Don't leave your baggage unattended (Italy)

And just a brief (just reading back, not so brief, grab a glass of wine) post to wrap up the Italian trip. I thought I'd post a few different photos and record for posterity some of the more amazing things I heard that I forgot to post at the time.

How about the title? It is the 2012 album from a group called The 3 Summits. I think they are German, but I'm not totally sure. As always, the reason for the title will be come clear as you read on.

I need a bottle carrier like this one

Can I begin with jet lag is a bitch? Or, wow, Australia really is a long way from the rest of the world - which goes a long to explaining some of our parochial, small-town thinking.

In the 24 days we were in Italy, we walked a total of 247.1km, an average of 10.3km per day. Despite that, I still put on weight.

A remnant basilica

Random comment: "No, Italians don't really drink beer like us. They prefer wine." Clearly a cultural expert. You may choose your own national identity to vilify, dear reader, but I know where my money is going because I heard the accent.

Transit: We left the apartment in Venice at 10am (ish) to catch the vaporetto to the train station where we had a bit of a wait for the train. The problem is I am a paranoid traveller and like to make sure we have plenty of time to make our connections. Given the rail system in Italy, that has proven to be a sound practice. The rail system is extensive and I would have no hesitation using it as a mode of travel, but I would be a little circumspect around the time they allow for changing trains and making connections.

Arty shot at Assisi

The Frecciarossa delivered us to Rome in high speed fashion where we arrived at 4:10pm. That allowed us just 6 minutes to make the connecting train to the airport. Had I booked the train the web site suggested we would have missed it by 10 minutes and still had to catch the train I booked. I win. After the Frecciarossa, the regional train was riding on the back of a snail. 45 minutes from Rome Tiburtina to Fiumico and the airport. We arrived at 5:15pm

Despite Jayne assuring me that my safety-first attitude to travel is the right one, the gate for our flight was not open when we arrived at the airport. We had to wait almost an hour before we could get to the sane side of the customs barrier.

The flight boarded at 9pm for a 10pm take-off. All on time.

A museum somewhere. No idea where.

Best comment ever: Getting settled in Business Class, I listened as a family arrived to occupy 5 of the seats in the middle section. Two adults and three children under 12. It turned out one was a friend coming along for the holiday. The two boys were talking when one said to the other and said, "How come we are Business Class?" The reply? Is. To. Die. For! "Because there is no First Class on this flight." WTF!!! What a shame, poor little rich kid, had to slum it in Business.

Transit cont'd: Express lane for the security check. I love Business Class. Then we had to walk to the next free state to get to our gate. It was a seriously long walk made longer by dude in Information who sent us to the wrong Al Italia Lounge. I know, right. Scandalous.

Arty shot in Florence looking at the Duomo

Al Italia get my vote for superior food in their lounge and I've been in a few airline lounges over the last few years. Pizza, pasta, charcuterie, good red wine and dolci. The only  negative? They serve prosecco and not champagne. I know, I know, 1st world problems.

Just over an 8 hour flight to Abu Dhabi for another airline lounge while we waited 4 hours for our connecting flight home to Sydney. Jayne's seat wouldn't recline to its flat bed on the flight so we were asked to report to the people at the lounge on arrival. So, I got all excited thinking maybe we'll get a 1st class upgrade on the last leg. How cool. Nup. A 'sorry' letter and an offer of 10,000 frequent flyer points - wouldn't even get her to Melbourne - if she was a FF with Etihad and she's not.

Time for a whinge: Security at some airports is just ludicrous. LA has always been my default in this discussion. Until now. Here's the deal. We passed through security in Rome, boarded a plane, (didn't kill anyone or blow up the plane), got off in Abu Dhabi to transfer to another flight. We haven't left the airport terminal. We haven't been in contact with anyone who hasn't successfully passed through security and we have to be screened again. OK. I get it. You can't be too careful. But can someone explain to me why the boots, the watch, the bracelet and belt I was wearing that had already successfully passed though security while I was wearing them, suddenly have to be removed for this check? They passed through Sydney on the way out, Abu Dhabi on the way to Rome and from Rome only 9 hours earlier. Like WTF!!! I want answers people. What gives?

A Cinque Terre sunset. Meh.

Transit cont'd: Well I told you it was a long trip. As you might imagine, we are a tad over travelling at this point and have been wearing the same clothes for almost 24 hours. It's nearing boarding time, but we haven't been called. Jayne wants to go. We go. Another security check. They want to look inside our carry on bags, you remember, the ones that were x-rayed in Rome and then again when we arrived in Abu Dhabi. Now some flunky with nice rubber gloves is going to find something the two x-ray machines could not.

