be worth it to have a camera at the vap stop just to catch their disbelief. Even though there are signs in English telling the public about the coming strike, they aren't read I guess.

I decided I was going to the Co-op Supermarket at Piazzale Roma. It's the largest and opens the earliest, at 8am. It would be the easiest to go shop and then take a different vap route to Giudecca. All was going according to plan until I arrived there, and found I was off about when the store opened - 8:30. That meant I needed to shop quickly, my personal version of Supermarket Sweep, to get back out to the boat and safely arrive before strike time.

Mission accomplished in record time. I remembered at the last minute (while in line for the cashier) that it's now Lent, so no meat. I went back to the fish counter and remedied that, changing my menu. We have the makings for soups, polenta cakes, poached fish and vegetables. And chicken saltimbocca for Saturday.

I made it to their place well ahead of the strike kick-off, which made me happy. The neighbor let me have the key and I unpacked the goods and started to work on soup. It had started raining. The water was choppy and rough across the Giudecca Canal, causing the boat to list side to side. I was actually turning a bit green onboard and I don't usually get seasick.

Marco called at 12:30 to tell me they were on his friend's boat and almost there. It dawned on me that Chiara isn't going to be ready or possibly able to climb a flight of stairs with a cast on her right arm and right leg. She can't manage crutches right now. She's going to have to be carried up. I waited at the canal nearest the house and spied them pulling up. The boat was moored and Rigo (the boat owner) a giant bear of a man, swooped Chiara up in his arms and carried her like she was a baby up to the house. She was pretty sleepy and didn't really rouse during the transfer. Marco rearranged the couch to prop her leg up but she was too drowsy to notice.

Lots of hugs and kisses from Mamma for Rigo, and then she turned her attention on me. She looks so tiny and frail to me now. She's a robust woman, but it seems she has withered seemingly overnight. I'm sure she hasn't been eating during their time in Udine. Having sat at hospitals in vigil, I know it can be difficult to find something you want to eat, even if you have the appetite to do it. Marco is the one whose change alarmed me. Shell-shocked, that's the only way I can describe it. The ever-present happy glint in his eye is gone, he's pale and gaunt, no trace of smile in his face. This is not my friend in the way I've always known him.

I suggested they go change out of their clothes - they need to get the hospital off them - and I would get lunch served in a few minutes. Mamma came out first, she sat at the table with me and just put her hand on mine. There were no words, but I felt it all coming out of her anyway. She was still composed, but she did have tears in her eyes. She finally spoke and said, pointing her head down the hall toward Marco's room, "Si è rotto ora." He is broken now.

While the adults ate soup and bread I went to see if Chiara was hungry in the living room. I helped feed it to her; she was a bit discombobulated from medication and fell back asleep before finishing the bowl, but at least she had something in her now. Coming back into the kitchen Marco was on the phone with who I presumed was the funeral director. He hung up and explained that Francesca had contacted the funeral director a few years after her husband died and had made her wishes known to him, so the family wouldn't have to. They have her file in their office in the Cannaregio area of town. He didn't understand how she could have known it would be needed. I told him I think it's common for people in her situation to make provisions to make things easy for others. She had lost her husband very young so it's not so odd to think it could have happened to her also.

They left to go to the funeral office, once Mamma had found some pictures to bring with them. I would find out later that these were for the posters to be put up. In Italy, especially in cities like Venice, notices are posted around town (usually in close vicinty to the various parishes) to announce the services. They also still post marriage banns and graduation laureates. It's customary to have a picture of their communion or confirmation as well as a recent photo. For older folks I have only seen photos taken in their prime of life, as if they are only to be remembered of what they looked like at 30. The posters would be put up in Venice as well as in the town Francesca & Chiara live in on the mainland, Mogliano. Services will be at their parish in Venice, where she was baptized, took her first communion, confirmed and married -the Redentory Church on Monday morning with burial in the afternoon on the mainland in Portoguaro, where her husband and father are interred.

I stayed at the apartment with Chiara, who slept most of the time. When she did wake I got more food for her and adjusted pillows as necessary. We passed time by watching tv and she slept again.

