My knee was becoming the limiting factor in our journeys around town, but it felt better if it was exercised and stressed a bit, so we headed out with no real destination or goal.
Our path took us past the Rialto and along the Grand Canal into new areas. During the day, this part of town is jammed with tourists and locals catering to them. After 19:00, only the occasional shop was still looking to harvest the few dollars or euros available. Screams rang out from upper floors of buildings, signaling the ups and downs of the football match against Romania. (It ended in a 1-1 tie. But we were robbed!) An elderly grandmother in a shop allowed me to watch the game on her small television as long as the LB kept shopping.We ended up, as it seemed we always did, at San Marco, just in time for the passeggiata, listening to the dueling orchestras competing for the attention of locals and tourists alike. We strolled the waterfront again, listening to the incessant squabbling of the gondoliers, sounding like nothing so much as a group of feisty seagulls all squawking, “Mine, mine” (It helps to understand if you have grandchildren!) After all this activity, we decided to have a last meal and stopped into a little trattoria for a quick meal of sweet & sour sardines and steamed mussels.
The sardines are a local delicacy in Venice and really are much better than they sound. The little café was on a new street, so we decided to follow it toward home. After encountering several watery cul-de-sacs, I was forced to use my map…so much for finding my way around town. Fortunately, in this place you go from totally lost to home in the span of a single turn. Such was the case last night, with “our church”, S. Maria dei Miracoli, jumping out as we made the corner and crossed the bridge.The weather during our stay in Venice has been beautiful…warm and sunny during the day, with cool evenings. Yet visiting Venice is very much like going to New Orleans or Galveston. Even when the weather is good, it is going to be damp and humid, so you may as well get used to the idea. Our departure day dawned drippy, gray and cold. By the time we were packed and ready to leave, it had increased to a steady drizzle, making for an uncomfortable walk to the vaporetto stop. An enterprising flower shop owner earned my thanks and a few euros by having a display of umbrellas by the door. The vaporetto came to our rescue, and provided our transportation to the rail station. At one time I had suggested to the LB we walk from our apt to the station, but she vetoed that idea quickly. Sometimes (?) she really does think straighter than I do.
At the station, we walked into what appeared mass chaos. If we had not stopped and reconnoitered the layout during a previous outing at a quiet time, we would have been lost. As it worked out, we had time for cappuccinos and still found our train and even the correct car, unlike quite a few of the other American tourists. On the track next to ours, sat the latest incarnation of the Orient Express. Their passengers didn’t have to schlep their own luggage, since the liveried porters delivered it directly to their stateroom. Another porter went from compartment to compartment, placing fresh flowers in each. I also noticed the passengers didn’t dress like the rag-tag bunch of locals and tourists on our train.
Finally, the train eased out of the station and began the trip to Florence. Since we were travelling on the Euro Star, there were only a few stops along the way, first in Mestre (which is the Venice station on the mainland), then Padua, and finally Bologna before pulling into Florence’s S. Maria Novella station. At times it seems as if everything in this country is named after one saint or another. It sounds beautiful, but can make it difficult to keep track of where you are. In Florence, the plan had been to catch the bus to the airport to pick up our rental car, but the LB was looking a wee bit frazzled, so I splurged on a taxi. It proved much easier getting there, but I’m not sure it helped her nerves any. The taxi driver seemed determined to see how close he could come to every other vehicle on the road. Lanes and signals obviously meant little to him as he slalomed through traffic, determined to set a new speed record on this fixed price run.
At the car rental office, all went smoothly after I convinced the clerk I really hadn’t reserved a 3-door Yugo. The correct paperwork was located and soon we were headed out into the streets of Florence. The airport is on the outskirts of the city, so it was not difficult to find the autostrada headed toward Roma. We veered off toward Sienna and then were on some of the prettiest back roads I’ve ever driven. Next stop: Chiusdino!
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