Vive la France!

May 2, 2006
Tuesday

Today I woke up in my own sweet time, took some Advil, went back to bed, then got up again an hour later. Advil is magical stuff I tell ya. Breakfast of champions. Vitamin I.

Went into the studio and worked until mid afternoon when my ibuprofen and I went home. Nothing much else to report – Venice is still oh so Venetian with the crowds and the canals and the occasional whiffy odors of canals at low tide and urine.

May 3, 2006
Wednesday

Woke up early in a bit of a panic – our presentations are tomorrow and I haven’t finished my work yet. I set off for studio early making my way past my Venetian landmarks. Since our vaporetto pass has expired, we’ve to take the much cheaper vaporetto from Zattere rather than from San Marco. So, I zigzagged my way through the city, past all of the shop windows with the familiar displays, over the bridge, past the church, round the corner, then onto the boat to the Giudecca.

Once on the Giudecca, take a left past the fishmongers and the internet café (not open yet) over the bridge, down a bit, over the next bridge then across to the rowing club. Gino, my pussycat, came over to say hello but he didn’t bring me a mouse today. The man sorting softshell crabs in his boat was there and tossed a crab up for Gino to eat.

From then on, in studio work work working all day. Left midday to check email and grab a sandwich, again in early evening for a bite of dinner, then again late evening to go home. Phew – finished all of my work. Some people are staying up all night to finish what they need to do, so it was a relief to not have to do that.

The city is more or less dead at night – only one in five windows is lit, as the city is grossly underpopulated, despite being totally overrun by tourists. Property prices are skyrocketing as the rich and famous of the world all want apartments in Venice, and most of them only turn up for about two weeks every year.

Now, I’m a big fan of Venice, and I do think that most people should visit this place for two or three days. I could also envision living here (even though I don’t particularly want to) as the place does have lots of charm. However, I could not remotely imagine wanting to return for two weeks each year – no way, no how. A one room shack in the Dolomites – sure, give it to me! Venice? Nope.

On my way home I swung by the Rialto area where some drunk tourists were still staggering about – one of them even being noisily sick into the canal, eww. Got some gelato and decided to eat it on top of the Rialto bridge to watch the boats go by and enjoy the breeze. Looks like that is a popular idea – the bridge was crammed full! I did find a spot well away from the sick gentleman, enjoyed my gelato (fior di latte and nocciola – plain ice cream and hazelnut).

The gelato here is good and my favorite thing is that you can get a tiny cup for a euro. The cup is just a bit bigger than a Dixie cup, and you can have two flavors. My favorites are plain/hazelnut, chocolate/orange, chocolate/lemon, and plain/coconut. Yum!

May 4, 2006
Thursday

Woke up, did the necessary morning ablutions, drank several espressos, then set off for the Giudecca for our final presentations. I thought the started at 9, so I set off well before my wiser roommates who knew that they started at 9:30. Ah well.

Got to studio, sat through all the presentations, presented, ate lunch, sat through more presentations, and then staggered home stiff and sore from all the sitting.

I presented with Lynn and Angela and we went just before lunch – we got a good review, lots of discussion and many favorable comments, so that was nice. This also freed us up to make liberal use of the wine at lunch (wine and pizza – heck yeah) so that we were a bit pie-eyed for the first few presentations of the afternoon.

When we got home, we drank more wine and watched videos on Sandra’s laptop until we all went to bed with gritty and puffy eyeballs, and a sense of great relief at actually being done with a class.

May 5, 2006
Friday

Got up fairly early, feeling great. I love this sulfite free wine – when I’m at home two glasses is my limit. Any more than that and Roman reminds me that I’m going to have a headache and feel icky in the morning – must be the sulfites. I’m going to have to hunt down some sulfite free wine when I return, or I’m just going to have to homebrew my own.

Lynn and I went straight over to studio to upload some files and do a little final cleanup on our projects for submittal. When that was done I rushed all the way back across the city to start packing my bags so that I can ship all of the heavy unnecessaries home so that I don’t have to lug them across Europe again on a bad back.

So, an hour later I went staggering back across to the Rialto post office with two very very very heavy boxes – one balanced on each hip. The calle out from our apartment is so narrow that I had to walk down it at an angle because with a box on either side I was far too wide to fit down it easily – luckily people made way for me as they saw me coming so I didn’t get crushed up against a grimy and pigeon smeared wall.

With cracking arms, I staggered into the post office, put down the heaviest box, and proceeded to kick it up to the queue. There was a big sign over one of the windows “Tourists are asked to only go to the Tourist window”. Well, the other window opened up first so I waved the person in line behind me up to it, then went to the Tourist window a few minutes later.

Well, I found the one guy in Venice who doesn’t speak English. Great. I’d packed my phrasebook in the box to send home. Great.

I smiled, said hello, and with a combination of bad Italian, grunting, and hand waving, I told him that I had two boxes to send to the U.S. I hoisted them up to the counter with shivering arms and his face fell. He said “Paper” and made wrapping motions with his arms. At this point my face fell – he wants the boxes wrapped in paper. Um… I did an exaggerated look around, shrugged my shoulders with my hands up, and shook my head. This is sign language for “I’m so sorry sir, I do not have any paper to wrap around these boxes.”. I followed this with a questioning look to the nice man, and another smaller shrug “Kind sir, do you perhaps have some paper I could buy?”. He shook his head politely “No, signorina, I’m afraid I don’t.”

After a bit of mutual headscratching he dove behind the counter and pulled out a large yellow box, pointed at it, pointed at me, and looked hopeful. Nod, nod, yes please!

Hands close together, hands far apart – What size would you like?

Hands far apart – Maximum please!

One finger up, two fingers, three fingers – How many would you like?

Headscratch, shrug, one finger up – I’m not sure, but let’s start with one.

Slow walking fingers, fast walking fingers – Slow mail or fast mail?

Slow walking fingers – Slow please

He then presented me with a box, a pen, and a form to fill out, drew a circle in the air with his finger and pointed at himself – Pack this box, fill this form out, then come back to talk to me again.

My shivering arms, my new purchases, and I hauled ourselves a decent distance away from the window, and I proceeded to unpack my boxes and repack as much into the new box as possible. Damn. Won’t all fit. The line was now much longer, and I took my boxes back to the end of it – kicking them along in front of me. Again up to the window. Point at yellow box, hold up one finger and say “media” – One more box please, medium.

Again with the kicking all of my belongings across to a spare bit of ground, packing another box, kicking them all to the back of line, waiting through the line, then back up to the window.

Exchanged big smiles with the nice man behind the window, gave him his pen back, then hoisted up the big heavy box. By now I’ve got the arm shakes so badly that even holding a pen is difficult. Marvelous.

Hand over the form that I’ve filled out, smile again, he smiles back. After a bit of industrious processing he takes the large box and sends it on its way.

I lift up the small box, point at it, point at the sky, make fast walking fingers – This one should go fast mail – airmail please.

Nod nod – Got it.

I hand over the box, he starts industrious processing again.

He looks at box, looks at the address tag (that I didn’t fill in), looks around comically, then makes a tossing motion over his shoulder – Signorina, you did not fill in the address – where do you want this to go?

Smack myself comically in my head, shrug, then do whirligig motion with my finger around my ear – My apologies, Signore, I must have lost my mind. I’d be happy to fill in the address.

A few more handsigns later, followed by a quick and earnest “Mille grazies!” and I took myself off to find a sandwich as I had neglected breakfast and had the arm shakes.

My sandwich and I sat in a nice campo nearby watching the tourists and the pigeons wooing their womenfolk, then I went off to buy a summery skirt from a shop I’d been eyeing. This is the unfortunate thing about packing in February for a three month trip – you pack sweaters, but you don’t pack light summery gear.

After that, I headed back to the apartment to hang out for an hour before heading back over the Giudecca for our going away party. Well, it wasn’t a party, it was dinner, and it was excellent!

Amid the wine and the cocktails and the talking, this is the meal we ate, courtesy of the three fisherman that they’d hired for a day. Everything the fisherman caught was to be our dinner. Mmmmm!

First was fresh sardines that had been grilled, then tossed with chilled vinegar and onions. Yum! Most people were squicked out by the bones so they made tiny little filets. I had no such problems and ate them whole. Down in one!

Next was pasta with sauce. In Venice, this means pasta with an onion and sardine sauce, and again it was excellent.

Next was pasta with Seppie Nero, or cuttlefish ink. When I had this before I wasn’t too fond of it, as it was the cuttlefish, their eggs, and their ink all mixed together – it was a bit strong and rich. However, over spaghetti, it was excellent and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Next was fish fry. A little filet of whitefish, a bunch of cuttlefish (sans ink), and a handful of whole tiny shrimp. They had all been deep fried and except for the shrimp, they were covered in a very light and salty batter. It was outstanding – the best fried fish I’ve ever had. The only disconcerting thing was the tiny shrimp – they were whole, and meant to be eaten that way, but they would insist on looking at you with these tiny black eyes. I was extraordinarily lucky as Lynn doesn’t like food with tentacles, so I got her cuttlefish. Score! (note: cuttlefish are like squid with shorter tentacles and a bigger body with a large bone in it shaped a bit like a spatula)

Shahv, I don’t think you would have liked dinner very much.

It was at this point that we learned of the train strike the next day – what joy. We’re supposed to go to Florence

Afterwards, we staggered our drunken selves back across the city and to bed.

May 6, 2006
Saturday

Don’t make plans in Italy.
Really, I mean it. The two days that we have tried to take train trips, there has been a strike. I don’t know if it is a fascist conspiracy or if it is just good old fashioned bad luck.

We woke early today with the intention of packing and creating all of our contingency plans for places to stay if we end up being delayed by the train strike.

In the end, none of us had to change our plans at all, which was nice – turns out only about 15% of the trains weren’t running. Ah, Italy.

So we packed, schemed, had lunch, then rescued some friends who were being kicked out of their apartment early due to the craziness of the landlord. Since we were vacating our apartment early, they took it over (along with the wine stash that we were leaving behind).

Sandra left first, escorted by the Birthday Girl, Miss Hannah, and Lynn and I left shortly afterwards. Sandra was on her way to visit her very good friend Vanessa up in Switzerland, and Lynn and I took off for Florence.

We arrived in Florence, got ourselves to the Hotel Piccolo (literally, the small hotel), and then walked down to the River Arno to scope out the Academia and the Uffizi for the next day.

We found a gorgeous little restaurant, and had an excellent and ginormous meal. First we had a raw artichoke and parmesan salad, followed by ravioli with butter and sage (me) and ribollita (tastes like stuffing, for Lynn), followed by a Florentine Steak (very good, and very large so we shared the smallest one they had) with delicately deep fried artichokes and squash blossoms. Yum yum yum.

May 7
Sunday

Art day. Well, I can’t actually say that I like Florence very much. I like the food, and the art is good, and the surrounding countryside is indescribably lovely. However, the city itself is grey, full of belching vehicles and tourists, and seems to almost universally lack charm. After the clean air of Venice, it was a bit of a shock.

Clean air of Venice??? I hear you muttering with shock. Yes, I mean it. Venice has the cleanest air of any city in Europe. Granted, the pollution plume from the port of Marghera to the south is a bit dire, but in Venice itself the air quality is quite good. Here’s why – no cars, no fuel oil. Yes, it’s full of boats – but there still aren’t many of them when you compare them to vehicle traffic in other cities. Fuel oil was outlawed in the city many years ago, so all they can burn is natural gas. Yes, the canals get a bit whiffy on warm days at low tide, and men and dogs can’t resist piddling all over the place, but in general the air is clean and bright and fresh.