Marco & Mamma arrived back home, and both looked completely wiped out. Mamma refused to lay down and get rest, she wants to be awake and around when Chiara is awake. I can see where this need comes from. She is a mother hen at heart, clucking about her charges. It's her role. Marco asked me if I wanted to step out for a walk to get gelato for Chiara. I know it's more for him than Chiara. We sat on a bench at a park nearby, in silence. I told him that I had told Aldo and Serena about the accident, briefly - no details. He said it was ok that I did that, considering they are all thinking it was his mother who was having the crisis. He started talking about all the work to be done, moving Chiara's belongings down to Venice and what to do about Francesca's things at the apartment in Mogliano. I told him he didn't need to do anything at that very minute. Yes, getting Chiara's things should be done soon, she needs clothes and her belongings around her for comfort, even if she is at Grandma's house. But packing everything up might be too difficult for him this soon. He agreed and said he would contact the landlord to see what could be worked out.

We followed through with getting gelato and went back to the house. Dinner was pretty silent. I can understand; and certainly don't expect to be entertained. They people are exhausted. I cleaned up afterward, despite Mamma's protests and headed out to leave them for the night. Marco walked me to the vap stop and waited with me. He momentarily returned to his normal self and joked about my method of cleaning versus his mother's. At least I know he's still in there somewhere, behind the grief. He told me he heard the Acqua Alta alert earlier so I would be arriving back to flooding. I didn't hear anything, but it was so far off I wouldn't be trained for it. He also said his phone gave him an alert. If you live in Venice I guess it's wise to sign up for that messaging service.

It was just past 10pm. I have never experienced the high water at night. I have only seen it in the mornings, so this was new. I also am in an area I am not used to, so I don't know every backstreet to take to avoid it. I walked from the Giardini and turned onto the riva (street alongside a canal) I would normally walk down, only to see it was at least 4 inches deep for at least two blocks down the way. I walked a block to the left and opted to take that route. I could see it was free of water all the way down. As I approached my block there were people standing outside a trattoria smoking and all were looking at me. Okay, I'm new to these parts, it's not a touristy section of town, I get it. But they were all looking at my feet. Two guys were taking bets if I'd ever be able to use those shoes again.

Oh crap. I'm not getting out of this without getting wet in some way. The water was about six inches deep when I turned on to the block of the apartment. There was about 100 yards between me and the end of the block, where the doorway was just around the corner. Suck it up, Kris, you're going to have to do this. I took my shoes off. I contemplated taking my tights off, but I didn't want to be stripping in the middle of the block where the folks could see me. And I waded in, slowly sloshing through the water. It was 5 or 6 inches in parts, and you could see in the moonlight that it was still flowing in, this wasn't where it was going to stop before receding back into the lagoon.

I made it to the door, I wasn't quite freezing, The water was almost warm, but I didn't want to hang out and play "Singin' in the Rain" out there either. Got inside the entry door (thank you neighbor-shrew for the detailed instructions) and upstairs. Washed the tights out thoroughly and hung them on the heated towel bar in the bathroom. By the way, that's the best invention EVER!!!!! Washed the feet extensively in the bidet. Yes it's uncouth, but I know the bowl was clean.

Who knows what's in that water outside? I probably have all kinds of beasties under my toenails. Yech.

Thursday 18 February - Not exactly making friends

Leaving the airport was an event in itself. I am staying in a different part of the city in an apartment that is new to me. The owner, Gloria, is American-born and married to an Italian, so making arrangements was very easy. They live in Rome but actually live here four months a year. It has promise, since someone actually dwells here, there will likely be more kitchen amenities than in a place where there are only temporary transients. The apartment is in Castello, near the Giardini (the gardens on the southern end of the city) and it promises to have none of the hustle and bustle of the more crowded parts of town.

I stopped at a counter to purchase a ticket on Alilaguna, the speedier water boat service. I asked the agent after she sold me the ticket, which was the quickest way to get to the boat. I was hoping against hope that the powers that be finally put in a shuttle down to the dock, rather than schlepping my bags 2/3 of a mile. The old terminal of the Marco Polo airport had the water taxi stops right outside, but the new terminal which opened about 6 years ago, has no such luck. There is always the promise of the start of a shuttle, but it hasn't come to pass yet. I'm sure there are a myriad of laws and unions and concessions to consider. Italy has vast amounts of red tape.

