We woke a bit early to catch our bus from Florence to Rome. The bus climbed out of Florence into Umbria, the region south of Tuscany (which contains Florence) and north of Lazio (which contains Rome). I was eager to reach Rome because I wanted to attend a calcio (soccer) match at 15:00 between Lazio and Brescia at the Olympic Stadium. Alas, this was not to be.

Instead, we exited the autostrade (freeway) near Orvieto and climbed the hills into the Umbrian countryside. After half an hour of twisting and turning, we reached Poggio della Volara, an agriturismo set on a grape and olive orchard. An agriturismo is a farm that, with a subsidy from the Italian government, has converted part of its operations into what we might call a bed and breakfast. This program gives tourists a relaxed, slow-paced place to escape, while also providing a way for farms to stay in business.

Poggio della Volara is owned by Marco, who took some time to tell us about his farm:

The day was lovely. It was hazy and warm, with just a tinge of autumn in the air. Marco served us four wines produced by local vineyards, as well as a light lunch of bread, cheese, and meat. It was lovely, and well worth missing a calcio match.

Joy and Kris, tasting wine and sun

Though most of us would have rather stayed with Marco, the bus continued on. We reached Rome at 15:30, spent 90 minutes getting settled, then grouped for an evening stroll. We boarded the subway at the Repubblica stop (near our hotel) and ventured to the Spagna stop nar the Spanish Steps.

Sarah (our tour guide), demonstrating how the Roman fountains work

Sarah then led us to the Trevi Fountain and the Pantheon.

Wes, who always has his camera ready, trying to get a shot of the Trevi Fountain

Because it was Sunday, the Pantheon was closed. Our tour guide, Sarah, spent some time describing the construction of this amazing building. The ancient Romans built the Pantheon as a shrine to all of their gods. The current building was re-built by the Emperor Hadrian in about 126 A.D., and was eventually taken over by the Catholic Church, which ousted the Roman gods for the god of Christianity. The building is a near sphere (except that it doesn’t extend below the ground), and includes an occulus (or hole) in the ceiling that looks out to the sky.

Finally, we walked to our restaurant, the name of which escapes me. The food was good, but not great. That’s okay, though, because we enjoyed our dinner conversation. We sat with Joy and Phil again, but also with Cindy and Deno, who happen to live just a few miles from us here in Portland. (They live in Wilsonville.) Cindy and Deno both recently lost a lot of weight, and both have backgrounds in public education. They were interesting to talk with.

After dinner, we crossed the Tiber River to see the Castel Sant’Angelo. Most of the group then caught a bus back to the hotel. I wanted to walk &mash; I needed to stretch my legs. Plus, the weather was perfect, and I thought this would be a fun way to see the city.

Sarah seemed a little taken aback and initially tried to talk me out of it. “Do you know how far it is?” she asked. “It’ll take you two hours!” She warned me that Rome is huge and the streets confusing. She said I might get lost. But I was confident in my map, my sense of direction (it’s one of my super powers, remember?), and my sense of scale. I knew I could find my way back, and that I might even beat the bus if I hustled. The walk was lovely and liberating. And it only took 35 minutes. I arrived at the hotel just a few minutes after the rest of the group.

Looking down from the Spanish Steps at night

That night walk through Rome was one of the highlights of my trip. (Other highlights: the morning run in Venice, my solo walk through Paris, and the church of San Clemente, which I’ll talk about tomorrow.)

Our final full day in Florence was fun.

After breakfast, we marched down past the Uffizi Gallery to Piazza della Repubblica, where we met our local guide Luka again. He started the day by taking us to a typical Florentine palazzo (or palace), where he told us about some of the city’s history and described how the wealthy merchant class used to live. Because I was in a much better mood than the day before, I enjoyed his presentation.