Also, a lot of the foreign tourists were still enchanted by the Europeness of it all – and as we have just about had enough of European cities, this didn’t impress us in the slightest. Ah well, it turns out that when you are tired of Venice, Florence doesn’t impress you much. *sigh*

First stop, the Academia for an ogle at Michelangelo’s David. We had booked our visit ahead of time, so all we had to do was present ourselves at the front door at the appointed time and we were let right in (ahead of the crushing crowds). We didn’t realize that the Academia really only has a small collection, so despite ogling David for a good long while, we whizzed through fairly quickly.

Afterwards we went for a bit of a wander and grabbed some lunch. I was tired as I hadn’t slept particularly well so I was a bit quiet and grumpy. We sat on a variety of park benches and drank a variety of cups of coffee from different vendors, then presented ourselves at the Uffizi at the appointed time for our visit. We felt very lucky that we had booked our time previously, as the lines for regular admission were horrendous, and the next appointment available was on Wednesday (might I remind you that this was Sunday). Yikes. While we were in line to get let in, a tourist came by and demanded to know where we got our tickets and was horrified to look at the other line and know that that was his only option before Wednesday. Poor guy.

The Uffizi was worth it. Amazing… not only did we see the Great Masters’ Greatest Hits (Botticelli’s Birth of Venus and Primavera, Titian’s Venus of Urbino, a whole whack of Da Vinci’s), but we got to see lots of other great stuff – a few El Grecos, a Rubens stuffed in a corner, early work of other famous dead artists. It took three hours to go through the collection and it was great – go see it!

Afterwards, we were very footsore so we headed back to the hotel, and had a lovely meal next door next to an American tourist who, to the great embarrassment of her friend, did not react well to the Europeness of it all – when presented with her dinner she pronounced it uneatable and demanded that the gnocchi with gorgonzola cream be represented to her as “gnocchi with red sauce”, she complained that whenever she ordered coffee that she got espresso, and was unhappy that the Mc Donald’s didn’t have egg mcmuffins or free refills, and was interested to know what channel we watched on the telly. Might I remind you that she was only 7 days into her trip to Europe and only had three days left. Funny thing is that she was on the same Go Ahead Vacations tour that my husband took a few years ago when traveling through Italy with his family – these guys do great tours, they basically provide you with transport and accommodations, and you only have to do the tourist shuffle with them if you want to – otherwise you are left to your own devices and can explore your destinations however you’d like to.

Ps. For dinner I had steak in truffle cream Nyaah-nyah nyaah-nyah-nyah!

May 8
Monday

Lynn and I woke, breakfasted, packed, and stashed our luggage before setting off for the other side of the Arno to visit the Boboli Gardens at the Palazzo Pitti. On the way we had lunch (ravioli with truffle cream sauce – I now know that I will always order truffles on the menu, provided that they’re not served with liver) and watched the wiry locals rowing up and down the Arno in sweaty formations.

The gardens were lovely and afforded some excellent views of the Tuscan hills. We wandered and wandered and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Before presenting ourselves back at the hotel to get our luggage and go to the train station ridiculously early.

Lynn and I hate to be late for things, and we’ve had ridiculously overprogrammed schedules as of late. Therefore, we didn’t plan enough things to do for today and planned a bit too cautiously, and found ourselves reading books on the trainstation platform for nearly an hour and a half before our train arrived and we could settle ourselves down and get some sleep.

May 9
Tuesday

The train ride was just the same as train rides at night usually are – one charming roommate who ate a bag of cookies, another drunk one with a snoring problem.

Now that’s not fair. He was not the one with the snoring problem. He was just snoring. We were the ones with the problem. Not knowing him in the slightest, I didn’t feel comfortable with jabbing him in his side with a sharpened finger and instructing him to turn over, the way I do with Mr. Snory Guy (aka Mr. Husband).

So, we arrived in Dijon quite grimy and a bit frantic because the train was half an hour late, leaving us with three minutes to catch our next train.

So, with cracking muscles and bleary eyes (I didn’t have my contact lenses in yet) we hauled our collective selves over to the next platform – hurled ourselves inelegantly onto the train, then frantically checking with the conductor that the train was indeed going to Lyon.

We got ourselves jammed into seats, then had to get up and move when the people who had reserved the carriage showed up. Luckily they had a couple of spare seats so we jammed ourselves back down, small bags on on our knees, large bags in the aisle.

It was therefore with a great deal of relief that we climbed off in Lyon and went to go wash faces and find our next train over to Carcassonne.

We got on, elegantly this time, and sat down in comfortable seats to snooze our way down south.

We arrived in Carcassonne to brilliant sunshine and cool breezes and faced our next challenge – what to do with our bags? We packed enough stuff for three months, and despite having shipped a great whack of stuff home, they’re still large and unwieldy – if not heavy.

We promised with hands on hearts not to tell you all where we managed to stash our bags, and all people we approached with the problem agreed that it was, indeed, a great problem and a common one too.

Then, we checked in at the Tourist Information Office to pick up a map, then wandered off into town to get a sandwich and a pastry in honour of Sandra.

After a bit we came back, collected our bags, then sat in the sunshine to wait for Sandra’s train to arrive and my Auntie Gilli to fetch us all to take us home.

Sandra and A. Gilli arrived within five minutes of each other, and we were soon on our merry way – enjoying the excellent French country side and chattering away.

Back at the house we got ourselves settled into bedrooms, greeted the menagerie, and settled down to an excellent meal of Duck followed by Paris Brest for dessert (choux pastry, cream, and strawberries – I thought Sandra was going to die of pleasure) and cherry brandies all round.

May 10
Wednesday

Today we decided to have a lazy day around the house, we punctuated walks in the countryside, sunning ourselves outside, and minor duties like laundry with an amusing array of cups of coffee, tea, and glasses of wine. It was incredibly civilized, let me tell you.

Sandra spent the day flitting off into the hills for walks and such, and I showed Lynn around as she hadn’t been here before.

After this heavenly day, with pink cheeks, we adjourned inside to dinner for an excellent repast of stale bread, moldy cheese, and tepid muddy water.

Oh, I’m lying. Trying not to make James jealous.

Ok, ok, for dinner we had Caribbean Beef followed by the stickiest and gooiest chocolate cake you’ve ever seen.

Again, I thought Sandra was going to die of pleasure.

More cherry brandies, and we all retired snoringly to our beds.

May 11
Thursday

This day, amid the fuss and flap of packing, we went to Lake Montbel to sit in the sunshine, let the dogs have a swim, and basically rove around enjoying ourselves. We sketched, watercolored, and marveled at the scenery. The lake is the purest turquoise, and the backdrop of snow capped mountains, charming farms, and thick forests added to the aura of tranquility. We also found hundreds of large floppy frogs and little darting lizards.

We were having such fun that we forgot to go back into town in time to have sandwiches or pastries, because the boulangerie was shut. We made do with beer at the café, and then made our way home.

While Sandra and Lynn were having their final baths and doing their final packing, I wandered around and did a few odd jobs. At one point Tom, the neighbor, brought over a handful of his homebrewed beer and I thoroughly enjoyed one in the sunshine. Tom’s beer is quite the concoction – it has a good half inch of yeast in the bottom and he instructs us “pour it softly – is yeast – not poison – very good if you are constipated”. He then asked how long we were staying, and upon learning that we had a Canadian and an American who were leaving that very day he told us “a Canadian once sent me maple sugar” (kisses his fingers with relish) “two kilograms – I added it to the beer” and then he kissed his fingers again, rolling his eyes with pleasure. He then eyed me up and down and asked “are you free?” and cocked his eyebrow in the direction of his house (it’s just next to Auntie Gilli’s and Uncle Mike’s) “you can stay and do the washing up”. Mike explained that I’m married and that my husband is coming in ten days. I then explained that my husband is very nice, and will enjoy Tom’s beer a great deal. Tom brightened up and said “if he is not very nice – I have herbs – I make something – pht. He is dead”. He then tossed me a lascivious wink, and wandered off cackling.

I must explain something about Tom – he’s a delight. He’s Dutch, I think, and has lived here for ages and ages. He’s had an assortment of wives, has two very handsome sons, and has been known to go outside, wave his arm in a wide arc and pronounce “I have found heaven – why would I move?” The entire top story of his house is open to the elements, he gets his water from a spring up the hillside, and doesn’t have a proper loo – just something called an earth closet. His front yard is a riot of flowers, and he’s got an extremely aggressive little Jack Russel called Bouffe (local slang for stick-to-your-ribs food). He eyed my Aunt a little while ago as she was carting hay down to the horses and told her “don’t worry – if Mike goes, I’ll take you on” again with a lascivious wink and a cackle.

He also once came out and announced “I have been to the supermarket – I saw them all – wheeling their carts full of cancer out – all their food is from packets – their children only know screens – they do not know how to run – they have not seen the sun” I do rather think that he has a point.

Tom is very good friends with one of the local farmers, Roget, who could be a character in a Peter Mayle book. He chews his words before he spits them out, and like all the locals he adds consonants to the ends of them – perhaps just to confuse those of us who learned our French from Parisians. We have merely exchanged bonjours, and I think that is as far as we will get.

So again, we ate an excellent meal (Chinese spare ribs, followed by Ginger Cake – I though Sandra was going to die with pleasure), then set off to take the girls to Carcassonne for their night train up to Paris.

May 12
Friday

Today I did nothing.

Oh, that’s not true and I know it, but it certainly felt like nothing. After a bowl of muesli I did some revisions and took one of my final exams online. The other one I was supposed to take didn’t turn up, so I emailed my professor who later assured me that he’d fix it so that I could take it later in the summertime.

After that, and a bit of lunch, I wandered around and read a bit, knitted a bit, played with my pen and ink set, hung out with the dogs, hung out with Gilli and Mike, and basically was a lazy lazy lump.

It was gorgeous.

That evening we had another excellent meal – pork chops with apricots, roasted peppers and tomatoes with anchovies and garlic. No pudding tonight as Sandra had gone home, so we just had Mojitos instead, and Gilli and I went through old family albums and tried to figure out who looks like who.

May 13 onwards

The rest of the trip passed in a haze of warm sunny days, trips into the countryside, trips to markets, and the pleasing tasks of smallholders – weeding, fencing, livestock maintenance, eating, drinking, and above all sleeping (I did get called Rip Van Richardson at one point.)

Sadly the trip has been cut a bit short due to urgent summons from home, so Roman and I will get our French holiday when we come back in August for the wedding of a dear friend.

Love to all of you, and thanks for indulging me in this!

Xxoo

Joanne

Quickie

Hey all...

Just a quick note - am on my way to Florence for a couple of days, and then on to my Aunt's house in the South of France.

All is well - Disease has passed, shoulder/neck still a bit of a bother but not too bad, and my final review for Studio went very well, though I will spare you the morbid and boring details.

Miss y'all!

Ciao!
-J4

The one where she's in a right filthy mood for days on end.

April 23, 2006

Sunday

I’m sorry. Did I just shoulder-check you? I’ll bet I looked grumpy too. Many apologies.
You see I don’t feel well today. I woke up with a terrible sore throat, and a lot more phlegm than is normal. There’s also the minor issue of the great blood sucking fiends that buzz around our apartment at night, but that is hardly your problem,is it?

You were in my way and I was trying to cross town to have breakfast with a friend. I know that you’re not on a schedule, but your consistent blocking is slowing me down by minutes, and I’ve just about had enough.

You’ve also got to understand that I’ve been here for over four weeks now, and the tourist thing is starting to get to me just a bit. I realize that you are running on low sleep, high excitement, and sensory overstimulation. I was just like you when I got here. Well, I was probably a bit grimier than you, but I attract grime as I travel and you appear to attract bottles of water.
Venice thrives on overstimulation – they know that you will probably only be here for two or three days, and that there is a wad of cash in your pocket that you’re dying to spend here. You want something shiny and pretty and above all Venetian.. maybe glass, maybe lace, maybe a carnival mask, maybe a scarf, or perhaps the comedy aprons with life size prints of David’s nether regions on them. Venice has memorabilia for everyone. Me? Oh I want a rowboat… but that requires negotiations with the husband, and he doesn’t fly in for another month yet.