The agent said to go through the doors behind her, but I was "welcome to try the side of the building. There are no doors there, but you are welcome to try, madam." Oh, ha! You're making a funny at the expense of the tourist, how quaint. I told her "they took away my dynamite at Customs, but I'll remember that for on the way home." Smile faded. Not so cute now, are you miss lady?

I made it down the walkway with bags in tow, in about 10 minutes. The sky looked like it would burst open at any time. The boat was about to depart so I'm glad I made it; that would have been a 50 minute wait until the next departure.

The boat had around 25 passengers. I was taking it only to the Lido, and transferring onto a vaporetto, the regular waterbus. I had a phone number to call to meet a neighbor to get the keys, but nobody was answering the home phone or the cell. I made the switch of transport vehicles and tried the numbers again. I hadn't written down Gloria's number from the email, since she assured me Maria would be available to meet me. I got off the vaporetto at Giardini and tried again. No response. I knew the street and number of the apartment, maybe she was there waiting for me.

Excellent news, there are no bridges between the bus stop and the apartment. No need to hoist my bags, they were free to roll on their wheels. Small victories! The apartment is less than five minutes from the stop and easy to find.

Bad news, nobody at the apartment when I rang the bell. After 10 minutes or so, a lady came downstairs. I asked her if she was Maria. Scowl. "No. Are you the new tenant?" I told her I was, and she told me she lives upstairs from the apartment I am renting. And she launched into a ten minute litany of do's and don'ts. At least it was in English. I held my hand up after she had gone on for a while and asked her if she was here to give me the key. "No, but I expect you to be good while you are here. Gloria may rent to anyone on the street but this is my home." Oh, do you own the building? "No. And I don't have a key for you."

Damn. There's some history here obviously. She proceeded to instruct me on how to properly close the entry door to the building. Over and over again. "Pay attention to me!" after I made the mistake of looking away down the street to see if anyone could possibly be coming to save me from her. Hey, I'm not five. I get it.

She snapped her fingers at me. Yes! She did!

I could feel myself getting angry and I help up my hand again to let teacher know I was going to speak. In italian I said, "In nove anni di venire a Venezia non ho mai conosciuto una persona così incredibilmente odioso ed esigente fin dall'inizio. Tu non sai nemmeno di me e mi parli come questo! Si può lasciare in pace ora. Grazie."

Translation - In 9 years of coming to Venice I have never met anyone so incredibly obnoxious and demanding from the beginning. You do not even know me and yet to speak to me in such a way as this! You may leave me now. Thank you.

She was mighty surprised, turned on her heel and walked back inside. I would rather wait outside for six hours than hear that shrew in my face another 30 seconds. I heard a scuttling sound and saw a figure down the street coming toward me. I hoped this was Maria. And it was. She has mistaken the instructions from Gloria and thought to meet me at 12:30, off by an hour.

We got inside and I told her about my encounter. She says the woman tries to intimidate everyone who rents. Gloria owns the building and this woman does this? Whoa. But she'll never be able to get evicted. Weird laws make it so that people who lived in the building prior to ownership change have lots of rights, actually more power in the eyes of courts than the owners. Lots of squatters' rights in this country as well. If you're there more than 20 years you are pretty much the owner even though you're paying rent. Weird.

The apartment is lovely. There's no tv, but I will get over it. I can watch tv with Mamma and family. There is broadband internet, via an ethernet cable, which I promptly found doesn't work. It's squished flat from being pinched between the desk and the wall. I'm sure it's just those tiny wires inside that aren't happy. I can go get a replacement. In the meantime, I am poaching off an unsecured wireless signal. It's not the best, but I can manage.

Once I settled in and put my clothes away I tried calling Marco again. Being at the hospital it didn't surprise me that I kept getting the "sorry, try your call again" message because I was certain the phone was switched off. He answered and said he would call me in five minutes. He needed to get outside to talk.

The news was of the worst kind. Francesca is gone. She had been on life support and unresponsive. The tests that had been run showed no signs of any improvement would be expected. They waited three days and let her go. Marco said Chiara would be coming home with him & Mamma tomorrow.

