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.