Then what?

So, where do all the Gondolas go at night? Well, they go to the Gondola Parking Lot:

There's a small dog-leg in this canal, which allows a number of gondolas to be parked there safely overnight.


We didn't go on a gondola ride this time, but probably my all-time favourite photograph came from our visit in 2006, when we went round the back-streets of Venice with Guido (and he didn't sing, but he did tell us that there is a gondolieri for every bridge in Venice, so that's about 400 guys (but no women, apparently).

What else?  We went to Torcello, an almost empty island with two restaurants and a magnificent church, with 12th Century mosaics, and signs of the original roman flooring clearly visible for those with eyes to see.


No photos allowed inside, however, but you can see them here, a bit. 


On separate days we went to what Mr Golightly caustically refers to "Lace World" and "Glass World", where we had two fabulous lunches, the Burano lunch was in a scruffy looking diner with no outside tables, no tout and no multi-lingual menus.  The only clue that the food might be OK was a hand-written sign saying "Lasagne Al Forno", which literally means "to the furnace", but actually means "cooked in the oven", or, made here.  And it was, because when I asked her "fatto in casa?", she gave me a look and said "Si, certo!!".  It was about the best lasagne I've ever eaten, with a slice of proscuitto between two of the pasta layers - fabulous.  


About half way through, a woman came in with an empty plate, had a quick chat to the restaurant owner and popped back to her shop next door.  Talking to her later when I was stocking up on lace-trimmed hankies for gifts, she told us that all the locals eat there, and that it's the best food on the island, but the tourists don't go there because it looks a bit shabby.  And it was fabulous, as was the artisanal gelato we had near the boat stop - three magnificent flavours, including dark chocolate, which I smeared all over my face and didn't realise until we'd walked all the way home from the Vaporetto.


How old is this?

The Murano lunch was equally fabulous, at a restaurant we'd read about in a book called "Chow Venice" called Busa Alla Torre, where they had a fabulous Menu Turistica, for about E15.00 - I had spaghetti with clams, and a fabulous whole sea bass, which I was quite happy to fillet myself (I was well brung up, y'know...)

Mr G had a fabulous smelling bucatini with smokey pancetta, and then something that escapes me, but he assures me it too was fabulous, then I made a complete pig of myself with a piece of their homemade strawberry tart, which was fantastic, all custardy and crumbly... yum.  We walked it all off, later, by trying to find souvenirs that didn't appear in every single shop we looked at.  That was hard work, let me tell you.


Then we got the boat back to Venice and had a long nap.  

The wheels on the train go round and round

Italian trains are fabulous, y'know?  They're clean, they leave on time (Thanks, Benito) and the seat numbers you have so carefully reserved when you bought your tickets online only 3 months before are clearly indicated overhead.  The window seats have their numbers next to a little window symbol, and the aisle seats are next to them.  Simple, really.


Well, Mr G & I thought so, but the rather large couple from a country where a form of English is spoken, which isn't Australia*, didn't get it.  Even after the extremely nice, fluently-English speaking conductor-guy pointed to their tickets, our tickets, the window, the aisle, god, and ghod-knows what else, they still didn't get it.


Anyway, eventually they moved so we could claim our prize (the window seats, natch), then sat for the entire journey glaring daggers at us.  Well, she certainly did.  He put his earphones in & played some game on a little white boxy thing for the entire trip to Firenze.  Then they got off.  I had nearly turned purple with the effort of holding my breath for that entire time, but I breathed again once they'd gone.  In with the calm, out with the stress.


In Firenze, two delightful American Gentlemen got on the train, and engaged with us in charming, well-read and well-bred conversation all the way to Venezia, where we bid them a fond farewell, and proceeded to drag our suitcases all the way from Fondamenta Santa Lucia to Strada Nova.  I noted with some small degree of pleasure the new steps on some of the bridges that allow people with wheelchairs and idiots with suitcases to negotiate the bridges without dragging their wheels off, but there weren't enough of them to make it easy... and the idiots in tour groups didn't help either.  