It is incredibly sad, what this woman has gone through. She lost her husband to stomach cancer at 29 (Chiara was 8 at the time) and at 39 she is not here any longer. Now Chiara is not quite 18 and an orphan. Not really, since she has her uncle & grandmother, but will have to grow up very quickly now. Life turns on a dime.

He told me a little more about the accident. They were in the mountains, coming down on the icy highway when a car on the other side sideswiped them. She lost control of the car and they crossed over the line and crashed into the mountain, rolling the car too. Chiara was pinned in the passenger seat. Francesca was knocked out. People called for emergency vehicles, but being as far out of any town as they were, help didn't come for almost an hour. People got them both out of the car, and this is where the doctors said the most damage happened. It's possible that if she hadn't been moved by the samaritans she might have been better. Who knows? It also took an hour for emergency vehicles to get to them. That probably had a lot to do with it too.

He said he was not looking forward to going to the funeral directors tomorrow when they got back. Who would? He said she never woke up. She never got to say goodbye. I told him that he should know how close they were. She told him she loved him every time she spoke to him. She didn't need to say goodbye. In her way, she made sure Chiara was out of danger and she left us.

He rang off and I cried for a good while. These poor people. They are good, honest, faithful and hardworking people. I love them so and I don't know how to "fix" it.

The evening was pretty low-key. I went for dinner and stopped in at "the Consulate" (tm Mark Strange) to let them know I was there. Aldo and Serena greeted me with hugs and kisses. They didn't know I was coming. I scolded them for not watching my every move on Facebook and we laughed. Aldo said, "I have not see Marco in a few days. I am told there is something wrong in his family. Is it his mother?" I told Aldo the news, because I know they are on good terms and Marco wouldn't mind. They are shocked and didn't expect bad news to be about his sister instead of Mamma.

Tiziano is playing piano there this month. He dedicated "You've Got A Friend" to me and I couldn't keep my composure. I left after a bit and made the walk to the vaporetto to take me home. I wanted a good night's sleep for the tough day ahead of us all tomorrow.

Wednesday 17 February - In Transit

(But first, a bit of prologue)

I don't think I have ever felt such a need to be somewhere yet dreaded it at the same time.

I woke up on Monday to a phone message from Marco telling me that Francesca & Chiara were in the hospital in Udine. They had a car accident coming back from Munich on the A10 highway. He didn't leave specifics but I wouldn't expect him to; I wouldn't expect a phone call with this kind of news at all. I was able to get him on the phone a few hours later and got a bit more info - Chiara has broken her ankle, leg and arm. Francesca has a head injury and isn't awake. I couldn't get an absolute translation from him; he was speaking only in Italian and I could tell he was very stressed so I just listened without asking questions. He said Mamma was with him and that they drove to Udine so they wouldn't have to wait on train timetables and that he wanted to take Mamma home to Venice but she insisted on being at the hospital. Understandable, it is her daughter and granddaughter after all.

Mamma got on the phone and said "Si prega Kricka, ti aspettiamo." Please, Kricka (her name for me) please come."

Vacation plans, you're toast. It's about family now.
***

Cut to Wednesday morning. I didn't sleep a wink. I second-guess myself at packing at the last minute before any trip and this time was not an exception. A million things on my mind, did I do this, did I do that? Whatever. It is what it is and I can't change it now. Mark took me to BART at 5:30 and as I walked on the platform I reached in my purse to check for my passport for the umpteenth time and suddenly had the panicked notion that I forgot my cellphone on the coffee table. I have a mobile for when in Europe but I would be lost without the phone numbers stored. I can't usually remember even my mother's mobile number. Crap. I'll just have to deal with it later.

Fell asleep on BART. It was a lovely short nap. It takes an hour from MacArthur to SFO. It was what I needed to recharge me until I got on the plane. I'm not taking the gigantic suitcase this time, yay me. It's small enough that some people would definitely try to pass it off as carry-on luggage but I'm not putting that thing over my head. At check-in I weighed in at 43 pounds anyway. And I found my phone - whew! I remembered that I didn't change my outgoing message at work so I called in to do that. I made the mistake of listening back to the message and determined it sounds like I was in a bass-o-matic. Rather garbled, but oh well.