The Palazzo Davanzati is the former home of a wealthy family of wool merchants. The house was built in 1516, and has managed to survive until today. It now serves as a museum demonstrating what a typical palazzo might have been like. I found the tour of this home much more interesting than that of Ca’ Rezzonico in Venice, mostly because the Palazzo Davanzati was decorated with real furnishings and art instead of having been turned into an art museum.

I was particularly fascinated by the art on the wall of one bedroom, which told the story of the Châtelaine de Vergy, an old French story of romance and courtly love. I think this is ripe for potential re-working for modern audiences.

The Ponte Vecchio (or “old bridge”) was built in 1345

We then crossed the River Arno along Via Maggio to Piazza San Spirito and the church there. The group stopped to eat, but Kris and I struck out on our own. We spent 30 minutes searching for the entrance to a large walled garden nearby, but failed, so we headed back downtown to find lunch.

We eventually settled on a hole-in-the-wall place that turned out to have fine food. We were entertained by the three men at the next table, who conversed effortlessly in four languages (Italian, Spanish, English, and German), often switching tongues in the middle of a sentence! They each ordered a gigantic bistecca alla Fiorentina (Florentine steak, which is essentially a T-bone or Porterhouse). Together, the three of them finished two liters of the house red wine. Plus they ate salads and bread. All of this for lunch.

After lunch, we toured the Bargello, which is a former prison now turned into an art museum that primarily houses sculptures. Kris and I both learned that we find great sculptures much more compelling than great paintings. They seem much more difficult to create.

Also during the day, we paused to look at a variety of markets. As I’ve mentioned already, Italian cities are filled with markets, much like the farmers markets we have here in the U.S. These are held every day, though. (Or nearly every day.)

Flowers for sale at a craft market in Florence, Italy

You can buy all sorts of leather goods in Florence — Kris and I bought belts!

Plus, there are tiny little shops scattered throughout Italian (and French) cities. These single-purpose shops aren’t like those in the U.S. Here we have “one-stop shopping” supermarkets. And while supermarkets are slowly gaining ground in France and Italy, most shops are still focused on one thing: bread, pastries, gelato, produce, wine, whatever. Here’s a tiny little store that sells only produce and wine, for example:

This tiny market (which only sold wine and produce) was typical of those we saw in Italy

This is very typical of the shops we saw on this trip to Europe.

Gelato shops are also very common in Italy. These are like tiny neighborhood ice cream stands, except they sell gelato. What is gelato? It’s essentially ice cream, but with a few key differences.

• Gelato has less butterfat than ice cream, which means the flavors (strawberry, chocolate, whatever) are more prominent.
• Gelato is denser (or thicker) than ice cream because it doesn’t have any air added to it.
• Gelato is served warmer than ice cream, which means it melts more quickly.

In many ways, gelato seems like home-made ice cream. I actually prefer gelato to commercial ice cream (and I think Kris does too). Really, though, I’m a sucker for both, and they’re both bad for my diet!

Kris ordering gelato, something we did once a day in Italy.

After a quick pitstop back at Hotel Silla, Kris and I strolled along the River, watching the crowds of locals and tourists.

Life is good in Florence — that’s the Ponte Vecchio in the background

We made our way to the Piazza della Signoria, where we met our tour group for dinner. As we waited, we listened to a street musician playing the guitar.

The street musicians were very organized. This fellow was a little late leaving this spot, and the woman who came after him was unhappy. He apologized and packed up as quickly as possible, but I think she felt deprived of a few minutes of prime real estate during rush hour.

We ate at Trattoria Nella, where we had creamy gnocchi, penne pasta, veal, and spinach. Though the rest of the group raved about the meal, I actually preferred our other dinner in Florence at Giglio Rosso.

Breakfast in Florence was much like breakfast in Venice: hard rolls, yogurt, cheese, and coffee. Well, no coffee for me of course. I had daily cups of hot chocolate. At least in Florence, we had fruit to choose from!