Needless to say, a small tiff ensued because I didn't have my handy-dandy Venice map on me, right there, right then, and "we might have missed the turn", but Mr G solved that by going into a bookshop to buy yet another one.  That's about 19 we own now, but, to quote Ms Lois McMaster Bujold, "No artificial shortages".  Once we had the map, Mr G was satisfied that we hadn't missed the turn (see, he has absolutely no short term memory, and so could not remember from our visit in 2006 that the street we needed to turn into was almost directly opposite the street for the Ca' Doro vaporetto, unlike me), and we walked the 20 feet to our turning.  I felt almost vindicated, however, smug does not make for a happy marriage, so I held my tongue.  Kind of.


Our apartment was small but perfectly formed, with two bedrooms, PayTV and a laptop, and the most difficult-to-use washing machine I've ever encountered.  However, once I'd mastered it, it was extremely handy, so no more whining, lucky for you Mr ForeignWashingMachineMaker**.


It was also directly on a canal at the front, so we were able to leave windows and shutters open during the day, which meant we got some lovely fresh air, and it was relatively quiet, which meant we got some nice sleep, once I persuaded Mr Golightly to turn off the TV, that is - did I mention it was in the bedroom?  Same in Rome, too.  I think it's a bit weird, I have to say, to have the house's only TV in the bedroom, but Mr G liked it.  


It also had the worst shower I've encountered in a building***, where the temperature varied from 'boil your arse off' to 'freeze your arse off', and the pressured varied from trickle to slightly faster trickle.  It was one of those showers you have to run around in to get wet, which made washing my hair interesting.  


Some views, then:

View from outside the living room window.

This is a very famous building just near Ponte Rialto, which also features in this photo I took in 2003, but from a different angle:

We came out of this calle onto the canal which connects to the Grand Canal whilst we were looking for this:

The amazing Scala Contarini del Bovolo, which sadly was closed to the public when we were there, and it's probably just as well, because about 30 seconds after we got there, and an extremely nice French lady took our photo, a horde of tourists arrived, making lots of noise, disrupting every body else's views and generally being irritating.  I'm sure they would have overrun it.  We left them to it and went off in search of the Gondola parking lot!


Ciao for now!






*See?  I don't like to generalise.
**Whose name I can't actually remember.  Nothing wrong with my short-term memory.
***As opposed to 'whilst camping'

Curmudgeon!

That's me... I do think grammar and spelling are vitally important, especially in the day-job, and I refuse  to settle for the mis-spelt word, the misplaced comma, the badly worded phrase... However, I get the feeling I probably shouldn't try & drive change off the back of a piddly little some-time sewing blog... although I was sorely tempted for a week or so!


Anyway, now that my dudgeon is not so high, I'm back to normal, whatever that is.  I'm still doing the stupid hours, average 44 hours for the last month, and have started counting down the days until we go on holidays... only 6 weeks to go tomorrow!


Is it too early, do you think, to start planning itineraries?  I bought this great set of Rome Walking Tours, and I'm thinking that I'll take them with us, they're small enough to go in a day-pack... along with the digital camera, an umbrella and a bottle of water, although the water in Italian fountains is perfectly safe to drink... although from skimming through some travel sites, you'd think "that foreign muck" out of fountains and taps was the devil reincarnated....


As for Venice, maps and plans mean nothing, the best thing to do is to wander round taking in the sights - and I am aiming to see this:

Courtesy Wikipedia.


Betcha we just get to see the scaffolding - apparently it's being restored... just like the first time we went, when we saw this:

Compared to the second time, when we saw the real thing:

Bit of a difference, and well worth the 3 year wait.  Oops.  That's "three year wait".  And now, having fixed Blogger where it's has started doing that stupid thing again with the photo alignment again, my curmudgeonly gene is reasserting itself, and I am going to bed.  Up, up with the lark at 5.30am, and off to the office.    Yee haw!


Sewing Saturday, I have orders - dogs galore, and "Let's go Shopping" for Anne-Marie - fun all round.  And of course there's some nice fabric pics to show you, so don't go 'way now, y'hear?


Ciao!