Special kudos to Delta agent Lynn. I asked just before boarding if it was at all possible to change my seat to a window. Traveling with the walking cast, I was concerned that being on an aisle seat I would get bumped by the food carts, or worse, be passed out and asked to wake up 17 times by someone in my row so they could go to the bathroom. Lynn seated me in the extra row reserved for airline attendants, in the window seat. She said it has more legroom than the emergency aisles too. SUH-WEET! Got on the plane and it was so true. My 6'6" brother could stretch out in this row, and there were leg rests that popped up too. I am never leaving this plane. It's the best plane ever!

I was the only one in the row too. I slept from the second we took off until the wheels hit the ground.

Delta was incorrect about where the connection flight was going to be. They had told me it would be in the same section of the airport, but things changed mid-flight and I ended up having to walk about a half-mile to the gate. It happens. Made the connection flight and was seated in the headrow of the coach section. Not quite as comfortable in the legroom department, but I had no seatmate so I stretched out okay.

As I walked off the plane my thoughts turned to what I am walking in to. Please let it be a mistake in translation. Not awake could just mean sedated. They sedate people often when there is head trauma, don't they? Off to immigration to get the passport stamped and onto the next leg of the journey.

11-12 Ottobre - Domenica e Lunedi : 10/11/ - 10/12 Sunday & Monday : Winding It Down & WInding It Up

I woke up at 6am to shower and towel dry my hair (I never went and bought another hairdryer, oh well) and readied myself to head toward Piazza San Marco to meet up with Marco for the 7:30 mass service before he went to work. I hurried down (as much as possible for me with the walking cast, that is) to the vap stop and made it as the boat glided up.

Marco was waiting for me on the left side of the Basilica, in the Piazzetta dei Leoncini in front of one of the purple-red porphyry stone lion statues worn down by generations of children hugging and playing on them. These are friendly-looking lions with long sad faces. There are many winged lions around Venice; it’s a symbol for the city as it’s also the symbol for the patron saint, Mark. They are overhead as bas relief on the buildings, in mosaica, in paintings, carved into the bases of statuary, wherever they can fit one. Some of the lions are scary – in Campo Manin there is a statue of Daniele Manin, a local hero who fought against Austrian occupation and at his feet is a larger than life lion, winged unfurled. In the paintings and mosaics (and the t-shirts) you will often see the front paw on a book. If the book is closed, it indicates the time of the work as during wartime, if it’s open it will read “Pax” for peace. Kind of like the eagle in the great seal of the US on the carpet in the Oval office, the direction of the head indicates if we are at war or not. I’ve read that, but haven’t looked any pictures recently – is the head facing a different direction than 10 years ago?







We got inside just as the service started. I almost tripped and fell while walking up to a seat, and gasped as I caught myself, causing a couple of parishoners to turn and look at me. Hi there, I’m a klutz, how are you today? The floors are seriously warped in the Basilica, not just from feet treading on them for more than a thousand years, but because of the fact that they’ve never been 100% even in the first pace. When you lay the foundation by hammering thousands of treetrunks 12 feet deep into the marsh, then paving over it for a few layers, there are bound to be inconsistencies in your levels. The terrazzo floor inlays, similar to those on Torcello but much more intricate, swirl about like kaleidoscopes.Rick Steves has talked about rolling a marble on these floors to watch it catch and veer off. I liken it to one of those tabletop labyrinth games with the knobs on two sides to keep the ball from plopping in. I can imagine there have been many people falling on their face in San Marco, though; it’s hard to pay attention to the heaving floors when you have the mosaics all around you. I’ve talked before about the mysticality I feel when in the church, so this time I will concentrate more on the physicality.

The interior of the church is based on a Greek cross, each arm is divided in three naves and emphasized by a dome of its own, which is why there are 5 if viewing it from the belltower outside in the Piazza. This is based on Justinian's Basilica of the Apostles in Constantinople, which is no longer standing. The floorplan is also similar to the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. The majority of the interior is completely covered with bright mosaics containing gold, bronze, and the greatest variety of stones. It is absolutely dazzling, even in dim lighting. Both Byzantine and Gothic influences can be recognized, for example in the Saints between the windows of the apse. In the vault above is a mosaic of Christ as the Pantocrator, or all-powerful creator. Even though it is one of the most widely used religious images of Orthodox Christianity, the earliest remaining examples are all in Italy.