I know that you are rattling through the city like tourist pachinko between the Ferrovia and San Marco… from this store window to that store window, then back again, then a stop on the top of the bridge (why, oh why do you ALL have to stop on the top of even the most mediocre bridges?), then a quick rattle down the steps, stopping halfway to root around for your map, then off to bounce down the next calle.

I know, at this point if you rattle into me I don’t budge. I’ll shoulder check ya. If you seem to be trying to grind me into a wall, heck, I’ll hip check ya. Have you seen that gentle gleam on the wall? That’s pigeon poo and I am *not* touching it.

Would rules help? Ok, here goes.

1. Pretend you are driving. Signal your lane changes, check your blind spot, look in the direction you are moving, drive on the right and pass on the left, and for heavens sakes… beep when backing up. Don’t stop without pulling over.

2. Don’t buy anything from street vendors. In particular, don’t buy those little balloons with sand in them that you can mold into funny faces. They turn into little grenades in your luggage and it *will* ruin your laptop.

3. If it is wet, it is sewage.

4. Yes, that is pee that you smell. See rule 3.

5. It’s not a “special deal just for you, signorina” – it’s a special deal for anyone willing to pay cash – you can usually save 20% on tourist schlock if you pay cash. Signores also.

6. If you see someone with a yellow Billa bag, they’ve just been to the grocery store. Chances are that they are a local and will hipcheck ya if you get in their way.

7. San Marco is not hard to find. Really. If you can’t find a sign to San Marco, find a sign to anywhere else – the chain goes like this: Piazzale Roma – Ferrovia – Rialto – Accademmia – San Marco. Easy Peasy.

8. Don’t take the water taxi. For tourists, the vaporetto is 5 euros, the taxi is 50. Chances are, it’s faster to walk anyway. (except to the Giudecca, that would require a swim and you should take a look at rule 3 again)

9. Abandon your fantasies of walking arm in arm down a narrow calle with your significant other. Seriously. You’ll just piss off the train of traffic behind you, and the lady in front of you whom you threaten to grind into the wall will hipcheck ya.

April 24, 2006

Monday

Stayed home with the Disease.

Very grumpy about it – spectacular weather. About 75 and sunny with a cool breeze.

Just not fair.

Tomorrow is a holiday here, so lots of people are enjoying long weekends being noisy in my canal. Grr.

April 25, 2006

Tuesday

Another gorgeous day. Tried to go in to work… went home early. Evil evil Disease.

Am v. grumpy.

Is Italian Independence day, so lots of pomp and circumstance around – as well as even more noisy people in my canal. Part of me wants to channel my inner anglo-saxon and shout rude things at them out the window. Wouldn’t do any good as they would just shrug at me.

April 26, 2006

Wednesday

Disease appears to be fading. Bene bene. Went into studio and realized that because of the beautiful weather, I’m actually not behind in my schoolwork – just my tan.
Spent the day working, then came home to an excellent dinner cooked by Sandra. Took six of us to eat it all (Tuna Saor).

Evil bloodsucking insects were v. bad tonight. Perhaps would work as a weightloss strategy? However, am starting to look like a junkie with random needletracks up and down my arms. Have one amusing array of bites – 7 in a row in a perfect zigzag. Hm, perhaps it’s aliens? James, you would love it - in the apartment we have many random claps. It's usually someone chasing a mosquito, but who am I to say?

April 27, 2006

Thursday

Today we rose bright and early and headed out to Piazzale Roma to get on a bus for a tour into the countryside. The first stop was at Villa Mercer (or Villa Barbaro, depending on which patron you favor) by none other than Mr. Famous himself, Palladio. This has long been on my list of favorite buildings, so I was delighted to be able to visit. I was floating around, enchanted the whole time. Mum, the entire interior is a mural by Veronese – yes, it’s *that* good.
Also, I’m please to announce that the Italian countryside has burst its way into spring when I wasn’t looking. When we hit Venice, it was winter and the countryside was spare and bleak. Now it is rich and green – the vines are poking out with little soft leaves, the trees have exploded with green, and the wisteria is everywhere – draping everything in delicious lavender blossoms.

Next stop is Carlo Scarpa’s Brion Cemetery. I’m not a huge fan of Carlo Scarpa’s work – I generally find it lacking in charm and warmth, but this cemetery was rather good. It seems a bit like a WW II bunker from the exterior – rammed earth walls up to a cement perimeter, but the interior is filled with precious little spaces, goldfish ponds, miniature streams, clever mechanical contrivances (cement doors that swing easily, glass panels that slide down into ponds to allow passage), gorgeous little tiled details. I have to admit I rather liked it in person, though I’ve studied it in a couple of classes and never liked it before.

Afterwards we went to Asolo for lunch. Heh. I loved this… my favorite pair of hiking boots ever were a pair of Asolo boots – I think I wore them almost every day for about five years. They started out strong and fierce, and by then end they were as soft as slippers. We had lunch in a gorgeous restaurant (they were very proud that Scarpa used to eat there) out on the veranda, protected from the rain by a large porch roof. We had lasagna al forno, white asparagus risotto, chicken, pork, beef, salad, coleslaw, fennel, sausages, and coffee. Good lunch, on the whole.
Next stop is the Canova museum – he was one of the (if not *the*) greatest neoclassical sculptor of all time and his work is extraordinary. Google him if you must. His old workshop has been converted into a museum and they have most of his plaster and clay mockups from which he made his finished marbles (they have a few of those too). It was extraordinary and enchanting and I very highly recommend it to you if you are ever in the area. Seriously, this was one of my favorite things that we’ve done on this trip.

After that, a bit of a sleepy bus ride later and we were back in Venice, ho hum.

When you are tired of Venice, what next?

I do like it here – it is extraordinarily pretty for a rotting sinking liquid city in a swamp. It’s lovely to be constantly seeing all these happy vacationing people who feel, here, that they are away from the world. I occasionally am extremely frustrated with them – Welcome to Venice, take a picture of everything! Their lemminglike crowds, the way they stop on bridges and in bottlenecks. Their seeming inability to keep to the right so they can at least be passed. If I’m not in a hurry, and not ill, I can find my zen with the crowds. I can float along with them, surge ahead if I can, but mainly buffet myself along with them. When I’m not able to find my zen with the crowds, I tuck in and power through them moving them firmly out of my way when necessary. Occasionally, if the oncoming crowd is dense and seemingly impassable, I make my problem their problem and I stand bull-like, and immobile, leaning into the crowd with my shoulder as they eddy around me – swirling as they pass. Once the clot clears, as it were, I charge onwards with a serious look on my face that usually gets people out of my way before I even get there.

April 28, 2006

Friday

Nothing spectacular to report. I’m feeling a bit better, so the weather is of course much cooler and rainier. Fine with me, as I prefer it that way. Sunshine stresses me out – I have to plan ahead so carefully to make sure I don’t get burned, that I much prefer gloomy rainy days. Went into school and worked all day. Hohum.

April 29, 2006

Saturday

This is to be my last full Saturday in Venice – in one week I leave this place (perhaps forever) when Lynn and I take the train to Florence for a couple of days.

We started out by heading over to the Giudecca for our final rowing lesson, and it went wonderfully. We streaked out across the water like seasoned pros and paddled almost the entire length of the Giudecca, on the lagoon side. It was amazingly great fun and I will miss Venetian rowing greatly when we leave here. I’m anticipating missing it so much that I’m trying to devise strategies to get my husband or brother to start rowing with me when I return to the states. Plot, scheme, plan…

Afterwards Lynn and I had some water in one of the café’s on the main fondamenta (frizzante for me, natural for Lynn) and we sat there slurping happily away chatting with the people we knew as they walked by on their Saturday errands.

Afterwards we decided to go to San Marco to finally have a look at the inside of the church – then decided not to when we saw the length of the line outside the place. We even know the trick for skipping the line (check a bag at S. Basso) but the crush outside made us wary of the crush inside, so we decided to go to the Academmia art museum instead.

I’m sorry Mum… it was glorious.

I saw Bernini, Bellini, Carpaccio, Veronese, Titian, and even a tiny little Da Vinci pen and ink. Many others who are far more eloquent than I have been stumped trying to convey how marvelous these paintings are..

April 30, 2006

Sunday

I broke a heart today. Well, perhaps I only disappointed it briefly, but as this is my journal, I’m allowed some of the excesses of poetic license.

I got up this morning, breakfasted with the ladies, then set off for adventure on my own. I had the intention of spending the day on boats, zigzagging my way across the lagoon – but I didn’t get past Murano, the glass island. I wandered around and avoided the shops selling the Chinese glass, and stopped in the shops of the local artisans – might have bought a couple of things too ;)
I ended up doing this all day, which hadn’t been my intention – oh well.

Around lunchtime I found myself outside a nice looking restaurant, so I presented myself to them and said “table for one, please”. The waiter looked rather taken aback, then seated me. “really just for one? One? Really just one? “ Yes, just for one.

I pulled out a book, and started reading as he fussed with fetching me a menu and a glass of wine. “How long are you here?” Another five days “Five days??” Yes five days “When did you arrive?” Five weeks ago “Just for one?” For lunch today, yes.

He profoundly approved of my choices for lunch – prosciutto and melon, guinea fowl with cheese and truffles, tiramisu, red house wine, espresso unsweetened. For the first time since I hit Venice, I allowed myself to dine royally. This is an expensive trip, so apart from a couple of souvenirs, I’ve been trying to live frugally. If I eat out I just have one course “solo primi piatti” or “solo secundo piatti” with the house wine (it’s cheaper than the mineral water, usually). Most of my traveling companions have been buying themselves new wardrobes, and all I have bought is a pair of flip flops, a light jacket, and one shirt. When I get to France in May I’ll need to buy a cotton skirt and another breezy top, but that’s it. Luckily, this is made easier by the fact that I’m a bit of a Clydesdale by European standards (yes, yes, Yes, I *know* I’m European – but I’m stocky like the Welsh, and tall like the Vikings – I’ve got larger hands than my six foot tall mother). I do fine trying on pants here, as the saving grace of my figure is that my bum and hips aren’t huge. My shoulders are too broad, my boobs are too big, they don’t carry my shoe size, glove size, or hat size. I’ve tried on several dresses that fit me perfectly almost everywhere, look gorgeous, and don’t meet across my chest for several inches. Bah!

The waiter keeps stopping by. “Just one?” yes “Five days more?” yes “Will you meet me for lunch tomorrow?” No, I’m busy, but thank you “Just for an hour” No, I’m sorry “Perhaps dinner?” No, I’m sorry, I’m working this week “Working?” Yes, I’m here for a project on the Giudecca “Perhaps just a drink then” I’m sorry no – and my husband wouldn’t like it “But where is he? Just one today” He is at home “Ah, it is sad to be estranged” We aren’t estranged – he's just not here “Where do you go after Venice?” Florence, Carcassonne (with the husband, I’ll have you know) “And you are here for five more days? Just a drink.” I’m sorry, no. May I have the check please.

And so after clasping my hand, and blowing me a fingertip kiss, he allowed me to leave. I must reinforce that he was charming during this interchange, not creepy, and all he really managed to do was to make me miss Roman all the more. *sigh* My heart is breaking, and I know I get to see my sweetheart in 21 days. I can’t wait!

So a crushing and hot boat ride later, and I was walking home across Venice – one of my favorite walks from the Ferrovia down to the Rialto. I stopped at one spot, where a calle dead ends into a canal, and watched the rats for a while. A gondolier came gliding by with the requisite romantic couple. “Ciao!” he called, “Ciao!” I returned with a smile. He slid the gondola (with the requisite romantic couple) over towards me and grasped my hand as he went by… “Ciao bella!” he said sultrily. I laughed and said “Grazie! Mille grazie!” and he floated away.