After breakfast, our Rick Steves tour group marched down to Chiesa di Santa Croce (the church of the Holy Cross). Our early reservation at the Uffizi Gallery was postponed because of a morning strike. (“Italians are always striking over something,” our tour guide Sarah told us.)

On our way to Santa Croce, we passed through what Sarah described as a “German Oktoberfest”. She was corrected by a nearby vendor, however, who told us (in his thick accent), “Austrian Oktoberfest!”

We toured Santa Croce with our local guide Luka. It’s a beautiful building filled with frescoes by Giotto and his pupils. And, much to Kris’ delight, it contains many tombs. (Kris loves tombs, remember.) However, I’m not sure how many of these tombs were actually tombs — I think many of them were simply monuments. Whatever the case, we saw monuments or tombs for Dante, Machiavelli, Rossini, and three scientists: Galileo, Marconi, and Enrico Fermi.

The courtyard inside Santa Croce

Stained glass high on a wall inside Santa Croce

Kris in front of Galileo’s tomb. Or monument. Or whatever.

The strike at the Uffizi Gallery ended mid-morning, so we headed over to take in one of the biggest art collections in the world. We saw Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus (which was wonderful), some Michelangelos, and more.

Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus — not my photo

But I was tired and hungry and my feet hurt. I was tired of standing in museums and walking with the group at a snail’s pace. Plus, our tour guide Luka — while knowledgeable and nice — rambled on and on with little personality. I felt more and more on edge. To cope, I spent the last 60 to 90 minutes in my own little world, following the group from room to room but listening to classical music on my iPod while pacing the edges of the galleries.

By the time the tour ended at two, Kris and I were tired, hungry, and snippy. We quickly found a place to eat pizza, wine, and chocolate. We felt much better after lunch. Italian food had a way of improving my mood in a hurry!

In the afternoon, we toured Museo Galileo, Florence’s science museum. Were I not tired, this would surely have been a trip highlight — especially the globes and the maps of the heavens. Even exhausted, it was fun to see.

Galileo’s fingers! (In theory, anyhow…)

Kris and I walked back to the hotel, where we had a supper of food from the nearby grocery store. We each picked out little snacks to eat. Kris bought what she thought were little blocks of cheese, but they actually turned out to be blocks of yeast. We were asleep by 8 p.m.

No room to park? No problem! With a Smart Car, you can park sideways…

For most of our time in Venice, I felt trapped. I felt like a caged animal. For the previous couple of months, I’d become accustomed to an intense workout at 6:30 every morning, and remaining active through most of the day. Despite claims to the contrary, I felt like our tour wasn’t very active. It was a lot of standing around looking at stuff. So, I felt trapped. I had all this excess energy, and I needed to burn it off.

So, on our last morning in Venice, I woke at 5:22 for an early morning run through the streets. I ran across the Rialto bridge to the Basilica di Santi Giovanni e Paolo, then found my way to St. Mark’s, and then the Accademia. From there, I ran northwest along the waterfront, then picked my way through the alleys to the tranchetto (car park). I made my way across the Ponte della Costituzione (Venice’s newest bridge) to the train station, before running down the wide avenue to the Rialto. I did about six miles in around an hour. It felt great.

At 8:15, we made our way to the vaporetto (water bus), which carried us to our motorcoach for Florence.

Our bus ride took us through beautiful hill country that reminded me (and others) of Colorado west of Denver. For lunch, we stopped at an Autogrill outside Bologna. An Autogrill is a glorified rest stop alongside the freeway. I don’t mean this in a bad way. In the U.S., we have scuzzy minimarts in our roadside gas stations. An Autogrill is like that, but with higher-quality goods (including books and produce) and, often, a cafeteria.

This particular Autogrill had a cafeteria with pasta, meats, fruits, and (of course) wine. It also had a gourmet food store in the lower level. It’s not a great place to eat, but it’s a fun glimpse at something other countries have that we in the U.S. do not.