The domes from east to west depict the history of Salvation: the Prophets, the Ascension and the Pentecost, while the dome over the transept are depicts stories of St John the Evangelist and St Leonard is in the center of the other dome surrounded by the other saints. In the vaults between the domes are episodes in the life of Christ.

Over the high altar is a baldacchino on columns decorated with 11th-century reliefs. The altarpiece is the famous Pala d'Oro (Golden Pall), a panel of gold embedded with gems. It was commissioned from Byzantine goldsmiths in 976 and further embellished over the centuries. Napoleon stole some of the precious stones in 1797, but there are still plenty left, gleaming behind protective glass.

The mosaics on the walls are from the12th & 13th centuries, showing events of the New and Old Testaments, in particular the books of Genesis and Exodus. Interwoven are the story of the Virgin, the martyrdoms of St. Peter and St. Clement, and events in the lives of St. John the Evangelist, St. John the Baptist and St. Isadore - the important saints celebrated by the Venetians. And of course, the cycles with the legend of St. Mark.

Mass over, we stepped outside to a beautiful morning with a clear blue sky and made our way across the Piazza San Marco to a cafe near his work for a caffe and cornetto. He went on his way to work and I made my way down to the vaporetto to go across the Guidecca Canal and say goodbye to Mamma. I would be leaving on the train to Milan at 6pm so this was my last opportunity to spent a few minutes with her. I stopped at a stand and purchased some flowers to bring her on this last visit to the house.

She was surprised by the flowers and put them in water, all the while chattering away about the mass she watched on the television, the broadcast from the Vatican. She doesn’t even need to leave the house to get her homilies – do we have regular broadcasts in the US? I don’t even know. I stayed for an hour or so, and then bid her goodbye, all the while receiving hugs and kisses from this tiny wonder of a woman. I am so thankful I have been able to forge a relationship with her over the years and to become a part of her family.

Making my way back to the apartment, I stopped on the Strada Nova and picked out a few tee-shirts for Mark. His souvenir Venice shirts from years past are getting rather threadbare so it was time to replenish his stock. I also stopped at the Co-op market and picked up a few bottles to pack in my suitcase. For the first time I am not bringing wine home. I decided to bring the focus on aperitive and after-dinner drinks for this trip. I had tried a number of Aperol spritzes at different meals, and my nightcaps with Giorgio & Co included the liqueurs of Cynar, Amaro, Zucchero and Fernet Branca. I opted to bring back a bottle of each. The brand of Amaro and the Zucchero aren’t even available in the US, and the the others I’ve seen in BevMo for 5 times the price I paid at this grocery store. I lugged them home to finish packing.

I cleaned the kitchen and bathroom thoroughly, completed my packing and took a short nap. I left the key on the counter for Maria and Leo. I really enjoy this little apartment but it does have a few drawbacks. There is little phone reception on the ground floor, so I would have to sit in the doorway to talk on the phone. Also, the acoustics were too good in the place – I would often wake up as people walked by outside at night, thinking in my haze that someone was in the room. While I genuinely enjoy the neighborhood and am now recognized on each reach return by the locals in this sector, I think I will opt for another apartment next time. I want to cut down the trip over to the Guidecca to spend time with Mamma. It’s almost an hour to get from door to door, and I don’t want to end up falling asleep over there again if I’m dead tired. I think I will scope out a place that is either on Guidecca or in Castello, just south of the Piazza San Marco, so I can cross back and forth more quickly. Since I plan on coming back for Carnevale I also won’t have to wend my way through crowds of revellers drinking deep into the night in order to get home.

I haven’t even left yet and I’m already planning my next visit.