*sigh*

These Italian men, I tell ya. Now, before you start getting silly visions in your heads, I must tell you that I do not look good today. I slept on wet hair last night so it is a little strangely shaped. I’ve been outside in the drizzle most of the day so my makeup has removed itself and my hair is doing this odd frizzy wing thing as it is escaping from my uneven ponytail. My eyebrows, as people keep pointing out to me, have disappeared. Daily sun exposure for three months apparently turns them so golden that they match my skin. Charming.

May 1, 2006

Monday, bloody Monday

Some of you may not know this, but I’ve had a pain in my neck ever since I got married.
Seriously. Well, ok. Not “ever since I got married” but close. The story of the pain in my neck is the story of how delightful my husband is – allowing my academic ambitions to overshadow our early marriage. We got married on December 11, on the Saturday of finals week. We got home on Sunday, and after a nap and presents, I did homework and my glorious new husband kept me company with cups of coffee and kind words. That Monday I gave my final presentation for my design studio class, and that evening I fell gravely ill with a cold. The rest of the week lost itself in the rhythm of exams and projects and wheezing through blocked nasal passages, and then that weekend my brand new husband and I packed up the truck and drove all the way to southern Texas for our first marital holiday. This was not to be the honeymoon – we still haven’t had one, and it may be a while before we do. This was a marital vacation – we were going to Big Bend, Texas to meet up with my parents and one of my sets of Aunts and Uncles who had flown in for the wedding, all the way from France.

We thought this a fine plan as I had always wanted to take Roman to Big Bend and it should be nice and warm, just being on the Mexican border.

Was I ever wrong.

Again my ludicrously indulgent husband (did I mention that he let me come to Europe for four months?) made this easy on me and proclaimed it a grand adventure, and claimed through chattering teeth that it was a wonderful time. You see, it got cold. We live in Minnesota – we know cold, and this was it. Windy, 7 degrees Farhenheit, and up in a mountain basin in summerweight tents. Funny thing is that this is the third time this has happened to my family – each time setting records for the excited local meteorologists.

One night, it was especially windy, and the six of us (Roman, me, Aunt, Uncle, Mum, Dad) set off for a nearby one-horse town in search of a motel – hot showers, warm beds, it was to be heaven.
The room was very enthusiastically heated, and strangely enough I didn’t sleep well because I was far too warm. C’est la vie. The problem, however, was that after a few nights of sleeping in a tent, this soft and bellied bed gave me a crick in my neck, and I’ve still got it.
It got better and worse for a few months, and took a turn markedly for the worse when I reinjured it along with my shoulder while chopping down brush at the cabin. At this point, my right arm started going numb, and for the first time in my life I was having discomfort using the computer. Quelle dommage. So I went to the doctor and got prescribed physical therapy and swimming (I declined all forms of chemical intervention – painkillers, muscle relaxants, and strangely enough antidepressants that apparently help with this sort of thing in extremely low doses). The swimming did the trick. Then, I came to Europe and have not managed to swim since – every time I visit one of the Venetian pools, it is closed. It is illegal to swim in the canals, so I must just wait.

Therefore, while I’ve been here I’ve been slowly losing flexibility in my neck and shoulder. My party trick, which always elicits exclamations of “Ewwww grosssss!” from my travel companions is to roll my shoulders near someone’s ears. My left shoulder is silent, my right shoulder crackles and pops loudly and clearly.

This seems an awful lot of setup to tell you that I couldn’t sleep last night. Not a wink until about 5:30 AM. I couldn’t tell if I had a neckache, and/or a sinus headache, or if I’d cracked my skull and the collected minions of hell were dancing on the open wound. This was perhaps the worst headache of my life and the Paracetemol (it’s like Tylenol) that I’d taken barely made a dent.

I finally felt a bit better this morning, so I slept until noon – I’m sacrificing a day of work on my final project (due THURSDAY – AIGHHHH) because of this. Now, the headache has crystallized into a hot spark between my right elbow, the base of my skull, and the middle of my back. For the first time since being a child, I cried because of pain today.

I’m desperate with worry – if this doesn’t improve, I won’t be able to finish my final project, I’ll have a devil of a time on the next leg of my travel (Lynn and I are going to Florence, then zigzagging our way over to the south of France to visit an Auntie and rendezvous with a friend – they’re going on to Paris and I’m going to stay with the Aunt getting steadily more excited that Roman is coming to visit too). I don’t want to go to the hospital/doctor since I know precisely that they only things they can do to help me is give me muscle relaxants (no thank you), strong painkillers (no thank you) or physical therapy (I’m already doing it).

So I’m sitting on the couch drinking espresso, eating a bar of chocolate, and moping into the computer. The gondoliers are gliding by shouting “wayooh” and “ooowayah” as they go round corners. One went by a minute ago singing “O Sole Mio”.

If you’re going to stay home sulking for a day, this is certainly the place to do it.

May 2, 2006

Tuesday
Bit better today! More updates later.

The one where things get marginally less exciting

April 18, 2006
Tuesday

Up bright and early to go meet our tour guide over on the Giudecca in front of Redentore – one of Palladio’s churches. The guide is a lady of some eminence, who’s name I can’t remember, and she is the expert on Venetian gardens. She also wrote a book "The Hidden Gardens of Venice".
We started off, as I had said, at the Redentore church on the Giudecca, and scurried round the back to sneak into the monastery. Our guide is also a lady of some amusing personality, so we were in hysterics half the time at her turns of phrase and manners of speech. She has the habit of grabbing your arm in an iron clawed fist, and thrusting you forwards to look at something – all the time referring to you as "child". To be honest, she reminded me of a wackier version of my grandmother, Nana Olive.

The monastery was cool, a monk in a brown robe thing led us round and the guide translated (all the time they were arguing about her cigarettes too). The first thing we saw was their olive tree that was supposedly grown from a cutting of one at Gethsemane. Next was a miniscule olive bosque, and then some turf-and-trees arrangements along the shoreline. Guess life is pretty hectic as a monk, and sometimes you just need a nice spot for a picnic? Next stop was the main garden area with some grape vines, lots of artichokes ( this is artichoke country – they have an island in the lagoon that does nothing but grow artichokes and strawberries this time of year), and a nice view of the back of the Redentore church.

After that we wandered down the Giudecca and wandered in and out of some lovely, but unremarkable villa gardens. Two deserve special note here: One had an altana, like a deck that is suspended over the roof. It was nice up there, as the owner let us cavort our grimy selves up through her lovely house to allow us access to the views and breezes. It gets quite muggy here in the summertime (duh, it’s a swamp), so the precious few people with these altanas are very very lucky.

The second garden of note merely has the ‘a famous person was here’ notoriety – it’s the very unremarkable garden in a court of apartments where Elton John stays when he is in town. Yes, I took a picture. No, he wasn't in town.

Next we went to the excellent church of San Giorgio Maggiore, at the eastern end of the Giudecca, and went up the belltower at precisely noon to have a look at one of the best views of Venice. How do I know it was precisely noon? Well, it did at noon what belltowers are supposed to do at noon – scare the pants off increasingly deaf tourists.

We then got a hilarious retelling of the building of the church. It was designed by one of the Mr. Famous Guys of Venice, Mr. Palladio. He based his measurements for the church on a bit of wood that he lost, then promptly died. They build the church basing their measurements on a similar piece of wood. They started building the church from the front with the intention of meeting up with the remnant of the old church at the back that was to become the choir. Then, because of the different bit of wood that they used for measurements, they ran out of room for the belltower – so it got shoved off to the side. Heh.

Afterwards, we had an unremarkable afternoon in the Studio, then off to our respective homes for a variety of nice quiet evenings.

April 19, 2006
Wednesday

I have neglected to mention that Lynn has what seems to be a variety of illnesses. She has been largely absent from any and all activities that do not involve sleeping and sweating for about three days now. She has just about had enough, so today is the day that she has decided to go to the hospital and find out what variety of the Black Death, the Bubonic Plague, etc. that she has.
We have also, in other lovely news, had a stopped up loo since last Thursday. Since it was Easter weekend, no plumbers were available to come help us out, and they just didn’t seem to get it together enough to stop by yesterday. Yet another phone call to our landlord resulted in the instruction that we were to have someone waiting at the apartment at 2:00 this afternoon to let the plumber in.

After frantically working through some stuff in studio, I took off to come back and meet the plumber (with tourists clogging the corridors, and vaporettos – it takes nearly an hour to get from the rowing club where our studio is, back up to the Rialto, where our apartment is). We had been instructed to have somebody waiting down by the gate to our apartment building – so there I stood looking eagerly at every man with a wheelbarrow who walked by. After a while I realized that I was getting some raised eyebrows, and must have been looking like the world’s most unsubtle working girl. At this point I ran back upstairs to get a book so I could read while standing and could cut down on the leering I was doing.

2:00, 2:15, 2:30, 2:45… no plumber. Shrug. I was helping people find their hotels nicely, and when the same family walked by four times, I helped them find San Marco (back that way, over the bridge, straight straight straight – at the Disney store go left, follow the signs). I at least got them lost in a different direction and did not see them again.

At 2:45 I called the apartment office – they promised to have someone there by three. At 3:30 I called again, and they promised to have someone there by four. At 4:30 a very cheerful pair of plumbers came by and solved our problem for us. What joy! Two flushing loos! The luxury of it all.

An hour later, an exhausted Lynn came staggering back in with a nasty infection, and a fistful of medications. She had had an exciting time not speaking Italian in a hospital where they spoke no English. Apparently you can communicate a lot by pointing, gesturing, and sweating.

April 20, 2006
Thursday

Big day! I get to see Roman in a month! This was enough to put me in a good mood, so I got up early and went to go check email and get to work in Studio. Worked there all day, but as the weather was stunningly gorgeous (for the first time), we all cleared out fairly early (about 4:00) to go and sweat on our balconies at home. Well, I went present shopping, but I could imagine sweating on my balcony, and massively preferred that to the sweating on tourists that I was already doing.

April 21, 2006
Friday

Got into studio fairly early again since we have presentations to give yet again this afternoon. Had a brief and sunny lunch out in the boat yard, then back in for a 5 hour series of presentations. What joy. Lynn got to take off early to got meet her husband who was flying in for the day from home (in Friday evening, going home Sunday morning)

April 22, 2006
Saturday

Slept in today, as I woke up with the plague… the Disease! Over the course of the day it manifest itself in the form of a cold – so I spent the day finishing up the present shopping, then came home to groan on the couch. Sandra and I made a steak and artichokes dinner (it was outstanding) and finished up with liquorice gelato and strawberry coulis. Yes, that *is* as weird as it sounds, but it is good.

Can't think of anything clever.

April 7, 2006
Friday

Today we had our final walking tour with the Professor who is above scale. We started out again very close to our apartment, and wandered up to the northern part of Venice. We zigzagged through some elegant and touristy areas and got to a part of Venice that is referred to as ‘lesser Venice’. This is not meant as a demeaning term, but rather to refer to it’s rather more humble architecture. You find more people living here, and more shops for things that people need in homes, like light bulbs and plumbing fittings.

We also visited the Gheto, from which we get the word Ghetto. This was the island in Venice where they put the Jewish people as they immigrated here from other places. This island was totally isolated, and could only be accessed by boat, even though the canals that surrounded it could very easily have been spanned with bridges. This was a form of enforcing a curfew, and there were many injustices in the system as I’m sure you can imagine. I’ll spare you the depressing details, and leave you with a couple of lasting points. First of all, this is still an area of town where many Jewish people live – there are five synagogues in the area, and most signs are in Italian and Hebrew. Second, this is the only area of Venice with skyscrapers – imagine having a 9th floor walkup. Yikes.