This was the most expensive place we stayed on our trip. Fancy hotels are lost on me and Kris.

Our group arrived in Florence at 2 p.m. and settled into the Hotel Silla, just north of the River Arno. After a short rest, we met our tour guide Sarah for a walking tour of the city. She showed us the “fake David” and other sculptures, the Duomo, and more.

The Duomo in Florence, which sprawls through the city’s center. It’s huge.

Perseus hoists the Medusa’s head

Neptune guarding Piazza della Signoria

Wes, photographing Neptune. Sarah, our tour guide, stands behind him.

We then walked to Florence’s Accademia art gallery, where we saw the real David by Michelangelo. This marble statue may be the most famous sculpture in the world — and it’s really quite impressive.

To end the evening, we walked to dinner at Giglio Rosso. This was my favorite meal of the entire trip. The food was fantastic (three kinds of pasta, three meats, several glasses of wine, and two profiteroles for dessert) and the service smooth. Delicious!

We walked home on a warm Thursday evening, enjoying the boisterous street activity, including many street artists like these:

I started the day feeling like a caged tiger, but ended it purring like a cat. Despite my complaints in these journals, I enjoyed Italy a great deal. It was a wonderful place, and in many ways felt like home. The food was great, the people were friendly, and the culture fit my personality. In retrospect, it was the structured nature of the tour that did me in. (And, as you’ll see, I have more complaints tomorrow!) The tour was great, as far as tours go. But I had much more fun in those moments I was allowed to break free from the script and improvise: running through Venice, walking alone across Rome, getting lost in Paris. I like discovery, not being told what to see.

There was plenty of discovery on our trip, so I was essentially happy. But the scripted moments — even when the script was good — often made me feel confined. (This is the reason I don’t like being on a cruise ship, either. I just don’t like pre-packaged tourism. It may be a fun vacation, but it’s missing an element of realism that I find vital in visiting new places.)

Because I’m a geek, I track lots of stats about my physical state. I track the number of calories I consume, the number of calories I burn, the amount of exercise I do, and, yes, the amount of sleep I get. During the first few days of our vacation, I had nights of five hours, four hours, and zero hours of sleep. For a man who averages about 7-1/2 hours of sleep per night, that was not enough. Not even close.

Fortunately, I woke better rested than on previous mornings, but I found myself in a bit of a funk. I was grouchy and out of sorts. I had a boil on my arm (which was gross and painful), I hadn’t been getting the exercise I was used to (yes, we were walking a lot, but at a slow pace), and I was just generally out of sorts.

A group of kids near the Rialto bridge (the risers are sidewalks for high tides)

The Rick Steves group — which has a “no grumps” policy — met for a tour of the Accademia art gallery, where an Italian tour guide spent 90 minutes describing the collection of Catholic art. I hated it. Much of this art is beautiful, and I don’t have anything against Catholics, but it was all too much, too soon. After just a few days in Italy, I was beginning to believe the entire country was only about Catholicism. And wine.

After the Accademia, we toured Ca’ Rezzonico, a palazzo (or palace) that has been converted into a museum dedicated to 18th-century Venice. The building was grand, and I liked some of the art, but my feet were sore, the day was hot, the pace was slow, and I was cranky that this palazzo — which had been billed to us as “typical of the day” — was mostly unfurnished. (At the Louvre in Paris, I was pleased as punch that the Napoleon III rooms retained much of their original furnishings.) It didn’t take long until Kris was grumpy that I was grumpy.

Fortunately, my mood improved in the afternoon.

First, Joy and Phil — the only other couple our age in the tour group — invited us to join them for lunch. I was quiet and surly at first, but the food and conversation improved my mood. Plus, I shared a liter of wine with Joy and Phil. If you get to Venice, I recommend Avogaria Locanda, which is also apparently a hotel. The beef stew was great!

Typical menu board in Italy. Note that “panini” just means “sandwiches”.