Our main carry on bag contained our camera and its lenses in a bag and then about 3 kgs of washing. It had been really hot where we'd been. I didn't actually want to open the bag. "This will be interesting" I quipped quietly to Jayne as I lifted the bag onto the bench and opened it for inspection. I unzipped the lid and aired our dirty laundry. Curiously the attendant wasn't very interested, a cursory glance and "Thank, you can close the bag." God bless smelly socks.

Cinque Terre again. The track was steep.

And then? We wait. And so does everyone else. And we wait. No-one says anything despite the large number of Etihad people milling in suits. It was about then that I really began to pay attention to what was happening, read - woke up. We had been corralled in an area that was a mid-point between our gate and the one next to us. In between, and closer to our gate was a vast expanse of empty seats. Why wasn't that open for people to sit ... oh, I see. On one seat and on the ground nearby were three pieces of luggage. Not just any luggage, UNATTENDED LUGGAGE. Be alert, not alarmed. NO. Be alarmed. So what was the response of the security focused Etihad people that had made me crawl through the last security check wearing little else but my socks?

Not much actually. Were alarms sounded? No. Were we evacuated? No. I would have been no more than 10 metres from the offending bags. There was a 20L Nike back pack, a woven carry bag and a small wheeley bag. I watched as the man in army uniform arrived and commenced to x-ray the bags. True story. We actually discussed moving to back of the line in case they exploded. But, hey, I've spent far too much time in China to give up a good place in a line to board an aircraft. We stood our ground.

The x-rays went off into the ether to be analysed and then we scored the OK. No explosion. What sort

A random doorway in Rome.

of person manages to forget three bags? Then the barriers were taken down and we moved to the aircraft in an orderly fashion. Bah ha ha. Thank God for Business Class and a special line.

On the plane, Jayne tested her seat to ensure it fully reclined. Success. Happy days again. Champagne, Great menu. Excellent service. All is forgiven Etihad.

The last leg of the journey, a mere 13 hour flight was commencing around an hour late.

It was a downhill flight so we made up the hour, somewhere. The only down side to the flight was/were screaming children/babies. It must have been absolutely terrible for the parents - it's double loss, you are worried about your child and also worried about upsetting other passengers. And it was a night flight.

Sydney customs, crowded but smooth. Out and in to the car to drive us home.

Home: Sydney time 8am. We had been in transit for over 36 hours.

Um, Rome from a hill somewhere.

Random comment: How good is a hot shower after 36 hours in transit in the same clothes? Rhetorical question dear reader, no need to comment.

And that my friends is the end of my ramblings until the next holiday. Speculation is rife: the south of Italy, Croatia, Germany/Austria, Ningaloo Reef, Tahiti? Stay tuned.

Until the next adventure ...

The carnival is over (Venice)

Yes dear reader, I am aware that I have used this title before but in this instance I have no choice but to recycle. The reason will become apparent as you read on.

I struggled to get the day underway. It was much easier to stay in bed and doze, but this is our last proper day in Venice. Tomorrow, Tuesday is a transit day from here to Rome airport for the night flight to Abu Dhabi and then on to Sydney.

There are still things that we have to do in Venice, although I'm not sure we would feel compelled to return. Today we planned to see some more of the Biennale exhibits and visit the Correr Museum (and not get lost). Well, as Meatloaf sang, 2 out 3 ain't bad.

It was another perfect day, blue skies, no cloud, slight breeze to keep the temperature down and negate the impact of the humidity. We had our usual breakfast downstairs at our local in the Campo and walked down the alley to the main walk along the canal. From there we turned towards the Venetian version of the botanic gardens, the Giardini Pubblici, except they hold the major Biennale exhibition there.

Lifestyles of the rich and famous, Venice style.

I'd like to say that it was pleasant morning's walk, but it wasn't, at least to commence. Flooding toward us was tour group after tour group, literally. They covered, in places, the entire expanse of pavement. Group after group, slavishly following their leader's little elevated rag on a stick. Disregarding any of the niceties of pedestrian behaviour such as keeping to the right. On one bridge we were forced to wait until they had passed because to attempt a crossing could mean being swept in the other direction and being lost in Venice forever.

I think he could do with a scrub and a weed.

It would appear that many of the marauding groups are day trippers. Yes the most dreaded and feared of all tourists. They arrive in swarms by boat, disembark and locust-like sweep all before them, making noises like the ring wraiths in Lord of the Rings. Anyway, we dodged them, and in a few short minutes were out the other side, boats and groups behind us, into a gentler, quieter part of Venice.