We didn’t have much to do in the afternoon, so most of us scattered to work on other homework assignments. One of my classes was having a brief meeting in the afternoon to discuss where we were with our assignments and to hash out strategies to try and get us all done with the coursework by May 12, or at least by the end of the summertime. My goal is to be done by May 6, but I’ve got another three classes to get through by that time, so we’ll see how it goes.

April 8, 2006
Saturday

Grumble grumble grumble. Had to get up very early to get over to Piazzale Roma (Venice’s bus stop) by 7:30 in the morning. After getting crammed onto a bus designed for midgets, we rode for four hours to get into Milan. Every person in the class of my height and higher ended up with bruised knees because the seats were spaced so closely together that there was nowhere for our thighbones to go. Ouch.

So it was with collective creaking bones that we stumbled off the bus in Milan for the Isaloni furniture show. The show runs for about 10 days each year, and is only open to the public for one day. We got in because we are design students and because our professor is admirably well connected here in town. The show was amazing – to walk from one end to the other took about half an hour at good speed. It’s the largest furniture show in the world, and it’s where they keep all the cools stuff. Things like glowing green bathtubs, postmodern showers, and every kind of cool furniture thing that you could ever think of. Now, you all know me. I’m not that much of a shopper for furniture, clothes, jewelry etcetera (books and wool are notable exceptions, I know) – however I had no trouble walking round here mentally furnishing and refurnishing an ever grander array of imaginary dream homes. I saw a lot of modern furniture that I was surprised to like – and a lot of old fashioned stuff that I was surprised to hate. Weird – I might be turning ‘designy’.

Half of the fun at the furniture show was the people-watching though. All these interior design divas and buyers were walking round shouting things like "Ciao darling!" and admiring each other’s outfits.

By the way, I’ve got some bad news.

The 80’s are back.

I’m serious. Men in white jackets with pink shirts and pink ties, loafers with no socks. Women in miniskirts and leggings. Lots of 80’s perms and hair that’s business in front and a party in the back. Behold the return of skintight jeans tucked into boots. Huge sunglasses? You got em. Blue eyeshadow? Yup. Jellies? Heck yeah. Madonna bracelets? Uh-huh. Billy Idol crew cuts in platinum and gel? Oh yeah baby. Bermuda shorts? You know it! Punk plaid pants and mohawks? Yup yup yup.

Ew.

I am pleased, however, to announce that some nice things are coming our way too. Coats with actual tailoring, and shirts that go past the hipbone. These are both pieces of great news to me, because I cannot wear crop tops – they look ridiculous on Rubenesque, short-waisted long-legged women like me.

April 9, 2006
Sunday

Up early, of course, to go to rowing lessons out on the Giudecca. I got to row on the six seater this time, and we did much better. We rowed in sync, in a straight line, and my back didn’t feel on fire at the end of it. I’m really enjoying this Venetian rowing and will have to see if there’s any way to continue doing it in the U.S. without spending a fortune.

Afterwards I went off and wandered around Venice on my own for a bit. Snoopy was very excited because I took him to go see the Doge’s Palace. He was a bit disappointed that it wasn’t the Dog’s palace, but I told him that he could pretend if he wanted.

The palace was extremely cool – I loved the paintings and the armory especially. The armory really reminded me of some video games that Roman and I play, so I actually stood in a room full of tourists, axes, maces, pikes, and swords, and got a bit misty. The woman next to me asked what was wrong, and I told her that I missed my husband. She then got a bit of an odd look on her face as if to say "what kind of guy must *he* be?". *laughing* In retrospect it’s very funny – but at the time I just did not feel like explaining. Especially since it is now getting a bit old having to be constantly explaining how I, with my bizarre accent that is neither English nor American, happen to be traveling with Americans and married to one at home, studying in Grad school, and spending six weeks in Venice simultaneously.

It is interesting though, the confident way I stride through Venice now seems to inspire confidence. Lots of people stop me to ask me the way places and I can generally help them. Here’s my quick speech I give people "Unless you are trying to get somewhere very very specific, put away your map. Venice is small – you can only get a bit lost before you’re going to see a sign somewhere. Follow the signs and pick the landmark closest to your hotel – signs there are signs home. All signed areas lead to other signed areas. Go have fun and don’t worry so much about your bloody map."

However the touristy fun could only last for a brief couple of hours before I had to get back to the apartment to start work with my group on our project.

April 10, 2006
Monday

Woke, went into school worked all day, got home midevening, went to bed.
Only two things exciting happened today. First of all, my left thigh felt like it was going to crack in two. Going up and down stairs became an adventure in peglegging. Andrea, one of the girls in my group, had similar problems with her right leg. It turns out that when you row correctly, you don’t murder your backs, you murder one leg. Will have to remember to switch sides next time – it’s like doing an hour of lunges on one side otherwise.

The other cool thing was the aqua alta! The water level was very very high when we got home, so we got our cameras out and headed back down to Piazza San Marco via a circuitous, yet dry, route. Piazza San Marco (not to be confused with Pizza San Marco, which is very overpriced) is the lowest point in the city, and therefore has the most dramatic flooding during the aqua alta. They set up elevated walkways and everyone shuffles along trying not to fall into the sewage/water. It was marvelous! Some kids got café chairs in a long row and were crossing the plaza by stepping on chairs that they moved out in front of them like a long caterpillar. Some insane people rolled up their jeans and were walking around in the water barefoot – remember, in Venice if it is wet, it is sewage! Ew.

April 11, 2006
Tuesday

Woke, went into school, worked all day, got home midevening, went to bed.
Mini aqua alta, but only enough for the drains in San Marco to bubble up a bit – this happens fairly frequently so it was pretty ho-hum.

April 12, 2006

Do you sense a pattern here? Woke, went into school, worked all day, got home late evening, went to bed.

April 13, 2006

Woke very early and headed into school. Lynn, Angela, and I had estimated that we needed a further three hours of work to finish up before our presentations began at 12:30. Because we are superstars, the three hour estimate was dead accurate, and we still ended up having time for lunch before the 6 hour presentation marathon began. We presented exactly in the middle and I think we did well – the feedback was both complimentary and constructive, so we came away with enthusiasm and ideas for ways to push our ideas to the next level.

There was also the most amazing stench of sewer gas that kept wafting through the studio, sending us all into fits of giggles and making orange peel a pretty high priced commodity.
When we got home, Lynn and I decided to go out to dinner. We ended up going to a lovely little place right next to our apartment. Sandra and her Mum (she just arrived for a visit) ended up going to the same place an hour later, and ordering almost the same seafoody things that we got.
When we got home again, we made a significant dent on the wine stash from the awesome fill-your-own-bottle place. I love Europe. I can drink wine all evening and feel great the next day – the wine is all sulfite free and I’m certain that that is what makes a difference

April 14, 2006
Friday

Got up a little later than usual this morning, for a change, then collected the assorted troops and Sandra’s mum, then set off for the island of Murano. When we got there we were taken on a tour of a glass blowing factory. It was awesome! We didn’t realize until much later than we were extremely privileged to do this – this is a factory that does not open its doors to the public, we were let in as a personal favor. We also didn’t realize that the old guy wandering around in there was the owner/signature artisan of the place. Their stuff was exquisite (Carlo Moretti, if you want to Google it), and the family has been working in glass since the mid 1800’s, though this arty part of it was founded in 1956 by the Carlo – the guy who’d been wandering around behind us. The famous architect Carlo Scarpa had worked their briefly too. After a brief, and very very careful, wander around the showroom where I briefly considered buying these two very very cool 86 euro glasses, we wisely decided to leave without spending that much money on something so heavy and so breakable. Had they been cheaper, lighter, or tougher – it might have been worth it.. ah well…

Afterwards, we sat on the fondamenta with an excellent view of the lagoon, and ate pizza and beer. Yum!

After grocery shopping and heading back over to the studio to upload our homework, the rest of the day was shot – so in the evening we sat at home, drank cheap wine, and listened to the gondoliers floating by.

April 15, 2006
Saturday

Today is a bona fide day off. No rowing lessons, no boat tours, nothing!

So of course, I planned a full agenda for myself. I didn’t plan on going to any museums as they were sure to be crammed by tourists, and I didn’t plan on doing much shopping, as the shops were sure to be crammed by tourists. Yes, yes, I know. I’m a tourist. However, when you’ve been here three weeks, the wine lady knows you on sight (I get a free biscuit every time I stop by J), then the crowds start to be a bit much.

So, I slept in, and it was glorious! I made it until about 8:30, when the garbage men and their songs of love and garbage woke me. I got some coffee and enjoyed watching them for a while – it’s really very entertaining. In the mornings the residents of Venice take their garbage down and leave it out in the calle (like an alley – like a street) for the garbagiers to come and put it in their hand trucks. They sing too.

The garbagiers then take their full hand trucks to a nearby dock that has a garbage boat (a garbarge, perhaps?). There is a little crane on the garbage boat that picks up the hand truck, hoists it over the boat, drops it into a frame that opens the base, the junk drops out, then the truck is returned to the dock to be carted merrily off again. The best bit is when the garbagiers know that the trash is from a good place and they start sorting through it, saving the good bits. Then, they are likely to turn around, burst into song, and then pee in the canal.

All good fun when you’re waking up to a small vat of espresso.

The first thing I did was walk up to the Billa, the grocery store near the ferrovia (train station) to pick up a couple of unromantic essentials for the house (dish soap, and coffee). When I was dropping the loot off at home, Lynn and I started chatting and discovered that we had planned the exact same day, completely independently. We wisely chose to continue on together as she is excellent company. Hannah was off being very social, and Sandra spent the day showing her Mum around Venice.

First stop was making sure that the Gelato shop on San Lio was as excellent on Saturdays as on Fridays and Thursdays. Important work you know.. for the… um… homework. Yeah, for the homework – mapping the gelateria network for San Marco and Castello.
I tested blood orange and chocolate (it was outstanding) and Lynn continued her detailed thesis on straciatella and fior de latte (she claims it was very good, but asserted that more tests would be needed).

Thus refreshed, we walked down to Piazza San Marco, and then west towards Campo San Moise where I knew that there was a book shop that sells books in English. We bought a couple of novels, and I found a great map book of Venice (it asserts that the house we’re in is from the 15th century, and that the fancy house across the street used to be some sort of Doge’s palazzo – that explains the lions on the façade I suppose).
Next stop was walking all the way to the eastern part of Venice to visit the giardini pubblico, the public gardens. There’s a nice naturalistic bit, and a wonderful grove of pine trees. It was nice to sit in the greenery with our new books, but I got cold after a couple of hours and walked home.

April 16, 2006
Sunday

Another day off! What joy! Some members of the household dashed off to try and catch Easter Mass in one of the famous churches – I decided to go for a walk instead. Lynn and I therefore went up to the ferrovia to see if we could finalize our plans for travel after the trip – both of us want to have a look at Florence and Tuscany for a couple of days while Sandra visits a friend in Switzerland. We’re all converging on Carcassonne (France) at that point to spend another couple of days with my Aunt, before Sandra and Lynn head home, and I start the long lonely wait for my husband to come to visit.

We get the tickets to Florence squared away pretty easily, but then run into trouble getting to Carcassonne. It turns out that it is nearly impossible to travel between these two points on the map – which is odd since they’re pretty close together and in the US I would just drive. The train takes a bajillion hours and 437 train changes. Airplanes involve taking multiple trains to get to far flung airports, changing planes in sixteen different countries, then taking yet more trains to get to where you want to go. I may be exaggerating a touch, but that *is* the Venetian way. In the long run, the train may win by virtue of the fact that if we don’t mind circumnavigating the globe twice, we’ll probably be able to take a night train for part of the trip and will be able to save a night in a hotel room.