After lunch, Kris and I meandered back to the hotel. This was fun for me because it meant I got to pick my way through the twisting maze of Venetian streets. Throughout the trip, I kept saying that maps and directions are one of my super powers. It’s true. I love going to a new city and having to navigate my way around. Venice was probably the most fun I’ve ever had doing this.

We made a quick pit stop, and then headed out again. First we stopped so Kris could buy some Murano glass. Next, we walked over to the Basilica di San Giovanni e Paolo (or, the church of St. John and Paul).

A typical Venetian street sign, painted on the wall

Chiesa di Ss. Giovanni e Paolo, Venice

It’s tough to convey the scale of this place. It’s huge. Note the woman in lower left.

Another member of our group (Carrie) had stumbled upon this church by accident, and told us it was great. She was right. Though San Giovanni e Paolo doesn’t get promoted in the guidebooks, it’s actually fairly cool. It was one of Kris’ favorite spots on our entire trip. “I like the tombs,” she says. She likes the tombs in all of the churches. And this church had the tomes of 25 doges (or dukes), the rulers of Venice.

Note the floor, which is in a state of “elegant decay”.

Kris likes this “dead baby angel” bas relief. She likes all tombs.

After San Giovanni e Paolo, we decided to hoof it to St. Mark’s before it closed. I got side-tracked, however, by a bookstore billing itself (in self-conscious irony) as “the most beautiful bookshop in the world”, which is technically called Libreria Acqua Alta.

The most beautiful bookshop in the world

Kris thought the bookstore’s fire exit was hilarious

This bookstore is far from beautiful, but the owner is friendly, and happy to crack jokes in English (and other languages, too, I suspect). The store features stacks and stacks of used books, all tumbling over each other in wonderful disarray. I spent a happy half hour digging through old comics before buying some Italian translations of comics I loved as a kid.

The bookstore also had a cat — only the second we’d seen in Venice — but he didn’t want to have anything to do with us. Kris tried to take a photo, but this was all she could manage:

“I hate tourists,” this cat seems to be saying. He did not want his photo taken.

If you’re a book lover, this is a must-visit destination in Venice. Damn Rick Steve for not including this in his guidebook!

Despite the side-trip, we were able to see St. Mark’s — for five minutes. Because we had a museum pass from earlier in the day, we were able to get into the ground floor for free. We followed the masses around and snapped a couple of quick photos. If we’d had more time, we could have paid to see the famous four horses. Based on our cursory visit, though, we weren’t impressed. It’s neat, but it’s very touristy. The Scrovegni Chapel in Padua was better, and maybe too were the other cathedrals we saw in Venice.

Kris, getting cozy with the Italian wildlife

We returned to the hotel, where we spent some time unwinding. Then we headed out to dinner with new friends Joy and Phil. We ate at a place that had been recommended to them by friends: Osteria Antico Giardinetto. It’s a lovely, quiet little spot with good food and friendly staff.

Phil’s meal was squid-ink pasta. This isn’t a bad photo — the stuff is just black!

Back at the hotel, we packed for our morning departure to Florence.

After another breakfast consisting of yogurt, a hard roll, and orange juice, the Rick Steves group met Elisabetta, a native Venetian and our guide for a tour through the heart of the city.

We headed south from our hotel (Pensione Guerrato), making our way slowly through the crowded streets to the Accademia Bridge (so named because it’s located next to the Accademia art gallery). Along the way, we stopped to tour the Basilica di Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, yet another church. (Sorry to be dismissive. We toured many churches in Venice, and a few more in France. They blur together after awhile. Kris liked this one. Ask her to tell you about it.)

We also stopped at a shop that makes Venetian masks, where Elisabetta told us their history.

As you can tell from the video, Elisabetta was a kick. Besides having a great sense of humor, she was the best source we found for information on what life is really like in Venice.

