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.