Three minutes away from the house (and cheering that I had no bridges to haul the luggage over), I was on the Fondamente Nuova to catch the vaporetto to the ferrovia, the train station. Rather than haul my very heavy suitcase up the steps into the station, I went around the right side of the building to the handicapped access / delivery door. I bought my ticket from the automated machine and out to the tracks to binario 8 – track 8 to Milano on the FreschiaRossa, a high-speed train. In under 2 hours 25 minutes and only 3 brief stops I would be in Milan. Marco called me to say goodbye and I told him I would call when I landed in the US. He hates plane travel and always marvels at my ease of hurtling through the air 30,000 feet “above the firmament.” His problem with flying is that so much of it is above the ocean, which he is certain trying to suck him in. For a guy that lives on the water he has an irrational fear of falling into it.

The need to go to Milan was not the preferred way to end my vacation, but I couldn’t change my airline ticket. I had bought them in an online airline auction and the airfare was only $400 – an absolute steal – but the drawback is that I had to fly from San Francisco to Milan and back. My trip back included leaving from the other airport in the Milan area. I flew into Malpensa, but was leaving through Linate, which I have never been to. It’s actually closer to the city, on the southeast side, and is the hub used by inter-continent flights. Since I was going to change planes in Amsterdam, this was my route. Don’t have any idea why it wasn’t on the way in, but oh well.

Giorgio had recommended a hotel to me, as the owner is a good friend. The cab dropped me off in front of a building that didn’t look like a hotel, an office or even a townhouse. It looked like a closed up warehouse. The buzzer panel didn’t indicate “Room 4You” or the owner’s name, so I called him on mt phone. Giorgio had written the address number incorrectly. I was standing at #4 and I needed to be at #14, a block down the street. I hauled the baggage down the block, met the owner and checked myself in.

It is a great little efficient hotel. No frills – seems to thrive on the businessman trade but when I need to stay in Milan again (which I try to avoid as it’s not a pretty city or a destination favorite for me) I will definitely call on Carlo. He told me that Giorgio was also going to be staying there that night, as he had a day full of meetings starting early Monday morning, but that he wasn’t arriving until 11pm. Carlo recommended the Japanese restaurant next door for a meal. I was starving.
Side note- people in Milan are crazy drivers. Especially in their street parking. Not only do they park exceptionally close on the street, they drive onto the sidewalk and park the cars off-street two deep. It’s kind of insane. How anyone has side mirrors intact I will never know.





Although the menu was in italian I managed to find the standards from the descriptions – gyoza dumplings, miso soup, tempura veggies, California and Maguro tuna rolls. Once completely stuffed I waddled back to my room and checked my email. Giorgio messaged me on the phone that he was arriving late and he wouldn’t wake me by calling, but he would love to have coffee in the lobby together before I left. I told him to meet me at 7am. There was satellite tv where I watched David Letterman (a show two weeks behind the US airing) and CSI and drifted off to sleep at last.







In the morning I did meet with Giorgio for pastries, coffee and a quick hug goodbye. The cabride was only 9 minutes to the airport – wow! An hour later I was saying goodbye to mia bella Italia as I lifted off the ground.

The remainder of the trip was eventful only in that on my flight from Amsterdam to the US I honestly didn’t know if the marshals were going to meet me at the plane. Some IDIOT French woman thought it was perfectly ok to start doing her nails right after takeoff. Nail polish remover on a plane? An enclosed area with recycled air? Anywhere in proximity to other people? Are you freaking kidding me??? I was the only person who apparently had a nose and any gumption to ask this woman NOT to continue. The flight attendant kind of had a problem with me confronting the woman.

Unbelievable. I’m the bad guy?!?

I made amends with the attendant staff and promised to be quiet, when an hour later the braindead woman takes out the nail polish! So nailpolish remover=bad but not nailpolish, apparently. Holy crap – I hit the roof again. This time I was vocal with the other passengers – Are you Kidding Me? None of you have any desire to speak up – it’s just me that can smell this and it bothers??? – I had to make nice nice with the attendants again, but the woman was told (finally) NOT to open anything else up that would irritate fellow passengers.

Walking off the plane I really didn’t know if there were going to be people waiting to talk to me in a secluded area. The cluster of flight crew at the door did smile at me and thanked me for standing up for myself, although I finished their sentence by apologizing for being a disturbance myself. There were no air marshals, and I was free to make my way out of the airport without it being in the back of a police car.

Welcome home. I’m ready to go again.