Trouble in Venice
Most people believe that the biggest problem Venice faces is flooding. They think the city is sinking. Elisabetta says that actually the city’s current crisis is depopulation. Venice had 250,000 inhabitants in the 18th century and 160,000 people after World War II. But today, Venice has only 60,000 people.

She says the top reasons for this rapid drop in population are the difficulty finding work along with rising expectations. (Or, as we say around Get Rich Slowly, lifestyle inflation.) Plus, everyday costs are greater in Venice. Elisabetta said, “Milk might cost €1.25 here in Venice, but only €0.60 in Mestre [just across the water on the mainland]. It costs more to live here because things cost more to transport.”

Though Elisabetta didn’t mention it, I wonder if the tourist trade also has caused the cost of living to increase. There were a ton of tourists in Venice, even in late September. In fact, it seemed like the city is mostly tourists — like a Disneyland for old, rich white people.

Elisabetta thinks people should visit Venice in the winter, when it isn’t mobbed by foreigners. “I always suggest that people come to Venice in the winter,” she said. “Why? Because that’s the only time you can feel Venice. There’s a different rhythm of life.”

Elisabetta also talked a bit about the wonderful Venetian practice called the ombra. This is like a coffee break, but with a glass of wine. In fact, one morning I watched as a construction worker took a break at 10 a.m. to go into a shop for a glass of white wine (perhaps prosecco, a local sparkling wine). According to Elisabetta, folks who start work early (like garbage collectors, whose days begin at 4 a.m.) might have a glass of wine at 6 a.m. — but she doesn’t recommend it.

Back to our tour…
When we reached Piazza San Marco (a.k.a. St. Mark’s Square), the group parted ways. Kris and I scouted out a place near the river for pizza and prosecco. After lunch, we returned to Piazza San Marco to tour the Doge’s Palace, the highlights of which were the very dungeon-like dungeon and the Ponte dei Sospiri (or Bridge of Sighs).

Kris, in the courtyard of the Doge’s Palace

The Doge’s Palace and St. Mark’s Cathedral (under restoration)

Detail from a cornice of the Doge’s Palace

We met the tour group at 6 p.m. for a “pub crawl”. We went to three different cicchetti bars for wine and snacks. Cicchetti are basically appetizer plates, which I found similar to Spanish tapas. They might be olives or meats or small sandwiches or even just vegetables. It’s good stuff.

At the second cicchetti bar, I chatted with the server about soccer, which goes by the name calcio (or “kick”) in Italy. He gave me advice for seeing a match in Rome on Sunday between Lazio and an out-of-town rival. (Lazio is the region of Italy — like a state, I guess — in which Rome is located.) If the timing was fortuitous, the group might get to Rome in time for me to watch the match.

At 8 p.m., the group took an hour-long gondola ride on the Grand Canal. We were serenaded by a guitarist and vocalist, which I tried to capture on video.

After the gondola ride, Kris and I stopped to buy sweets on the way back to the hotel. (In Venice, Kris developed a taste for meringues.)

After nearly twelve hours of much-needed sleep, Kris and I both woke at 4:30 a.m. We read and wrote in our journals. I was famished, so I ate some of my stash of airline snacks. (On the flight to Venice, I’d carefully avoided the peanuts and pretzels — I wanted to stick to my diet!)

At seven, we headed down to the breakfast room of the Pensione Guerrato. There we had the first of many continental breakfasts, all of which consisted of hard rolls, yogurt, cheese, granola, and coffee (for Kris) or orange juice (for me).

After breakfast, we took the train to Padua (or Padova, as it’s known in Italy), about thirty minutes inland. We were both very nervous. This was the first time we’d ever ventured out on our own in a land where we could not speak the language. (I had studied a little Italian before we arrived, but only a very little.) Plus, we were both anxious about pickpockets. Everything we read warned us about pickpockets in France and Italy. (And as many of you know, Kris had money stolen from her purse within 15 minutes of arriving in London in 2007, so we know pickpocketing occurs!)