The irony is that it will probably be easier to come back to Venice from Florence to start our trip to France.

After that, we took a walk through the western part of the city that I had not seen before – I got to be the navigatrice (Lynn *is* very brave) and didn’t get lost once, This is a new record for me, since I am getting lost in Venice all the time. Luckily, Venice is small, so you don’t generally stay lost for long – but since I largely think I know where I am going, I often blunder on in a straight line, neglecting to turn, and finding myself in an undiscovered corner of the city saying to myself "well this is interesting". I’d also like to have a word with the shopkeepers who keep changing their displays – it gets very confusing. To get to San Marco I used to take a left at the Disney store, another left at the black dress, right at the orange vase, keep left at the spangly mask, etc. Now the dress is peach colored, the orange vase is a blue bowl, but the spangly mask is still there.

The upshot is that I keep setting off for San Marco, and ending up at Academmia. It’s a bit like when you climb in the car and intend to go to the grocery store, but end up at work.
I digress, I apologize.

Our walk wound us through the western part of the city, hopped us over the grand canal, and then took us over to have a look at the Fenice, the opera hall that burned down in 1996. If any of you read The City of Falling Angels, then you already know all about this. Having successfully found it (admittedly not hard to do) and then standing there for a moment not quite sure what to do, we took pictures of it then walked on back home.

For record, this walk took us nearly eight hours to complete, with a one hour stop for lunch at a place that served, among other things, horse pizza. Don't worry, I had the margherita.

Distance in Venice is funny, and I’m coming up with a theory. Measure the distance you think it is on the map, then triple it. With all the dodging around tourists, buildings, bridges, sotoportegos, pigeons, beggars, and the like – it ends up being pretty accurate. At home, I generally walk a mile in around 15 minutes. Here, it takes 45 minutes, and I never stop walking.
To that end, I’d like to announce that I have reached my zen with crowds. They no longer bother me – I either float along with them, or I surf ahead dashing through transient passageways between people as they eddy around. It’s very calming, and for a person with definite reclusive tendencies – it’s quite a revelation.

We came home and I made Lamb stew with the extremely inexpertly butchered lamb leg that we had procured at the market. The stew ended up very nice and we had it with an assortment of spring veggies, wine, and then some bizarre and boozy pasque cake.

April 17, 2006
Monday

Another day off! Unfortunately Lynn is sick again, so she stayed home with chills and fever. I set off to have another look at the giardini, and I ended up sitting in the shade reading all afternoon, fending off the occasional suitor. Since I’ve been outside for most of every day since early February, my hair is quite light blonde and my face and hands are very brown (farmer tan!). It’s still too cool here to put on short sleeved shirts, though reportedly this time last year you could go swimming out at the Lido in the Adriatic.

Venice Vidi Vici Redux

April 1, 2006
Saturday

I woke up with backache today, which is unfortunate since the first thing on the agenda is a Venetian rowing lesson. So, we headed back over to the Lagoon side of Giudecca and presented ourselves for the hilarity. The two fundamental differences between Venetian rowing, and English rowing are that the Venetian needs to stand up to see sand bars. Thus, the Venetian can’t row with a pulling motion – imagine the hilarity, pulling back on the oar as the boat slides away in front of you, then sploosh. Back to the drawing board. Therefore, the Venetian rows backwards. Well not quite – you push with the oar paddle down and retrieve with the oar paddle above the water. It’s really cool and I enjoyed it quite a lot. This is the same kind of rowing that the gondoliers use.

While we’re on the subject, here’s my take on the whole ‘gondola’ thing. They’re really cool and an important part of Venetian history. The gondoliers are charming, and the locals say that any woman who falls for one of these has ham over her eyes. Many of them sing, but if you ask one if he sings he will say "maam, there are the lovers and the singers. I do not sing." To be a gondolier you must have at least one Venetian parent. About three quarters of them are married to American women, and most of the rest are married to Northern Europeans (they reportedly like blondes). When a gondolier dies, his license passes to his widow to be redistributed to the next lucky gondolier. I believe that there are no women gondoliers.
When you come to Venice, and you all should – it is very charming, you must bear this in mind. The first few times you see a gondola, or a gondolier (is he gondoleering?) you will be overcome with the emotion of "Cool! A gondola!!". Once the novelty has worn off, start watching the passengers – it’s a hoot. Take for instance the late middle aged couple who apparently thought a gondola ride down the Grand Canal would be fun. Haha! Not so! They forgot about water taxis and carabinieri and vaporettos. We saw them later on a back canal and the clenched up wife looked a little happier, until another water taxi went hurtling by. If you have romantic visions of snogging your way around Venice, think twice. The gondolier is *right* *there* and keeps pointing out landmarks. Another unfortunate couple we saw had paid the extra bajillion euros (ok, more like 100) for the accordion and singer to come along in the boat. Really cool for passers by, but you just invited two more people on your romantic boat ride. The wife in this case loses points for being all clenched and furious. The husband loses points for videotaping the whole thing. Dude, say something sweet to your wife. Lady, declench a bit – this is costing about 200 Euros.

The people we do see having fun are the ones chatting with the gondoliers about the scenery and life in Venice. The other ones having fun are the groups – six people in a gondola chattering their way around Venice.

I do ask one thing though – near Calle de la Fava there is a charming and empty Palazzo – please stop taking flash photography of it. You’re waking me up.
So Lynn and I spent the rest of the day running errands. We found the swimming pool, but nobody was there and they didn’t have times posted. Ticked off, we went for an excellent lunch near the Academmia bridge, and then went over to Piazza San Marco to visit the Correr Museum.

It was outstanding – I highly recommend it! I saw all sorts of Titian, Carpaccio (the painter who liked red, not the raw beef), Bellini, etc.

We were footsore at the end of it, so we decided not to go visit the Doge’s palace or San Marco itself yet. Instead we wandered back over to an area near Barnaba square where I had been sent to find the best mask shop in the city. Ding! Found it. Very cool – this is the place that did the masks for Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut.

After that we were well and truly exhausted, so we headed back home to giggle at gondolas off the balcony.

April 2, 2006
Sunday

Today I walked around all by myself. I set off in no particular direction and basically walked the city with the frustrated tourists (because not *all* the shops were open). I ended up at the site that I’m studying for a precedent study in school – along the southern edge of Venice, from Zattere over to Spirito Sancto. So I took some notes and some photographs and may have accidentally eaten some gelato.

Afterwards I wandered home to find the door stuck shut, so I wandered off again and might have accidentally had a couple of cups of coffee.

Next time I came home, I camped on the step until Lynn found me and let me in. Our locks have been acting weird and my key stopped functioning briefly. It’s fine now. Lynn isn’t though – the poor thing has been very very ill all day. Looks like the dreaded Disease has returned.

April 3, 2006
Monday

Today we woke with the usual creaks and groans of those in uncomfortable beds. My bed is actually very comfortable, but I now have a permanent ache in my lower back. I liken it to sleeping in a hammock in a box (as the bruises on my left elbow attest). It takes usually two hours to get four women through the shower (taking turns, Shahv), breakfasted, espressoed, then to the meeting site. Today, thanks to a miracle of luck and excellent forsight on behalf of our professors, we only needed an hour and fifteen minutes.

We’d been told to meet at Bartolomeo, a campo (it’s like a piazza, but it’s not a piazza, it’s a campo – see if *that* makes sense) that we had never heard of, and likely never been to. Much map searching resulted in an excellent revelation. Bartolomeo is the campo on the right side of the Rialto bridge. About 200 feet from our apartment. Yay!

For once, all the people with apartments near the studio had to schlep their butts across Venice. One of them was overheard complaining that it took nearly 45 minutes. Well yeah… it’s a long walk, plus a wait for a boat, plus a boat ride, plus another long walk. If you are very lucky and the rubberneckers are still in bed, and the boat arrives perfectly on time, you can make it in just under 30 minutes.

Not that I’m complaining, mind you. On the average day when I’m not commuting to the Rialto, I’m commuting past San Marco – one of the prettiest plazas mankind has ever made.
Lynn stayed home to babysit the disease, and hopefully make it so that we don’t have another breakout of the Disease, and the rest of us walked very slowly around the key sites in central Venice (Rialto, Fish Market, San Lorenzo, Sta. Maria Formosa, St. Marks). I had been to all of these sites multiple times, but some of the people who live on the Giudecca had never been to any of them, so it was fun to see their reactions. Venice is extraordinarily cool and picturesque – a liquid city rotting gently into the sea.

Our professor bears a brief mention here. When I started taking classes at the University many many moons ago, my first ever class was History of Architecture to 1750. I’ve no idea why I took it, but all I can say is that it seemed like a good idea at the time. Sort of like why I took Latin at the same time too. In this class I was introduced to many of the wonders of the ancient and semi-ancient world by one of the premier art and architecture historians who have ever lived. This is the class where I first heard about St. Mark’s square and the infamous bell tower that fell down one propitious day in 1906 – squashing some precious architecture, and harming no people. Don’t worry, they rebuilt it. Well, the professor in that class is the self same guy leading us on these tours. All hail. He’s funny, charming, encyclopedic, and slightly above scale. How do I mean "above scale"? Well, for the first few days taking his class, where he was standing wayyy at the front of that musty auditorium over in Nicholson hall, I thought he was of normal size. Then, one day, I wondered why a midget was standing next to him – and then I realized. I finally saw that the Professor was a giant, albeit a gentle one. He’s about 7 feet tall and perfectly proportioned. When his arm is stretched out pointing at the horizon, I can walk under it without ducking. Therefore, there was much hilarity when he announced that he would not be carrying a yellow umbrella for us all to follow in the swirling crowds, as he would be quite easy enough to see without one. His delightful daughter also came along, as she had been to Venice quite a few times already and could show us the tricks of the trade, as it were.

When we were done with the tour we had some *gasp* *horror* *amazement* free time. We’re not used to this, so you must bear with my excitement. I spent the afternoon running errands – I needed some more paper and pens, wanted to go see if the pool was finally open for business, I had to take some more notes for the project due on Thursday, and I had to run by the grocery store for a few essentials. Giddy with freedom, I thoroughly enjoyed my afternoon and evening, then collapsed into my boingy hammock for a good night’s sleep.

Note: We have insects in our apartment. Little invisible flying ones that have managed to drive Lynn and Sandra absolutely bananas, and have left us all with an array of attractive bitemarks all over ourselves. I had eight at last count. Charming.

Bzzz..

April 4, 2006
Tuesday

Similar to yesterday, except we went to some important churches in the area rather than important public spaces. They were predictably gorgeous, peppered with Carpaccios, Veroneses, etc. Usually they’ve got these pictures in very dim bits of the churches, and you have to pay a euro or so to light them up. Great. It’s either too dark to see, or totally glared out. Sorry Mum, they don’t let us take pictures L.

Tuesday afternoon was much like Monday afternoon, except the errands were different and involved more homework. We’re doing studies of "quotidian" Venice. That’s just a posh way of saying daily Venice or normal Venice. We’ve been each assigned one of the famous public spaces in Venice, with the object of drawing and describing it so that we can make a catalogue of space types for Venice. There’s the piazza (only one actually, St Mark’s, the rest are campos), campos, fondamentas (walkways next to water), and bridges. I ended up with a long bit of the fondamenta along the southern side of the Dorsoduro district. I didn’t actually end up being too happy with my analysis – I was very distracted while I was there because I thought I was coming down with a cold and it was south-facing and very sunny and hot. This used to be the bit of Venice where the used to hoist lumber out of the lagoon that had been floated down from the surrounding area, and dry it out in the nice sunshine. Now, it’s where tourists get sunburns, gelato, bad food, or visit the Swiss Embassy.