But we didn’t have any trouble.

We walked to the Scrovegni Chapel, where it took us about twenty minutes to figure out how to enter. (I’m not kidding!) We were able to take the tour despite not having reservations. We spent fifteen minutes looking at the frescoes by Giotto. Alas, we were not allowed to take photos — and a docent stood by to enforce the rule.

Later, we walked down to the university district and looked at the produce market. Many Italian cities have these semi-permanent open-air markets where vendors sell flowers, fruit, fish, meat, vegetables, and more. They’re like our farmers’ markets, but they occur every day instead of once a week.

Shopping for produce at the Rialto market in Venice

Mushrooms at the market in Padua

Seafood for sale at the Rialto market in Venice

Prosciutto in a typical Ventian store (not at the market)

We bought a couple of slices of pizza and sat outside at a table to eat. Apparently, however, the table belonged to the cafe next door because they told us we couldn’t eat there.

This was our introduction to the concept of coperto. If you want to sit at a table in Italy — especially in northern Italy — you have to pay for the privilege. You can eat at the counter (or get your food to go) for free, but if you eat at a table, you pay coperto, a cover charge of between €1 and €3 per person.

Embarrassed, we picked up our pizza and left.

A typical Italian pizza, exactly like the ones they serve at Mi Famiglia

On our walk back to the train station, Kris got a compliment. A woman stopped her and began to ask directions in Italian. Kris smiled and tried to mutter a reply. The woman realized she’d made a mistake, shook her head, and walked on to find a real Italian.

Back in Venice, we took a nap. At 1600, we went downstairs to the breakfast room to meet our Rick Steves tour group, which comprised Sarah (our tour guide) and 25 other tourists. We spent about 90 minutes introducing ourselves and going over ground rules. Then we headed out for a short walking tour of Venice.

You see this dozens of times a day in Venice (one reason I want to live there!)

The walking tour led us to Anonimo Veneziano — or The Anonymous Venetian — where we got to know other members of the group over a long dinner, which included:

• Crostini with tomatoes (and cheese?)
• White vegetarian lasagna
• Seared steak served over arugula, zucchini, and eggplant
• Tiramisu (I ate a fruit plate instead)

After dinner, some of us took a short stroll to Piazza San Marco (a.k.a. St. Mark’s Square), where we heard orchestras playing and watched other tourists crowding around — just like us!

We fell asleep to the sounds of noisy chatter in the plaza below the Pensione Guerrato — and the strains of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama”.

Kris and I woke at 3 a.m. on September 25th to shower and finish packing. Tiffany drove us to the airport, where I actually managed to make it through security without incidence for once. (I always get stopped at security for one thing or another; I was stopped on our flight home from this trip!)

For our flight to New York, we were seated near the rear of the plane where we were surrounded by a large group of Ukrainians who drank copiously and bantered boisterously. One of the two bathrooms behind us had a faulty locking mechanism, so a flight attendant place it out of order, which produced long lines for the loo during the entire flight.

At JFK, we disembarked through the exact same gate we flew home from the last time were here, coming back from England in 2007. After walking to the far end of the terminal to wait out our four-hour layover, I passed the time by doing body-weight exercises: sit-ups, squats, lunges, and so on. I was very worried about going “soft” on this trip.

The flight from JFK to Venice was uneventful. We watched TV shows and movies and played videogames on the iPad. We dominated in-flight trivia. (I always dominate in-flight trivia. I had the top score for the flight, as usual.) Kris napped a little; I did not.

Arrival in Venice
After our flight landed in Venice, we cleared customs quickly (it’s only in the U.S. that customs takes forever) and walked to the waterbus (or alilaguna) terminal. The waterbus follows a heavily-tracked aqua-highway marked by hundreds of wooden pilings. Boats ply their way along this dredged canal (outside the pilings, the water is very shallow), speeding from the mainland to the island city of Venice.

Kris, waiting for the alilaguna/waterbus to take us to Venice

The waterbus let us off at the Ponte di Rialto stop. The Rialto Bridge is the oldest of the four bridges that span Venice’s grand canal; the first bridge here was built in 1255, and the current bridge was completed in 1591 — when Shakespeare was alive.

From the Rialto Bridge, we made our way through the heavy crowd to the nearby Pensione Guerrato, our hotel. Immediately it was clear that Venice was like nowhere else we’d ever been. The city is built atop more than 100 small islands, and most of the buildings are hundreds of years old. The cobble-stone streets are often very narrow, and you’re constantly crossing bridges as you move from one place to another. Because of Venice’s nature, wheeled vehicles make no sense. Not even bikes. (You’d ride your bike 50 feet and then have to stop to carry it across a canal!) All traffic is on foot — or by boat. It’s awesome!

Water traffic on the Grand Canal, just in front of the train station (low building on right)

By 1300 hours in Venice, I’d been awake for 25 hours straight. It took almost precisely 24 hours to reach our hotel room from the time we woke up in Portland the morning before. (Which was 3 a.m., as you’ll recall.) Our goal was to go until 1900 or 2000 and then crash, so we showered and headed out for a much-needed meal.

We ate outside in the sun (too hot for me, just right for Kris) at Trattoria da Bepi. We were surprised at how well the staff spoke English — well enough to joke around with us. (But, as we’d learn, this was par for the course in the touristy spots of Italy.) I had mussels and chicken kabobs and 375ml of prosecco, Italy’s sparkling wine. (Note: Unlike most of the reviewers at the site I linked to, we found Trattoria da Bepi to be just fine. Nothing great, but not bad either.)

A quick walk through the city
After lunch, we wandered the wide boulevard of Strada Nova (the “new” street) toward the train station, over the bridge, and then back to the Pensione Guerrato. Along the way, we learned how Venice’s streets twist and turn like a fantastic maze. They also change names constantly. For example, Strada Nova started as Sesiere Cannaregio and ended as Rio Terá de la Madalena and Rio Terá San Leonardo. Confusing!

J.D., walking down a narrow street in Venice

The streets were crowded on this warm Sunday afternoon. We stopped for two scoops of gelato each, the first of many such scoops we ate in Italy. We also looked through a Venetian supermarket.

Our exhaustion and different travel styles — Kris wants everything spelled out, but I’d rather go with the flow and make things up as we go along — led to short tempers in Venice. Kris wanted answers to questions I couldn’t give her (“How will we know where and when to board the waterbus?” “Where does this street go?”). I’m perfectly content just muddling my way through, making mistakes as I go along. That means I’m willing to trust my gut in the tight and twisty unmarked streets, while Kris would rather verify that every street is either right or wrong before continuing. So we bickered.

Mostly, though, we were just tired and hungry.

After nearly 30 hours without sleep, I was ready to drop. So that’s what I did. After we finally made our way back to the hotel (it was a long walk), I crawled into bed and slept for twelve hours.

The view from the Pensione Guerrato

The Pensione Guerrato from the plaza below (our room is on top floor with open shutters)

My neighbor across the street owns a boat. John is a 74-year-old shop teacher who is always on the move. During our dreary Oregon winters, he’s in New Zealand (where it’s summer), doing volunteer work on a series of farms. During the summer, he motors around southeast Alaska on his 38-foot boat. (He’s here for a couple of weeks in April, and then again for three months in the fall, but otherwise he’s on the move.)

John’s a generous guy, and for several years he’s been bugging me and Kris to spend a couple of weeks on his boat. This sort of thing just doesn’t interest Kris, but I like the idea of puttering around Alaska. I’ve been waiting for the free time to do so, and I finally found it. Last week, Mac and I ditched Real Life to spend ten days with John on Prime Time.

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