April 5, 2006
Wednesday

Up dim and early and on the train to Vicenza. We spent the day looking at the great works of Palladio.

Back in ancient times, when I was taking my first architectural history class, I had the good fortune to fall in love with a building. The Villa Rotunda. It’s a spectacular building, and I think I loved it because the picture in my history book was on a lovely sunny day and it looked like a little bit of heaven on Earth. Especially since it was November and cold when I first saw the picture. Since then I have been desperate to see this place, and despite the fact that I woke up with a crashing headache and sniffles (behold… Disease), I was *not* going to miss it. After a breakfast of espresso and ibuprofen, and a lulling train ride, I started to feel halfway human again.

We arrived in Vicenza, where I discovered that the person who currently owns (and lives in) the villa only opens it to the public on Wednesday mornings. They get a tax break from the government to do so, and the charge an arm and a leg to let you in to look at it.
Behold one of the negotiations to get us in

Us- Group of 34 please.
Them- Ok, but you can’t have the group rate.
Us- Why? We’re a group.
Them- By "group" we only mean school group.
Us- Well, we *are* a school group.
Them- But you’re not all under the age of 26.
Us- Grrr..

Fascists.

So, less an arm and a leg, we finally got let in.

Despite the cold weather, the grouchy owner, the headache, the sniffles, and the blasé classmates (some were entranced, others were rather ho-hum about the whole deal), it was perfect. It was enchanting. It’s got to be good, to look nice on a cloudy glum day. It’s the simplest of designs – a cube with a dome on top and temple fronts on each of the four faces. It is simply decorated, clean, and perfectly proportioned.

Unfortunately the interior has been entirely frescoed over with enthusiastic and wonderful, but inappropriate to the spare surroundings, paintings of various scantily clad pagan gods, goddesses, and lovely young men in not very much armor. Rowr. Hardly what the architect intended, but that’s how it goes.

Pity the owner is such a grouch.

Well, we spent the rest of the rainy icky day visiting variuos palazzos in Vicenza that were designed by famous guys, then caught the train home.

Oh, I forgot to mention the train strike. The Italians are so very civilized – fill-your-old-evian-bottles-with-wine stores, espresso all over the place, tasty fishes, and polite train strikes.
I’m not kidding. The train strike was scheduled between 10 am and 6 pm, at which point service was to resume as normal. It was announced on the news so that people could plan ahead. Personally, I think they all had dentist appointments and haircuts scheduled and wanted to ride around on their scooters saying "Ciao!" with their helmets off looking cool.
Other strikes are similarly polite. Take for instance the vaporettos (basically Venetian buses). When they strike, they are fully aware that they strand a whole bunch of people on the Giudecca which is only accessible by boat. So, to make it so that no one is too inconvenienced, they send a boat out to boing back and forth between the old town and Giudecca, so people can still get back and forth.

Yes, I like Venice a lot.

However, once we got back, dashed to the grocery store, ran the rest of the way home, and made dinner, we were all exhausted and had to sit down to work on the rather large homework assignment due the next day. Groan.

I’m not too thrilled with the work I did, but then again, I never am.

April 6, 2006
Thursday

Woke up early and met the Professor over at San Giorgio – an island just east of Giudecca that has a good church and a couple of gorgeous (if badly lit) paintings. It was raining buckets as we headed over there, so we were very cold and wet when we arrived.
Then it got worse.

We stopped over next at another famous church, and by that time the wind had picked up. It was about 45 degrees outside, raining sideways, and windy – gusting up to about 48 mph.
Class was then cancelled. The lagoon was churning and fuming, and we kept seeing umbrellas skidding by like collapsed insects. As the day wore on, all the dumpsters in town filled with these leggy catastrophes and if it had not been so windy that our breath was blown away, we would have laughed.

We were on the big east west canal that is between Giudecca and the old town, so the wind was worse there, and we staggered inelegantly down to the internet place to check email, then next door for soup. My jeans didn’t dry out for over 10 hours. Not from the soup, from the rain.
We couldn’t just bail and go home and have baths and cups of coffee because we had presentations to give that afternoon on our homework.

Shivering, and with blue fingers, we finally made it home at about 8:00 and I made onion soup, then off to bed to try and warm up.

It turns out that the locals say this wind comes from Trieste and it can sometimes come every other day for a very long time.

Venice Vidi Vici

March 17, 2006
Friday
Barcelona - Carcassonne

Sandra and I woke early, hugged Lynn goodbye, and set off for the train station. We’re seasoned travelers now, so we thought we’d be all sneaky and take the metro to the train station. One transfer and we’d be there – easy peasy.

With all our luggage.

Up and down multiple staircases.

Unable to take off our coats because they were pinned to our bodies with our massively heavy backpacks. Those of you who saw my big pack before I left – please note that it is more than half full when I put in my course books, coursework, laptop, and spare hard drive.

So, we arrived sweaty and frustrated at the spot on the map that clearly said “train station”. Well, actually it didn’t. But it would have if it had been in English – as it was, it was the Spanish equivalent.

No train station. We flagged down a passing helpfulperson and he pointed us around a barrier that hid the train station from view. Great. It still took a couple of full block circumnavigations, but we made it eventually and with about ten minutes to spare, we hoisted our collective selves onto the train for the trip to Narbonne.

Sandra is glowing this whole time because she has a serious thing for trains.

Off we go, trundling up to France through the excellent scenery, and we finally found ourselves in a country where we have at least a moderate chance of telling what the locals are saying. We heave ourselves onto the platform and set off in search of a WC. It was at this point that I’m proud to announce that after many years of storage in my rustbucket of a brain, I managed to drag up enough French to get us access to the loo in at least a moderately polite manner. No hand waving and shrugging necessary here!

Off to Carcassonne now on the TGV. We have assigned seats, but the ticket is written in Catalan so neither we, nor the helpfulpeople on the platform could tell which was the coach number and which were the seat numbers. So, we heaved ourselves onto the nearest car on the train and dragged ourselves without much dignity through four cars until we found a suitable selection of seats for us and our stuff. Luckily, we dived off at the next stop and were never caught by the train police for sitting where we oughtn’t

Auntie Gilli and Uncle Mike were waiting for us on the platform, having arrived quite creatively through the goods transport section, and after cuddles and introductions we heaved our stuff onto the cases of wine in the back of the truck and set off.

Sandra had a minor moment of terror when she realized the truck had the steering wheel on the wrong side. Heh. English truck.

We arrived at heaven shortly thereafter. My aunt’s house is a French farmhouse near Carcassonne in a lovely little valley, full of books and dogs and excellent dinners (the house, not the valley). At this point we met the neighbor, and his yappy dog Bouf, then went in for cups of tea and cuddles with Ellie and Buller while we were waiting for the farrier.

Ellie is ancient – about 107 in dog years and is mostly deaf and blind. Buller is younger and more rambunctious, so we set off with Uncle Mike to take Buller on a walk up to Pinade (did I spell that right?), their hay meadow up the side of the valley.

I’m sorry James.

I’m really sorry.

Maybe you’d better go somewhere else for a bit – don’t read this. Please. Come back in a few paragraphs to start with tomorrow's entry.

Then Auntie Gillie made a meat pie for dinner, followed by blackberry pie from their own blackberries. Yum… Sandra looked with amazement at her plate between mouthfuls, and with astonishment asked for the recipe. (note: meat pie is probably James’ favorite dinner ever – well, that or stew and dumplings)

Wait for it.

Pie means pastry. Hehe… the pastry bugaboo has followed us to France. Sandra’s going to kill me now. J
So after that we had cherry brandy from pilfered cherries, and then off to bed.

March 18, 2006
Saturday
Quiet day at home

I slept in gloriously and stumbled downstairs to find that the management were on their way off to their weekly French lesson taught by Mike’s brother. Sandra and I sat at the kitchen table marveling at our luck, drinking cups of tea, and making a serious dent in the stores of homemade jam (blackberry fig and cherry were the serious casualties here).

We then spent the afternoon stumbling around sleepily, walking Buller, and then sitting down again to an outstanding meal. This one was followed by homemade ice cream.

March 19, 2006
Sunday

Another quiet day at home – Sandra didn’t feel well, so we spent most of the day mooching around the house being thoroughly lazy. I did a bit of weeding in the garden and wandered around a bit saying hello to the horses and sheep.

March 20, 2006
Monday

Today we went to the market at Mirepoix and ran into more English people. We had coffee and nibblies out in the plaza in the hot strong sunshine, and basically thoroughly enjoyed ourselves being lazy. So far the only French person we’ve met was the farrier on the first day, because the neighbor who came over with him was Canadian/English.

March 21, 2006
Tuesday

I came downstairs to find the whole household in a bit of a flap. Ellie had been let out for her morning wander around the yard, and had not come back. Normally she navigates with her nose and if she finds that she is in a tight spot, she stays put and yells for help. Well, this morning had no yelling, and no Ellie.

We were concerned – hushed tones of “well, she is very old” and “maybe she has died” were bandied about. We split up and searched the reasonable radius that she could cover, and found nothing.

Unfortunately, we had to head over to Carcassonne to pick up my Auntie Marlene and her boyfriend Ray, so we asked the neighbor to keep an eye out for Ellie is she returns, and off we went.

First stop was Ferran to my Uncle Tony’s house. It’s gorgeous and situated on a sunny hillside with views of the Pyrenees. Sandra, Mike and I hung out there watching Cricket and pottering about (translate: we sat outside in the sunshine with wine). Finally we had the full contingent in attendance (including the most excellent and charming aunt of my uncle) and an excellent lunch was had by all.

However, we were all worried sick about Ellie – is she hurt? Uncomfortable? Scared? Lost? Fine? Dead?

When we got back to the house, we set off again in search parties. We all struck off in different directions, fearing the worst.

After about an hour, I ran into Sandra who had seen some buzzards circling up near the hay field we visited on the first day. We decided to go check it out, and on the way we nearly turned around four times. This road is very steep, very rough, and it’s a very long way up to the meadow.

As we got closer, we heard a little unearthly howl. After a brief moment of wondering if that was a wild boar, we ran the rest of the way, burst into the meadow, and saw Ellie standing at the other edge near a ravine.

She was fine.

We charged over there, checked her over, had a quick cry, and I picked her up to bring her home. Ellie wagged all the while as if to say “took you long enough”. Sandra ran on ahead with the good news, and I stumbled my way back down the road with little grunting Ellie in my arms.
You can’t keep a Staffordshire down, I tell ya. I kept having to let her down to walk at her snails pace because she vastly preferred that, and as we got to the bottom of the hill we ran into an ecstatic Gilli and Mike and took the little wandering dog the rest of the way home.
We had a celebratory dinner that night to welcome Marlene and Ray, and to celebrate the amazing and intrepid explorer Ellie.

March 22, 2006
Wednesday

After cautioning Ellie not to go off wandering again without at least leaving a note, we set off for Carcassonne to get our train tickets to Venice, and to visit the Cite. The cite is the extremely charming medieval town center, and there was much shopping, drinking, and eating to be had.
Had a brief bit of excitement in the morning when we were all sitting out in the sunshine drinking cups of coffee. Smudge (one of the pussycats) caught a lovely big fat mole and brought it into the house for a visit. Oh, the chaos that ensued. We sat there in shock, Auntie Gillie leapt after the cat hollering 'I could use a little help!!'.

Following the ruckus upstairs (with a pair of gardening gloves - didn't want a mole bite) we proceeded to trap the mole in a corner. Buller, excited beyond belief, dispatched the mole with a quick chomp and trotted outside, our brave hero.

March 23, 2006
Thursday
Nothing much to report today – tried to arrange some travel things, walked up the Big Hill to have a look at the Pyrenees, or at least in there direction. I got a couple of excellent splinters too.

March 24, 2006
Friday

Breakfast, impossibly charming market in Limoux, lovely walk around, awesome grocery store, coffee and goodies in the plaza, excellent dinner, lovely company, great walk. You know, just your average ho-hum day in the south of France. ;)

March 25, 2006
Saturday

Gorgeous sunny weather today. I spent the day weeding the garden and mooching around with various cups of tea, until the time came to posh up a bit and head into Limoux for the carnivale. The carnivale was great – we sat in the town square with coffee and yummies while costumed folks with a brass band made their very slow way around the square waving wands and sprinkling confetti on the assembled masses. It was delightful, and the brass band continued merrily tooting along as we walked back to the car to go off to the neighbor’s house for yet more excellent booze and nibblies.

Hint: Always bet agains Sandra and me if we’re a team playing pool. We were so bad it hysterical.

March 26, 2006
Sunday
Carcassonne - Venice

Sad day. Gorgeous weather, but we spent the morning packing our stuff up. At lunchtime, with a full contingent of aunties, we went into Carcassonne and with a round of cuddles and a chorus of “see you next month!” we set off for Lyon, then Dijon, then Venice.

Nothing much to note about all this – There were no lions in Lyon, and Dijon did not smell of mustard. Our final train to Venice was one of those alarming trains where six people sleep in flap-down bunkbeds in a space smaller than some closets I’ve seen. My compartment was filled with French people and we chatted merrily along (yes, in French) as we got ourselves assorted into our various slots. My bag was deemed way too heavy and they just left it on the floor. The fellas who’d tried to hoist it up to the luggage rack expressed disbelief that I could carry it around and I assured them that I did, and that carried my other two (smaller) bags at the same time too. After having been cautioned not to fall out of my bunk by the fella below me (ne tombez pas! Ne tombez pas!) I was lulled to sleep by the creaky squeaks of the old train, and the creaky squeaks of the people in my compartment. Tee hee.

March 27, 2006
Monday

Woke up on the train with misty contact lenses (oops), cotton mouth, and icky hair. Eww. Luckily, everyone else was in the same situation and we sat around chatting until we got into the Venice train station.

I surprised the fellas by successfully hoisting up my bags (comme l’escargot apparently) and set off to find Sandra who’d slept in a compartment with a bunch of traveling Mississippians.
We bustled through the train station and set off for our first look at Venice. Luckily, our instincts proved good and we did not end up in the touristy end of town – we stopped for a coffee and a bite to eat, then decided to stumble our way back to the train station over the charming bridges to leave our bags in the left luggage office.

Back out into Venice, more wandering, and then lunch. We met up with the rest of our group, then got our apartments.

I’m rooming with Lynn, Hannah, and Sandra, and our apartment is great. Two women in each bedroom, separate beds, two bathrooms, living area, kitchen, and balcony over a canal. It’s awesome! Were just east of the Rialto bridge, so we’re central to most things, and if I lean out my window I can chat with gondoliers as they go by. Yes, they sing.

This is much more charming than the morning serenade. We’re the closest neighbors to the clang thump and grind of the garbage barges (garbarges?) that start their lulling song at 6:30 in morning. What joy.

March 28, 2006
Tuesday

Today was the first day of studio, and we had but a mere dot on a map to guide us into getting there. It’s on the south side of the Giudecca, the island that makes up the entire southern side of Venice. You must take some form of boat to get there, so we headed down to St Marks and got the traghetto from there.

Venice is as pretty as they say. We were up before most of the tourists, so were able to do the twisty turny thing to get to the traghetto stop with a minimum of fuss. The urine smell is stronger in the morning, and the pooper scoopers and garbage people hadn’t done their jobs yet, so Venice looked much more like a city that people live in than just an elaborate living museum.
The traghetto is awesome and I think I grinned the whole way over to the Giudecca. We found the studio with a minimum of fuss, but we were a bit early so Sandra and I wandered off down the waterfront to find a coffee. Our studio is in the Venice Rowing club (they’re going to teach us Venetian rowing!)

Shortly thereafter we spent the morning filling in paperwork in order to become official Venetian citizens (with all of the appropriate discounts – instead of costing 5 Euros per ride, citizens can buy a pass for a month for just 30 Euros). After the faffing about that is the result of 32 people filling out a form in a language they don’t speak, we were cut loose for the day.
Ran a few errands – arranged my account with an ISP on the Giudecca so that I can check the internet as much as I want during some unfortunately inconvenient hours. However, for a mere 24 Euros for a month, I’m going for it – near the apartment it runs about 6 Euros an hour. Therefore, please forgive me if I’m a little slow responding to emails.

March 29, 2006
Wednesday

Today we walked the length and breadth of the Giudecca, taking pictures and notes the whole time. The Giudecca is almost completely non touristy in the middle, the western corner is the Molino Stucky Hilton – an old flour milling compound that is mid renovation. It’s pretty cool and we got a good tour, including the elite rooftop suite that will cost an estimated 12,000 Euros a night.

At the other end of the Giudecca is one of the posh hotels – so posh that they’ve got a permanent fleet of boats at the beck and call of their guests at all times.
The center of the Giudecca is working class – filled with comparatively modern arpartments, some green space, some shipyards, and just a couple of relic villas back from its agricultural heyday.

Rumor has it that “back in the day” wealthy Venetians would come to the Giudecca for their summer holidays. Hm… Not far, eh? Honestly, it would take a while but I could certainly swim the distance. Not that I’d want to – Venetian septic systems process the waste then send most of it straight into the canals. Luckily the tide totally flushes (har har har) the Venetian basin twice each day.

During one part of the tour, when we were in the shipyard directly next to our site, a woman came out and handed out black mirrors to a few of us so that we could watch the partial eclipse of the sun. It was extremely cool, and almost entirely unphotographable – ah well.

After the tours we wandered around the Giudecca (admittedly – we were cold and bored and didn’t want to spend the Euros on heading back to the old town for a mere hour and a half) until the time came to return to the rowing club for our welcome dinner.

The event was lovely – we started with spritz on the patio (wine, juice, bitters) with some curious nibbly crackery things. Then we adjourned inside for dinner – first course was pasta (with ham and tomato), second course was pasta (with zucchini and peas), third course was bizarre meats (bologna, a salami-ish thing, prosciutto, and a cod-and-cream-on-toast). Washed down with local plonk, we all ended the night with satisfying burps. Unfortunately, all the wheat is doing a number on my digestive system and and at least the side effects are amusing as well as embarrassing.

Late that night (about 11:00) we took the boat back to St Marks to come home. As we entered the plaza (piazza, Charlie, piazza) it soon became apparent that there was a mild aqua alta. As I’m sure you’re all aware, Venice is in a lagoon right between the sea and the land. Venice itself is subsiding, and sea level is rising. I’m sure you can all spot the problem here – Venice floods all the time and it is called “aqua alta” or high water. It has flooded very deeply (over a meter), but usually it’s not that bad. They’ve got elevated walkways set up throughout the city to help people walk above the water level, and they’re working like mad things to protect the architecture and infrastructure from the water.

So it was with some guilty delight that we saw a mild aqua alta coming into the plaza. The drains were gurgling and water was coming up through them – it was an inch deep in some places. The good news is that the piazza is the lowest part of Venice – so the rest of the city was fine.

March 30, 2006
Thursday

Lynn and I had heard rumors of a swimming pool close to our apartment, so we set off to find it in the morning. We had no such luck, but thoroughly enjoyed the walk across Venice and back. Looks like we’ll have to use the pool over on the Giudecca.

We had to head over to the studio after that, and after watching the boat we wanted to take go sailing by, we realized that it only stops at that particular spot at times that we are not likely to be there. So, we caught another traghetto up to the railway, then caught the wrong one back down the Giudecca. Ooops. Oh well, we were only five minutes late and since the lectures started on Mediterranean time, we were actually ten minutes early.

The lectures were quite interesting, talking about the history and recent development of the Giudecca. One of the most famous residents of the Giudecca (no, not Elton John, though he has an apartment there too) was in attendance, a Mrs. Nuria Schoenberg-Nono. She’s the daughter of Schoenberg the famous music guy and widow of Nono, another famous music guy (sorry Megan – I’ll try and get more details for you). She was charming and affable – German by birth, American upbringing, and as Venetian as they come, as she had lived there for about the last 30 years. She was a member of the Venetian literati in the 1960’s and we saw some great pictures of her at dinner with Mr. Nono, Benjamin Britten, and Carlo Scarpa (famous architecture guy).

We all decided not to go to a party we’d been invited to (we hadn’t know it was formal, or that we would have had to sign a waiver to get in because it was being filmed), so we headed home, ate some artichokes, then went to bed.

March 31, 2006
Friday

we met up with the group bright and early and climbed into a good sized boat for a tour of the lagoon. After a brief stop over at the Giudecca to pick up the folks who live over there, we set of for the famous island of Murano.

Murano is fairly close to Venice – perhaps 45 minutes by boat. The lagoon is mostly very shallow – less than a meter deep. When the water is low, great soggy acres of vegetation appear. When the water is high, unsuspecting boats beach themselves. To prevent this, the natural channels that were formed during the lagoon’s daily flushing were formalized with great wooden pilings, and the channels have been maintained by dredging. This also provides some excellent defense to Venice – just about the only non-walled medieval city anywhere. When they thought someone was coming over for a bit of an invasion, they scooted around the lagoon pulling up the pilings so that the unsuspecting bad guys would get stuck miles from the city. As Julie would say “That’s what you get.”

Murano is cool – much quieter and less touristy than the old city, and filled with excellent glass shops and a nifty museum. Back in the somethingoranother century, all of the glassworks were moved here from the old city for fear of fire. We just saw the museum today though, we’re coming back later for a glassworking demonstration, and there have been rumors of glassblowing lessons.

After Murano, we headed over to the Lazaretto, the ancient quarantine island that protected Venice from the rats and diseases of the world. Incoming cargo and sailors had to stay here for 40 days (like Jesus in the desert) and if they survived they were allowed into Venice itself. As they laid around all day, not doing much, this gives us the word “lazy”. The island is really cool – very rural, full of archaeological digs, and a particularly masculine feral cat. The cat had improved on the one-leg-up self-cleaning technique by going whole hog and having both legs up for the same cleaning. Half of the class was in quiet crying hysterics, unable to explain to the rest of the class why they were laughing.

After our wander around, we had a very Venetian lunch in their dining hall. Pasta with sardine and onion sauce, fresh sardines gutted then fried whole (down in one, baby), polenta with cuttlefish in its own ink sauce (not a great fan of this one, but will try it again – very unusual flavor, actually tasted inky), followed by espresso and the unremarkable biscuits that get served at all catered meals.

So, with bellies groaning with fruits de mer, we set off for the island of Burano. Burano is notable for two major things – first of all, most of the houses are painted in eye poppingly saturated colors. Fuschia, hot pink, aqua, ultramarine, crimson, yellow. I have to admit I like the effect, and part of me wants to go home and paint the house scarlet. Burano is also famous for lace making, both needlepoint lace and bobbin lace. We got a tour of the excellent museum, squinted at some exquisite lace that was impressive, if not to my taste, then were shephereded quickly back on to the boat.

Next stop, Torcello. The first inhabited Venetian island. It’s extreme swampiness, cruddy soil, and bad location means that it was quickly abandoned and is now a comparative rural paradise with gorgeous churches, and a couple of very posh hotels (having catered to, among others, Queen Elizabeth and Princess Diana). The archaeology museum there is excellent, and the church is a good one – very old, very Byzantine, and filled with creepy imagery. I’ll post some pictures. It’s also one of those charming churches that has bodies on display – saint somebodyoranother in one case, and a couple of other notables in another.
After that, a long boat ride home to a quiet meal in our graceful apartment. Never mind that the clothes washer broke on the day before it was my turn to use it and that now one of our locks has broken too. Ah well.