We walked slowly, with sufficient space to outstretch my arms should the mood take me. And it did. Down the Cal Garibaldi and into the gardens where there is an interesting fountain. Interesting only for its inhabitants, a couple of very large koi carp, some goldfish and many turtles. They are red-eared sliders, apparently an introduced species.

The entrance to the park, beyond the fountain, is a wide, tree-lined walkway dotted with benches for people to sit and chat in the shade. A very pleasant place to meet your friends. We walked the length of this boulevarde onto the the boardwalk that runs next to the sea. The vista of San Marco was very different from what we were used to and provided a better picture of the vision the original founders had of Venice. We wandered slowly, enjoying the lack of people and arrived at the entry point for Biennale. What we had thought would be random sculptures, works and installations scattered throughout the gardens was actually a series of permanent exhibition halls - closed Monday. Today is, of course Monday. Much like Mark Twain musing on golf as a "good walk spoiled" we felt the same. We turned for home.

Graffiti on a statue in the park. Christians share a different view.

Back home, we sheltered from the early afternoon sun because it can be very strong. Feeling rested and brave enough to battle the crowds again, we ventured out to get some cash and then to the Correr Museum. It was close to the apartment just at the other end of San Marco Piazza and there was an auto teller there as well. To reinforce my notion that it was almost time to head home, I joined the queue at the auto-teller only to realise that I hadn't brought Jayne's card. No problem I'll use mine and reached for my phone, also at home. Oh well, to the museum. We were walking up the stairs to the museum when it occurred to me that I had also left the camera at home. Really? Where was my brain?

The Correr, like the Accademia had a standing exhibition of renaissance era art works as well as a modern exhibition. It also had older works dating back to the Etruscan, Mesopotamian and Egyptian civilisations. Even Jayne commented that there are only so many religious paintings you can look at, so the camera was not really missed. They also had another interesting painting by Hieronymus Bosch, a Dutch painter we had seen at dell' Accademia. Critics talk of his detailed work and blending of creatures to create a bizarre hybrid. He obviously had a significant influence on the work of Monty Python cartoonist Terry Gilliam. Bosch' work is either influenced by drugs or he is just plain weird.

The modern exhibition was by Shirin Neshat, an Iranian artist who presented a photographic series and an interesting short film called Roja. The film explores the concept of longing for homeland and opens with a shirtless male figure miming the words of The Carnival is Over that is being sung by a female. Hence today's title. In the credits it states that the song is a Russian folk song from the 1880's and was only translated into English in 1965 when it became the signature for Australian folk group, The Seekers.

Venice has a tower with a lean  as well

One the way to the museum, one of the spruikers from a restaurant around the corner asked if we wanted a drink. I told him we would come in on the way back and we dropped in to have our first aperol. Quite a refreshing drop it is too. It was, like many of the restaurant/bars over here, relatively small, but it had an extensive menu so we thought we would come back for dinner. Before that, there was one last bottle of wine to be finished on the altana.

It was much funnier than the picture shows

Later in the evening we heard what was more than the usual sound of the gondoliers from the canal below. Jayne was surprised to look out the window and see a gondola coming from the opposite direction to what they usually travel. There was a line of gondolas heading in the usual direction down to the Grand Canal and one lone, brave gondola going against the traffic. We had assumed it was a one-way street. Certainly this man heading in the wrong direction was causing major issues and was getting a serve from every gondolier that rounded the corner. Part of the problem was the blind corner that needed to be negotiated. The number of people on the bridge increased as did the people watching from windows. The embarrassed passengers didn't quite know where to look, although at one point the female passenger looked towards our window and I gave her the thumbs up - which she returned with a rueful smile.

We cannot understand how this rogue gondolier managed to come the wrong way down the canal - the gondolier fraternity seems pretty tight - could even be a generational thing. The services run in very defined segments of the canal - it does not seem like you can just go wherever you like - you hire, you get on board, you are paddled around a specific canal route (serenaded or not depending on how much you are willing to pay) and then you alight.  Jayne wondered if this was the beginnings of the invasion of Uber gondolas in Venice? That would be a fascinating battle!

Dinner was pretty good - again. The food has been pretty wonderful from start to finish. Last night a caprese salad and calamari followed by lasagne and pizza. I dreamed of my bike last night because I think I need the exercise to help remove some of the excesses of the trip.

This will be our last post for a while, as I tap away at the keys we are on the Frecciarossa to Rome to transit to the airport and then Sydney. Next time I write to you dear reader will be from home in Redfern.

Island of Lost Souls (Venice)

And today dear reader I hit the wall. I have had enough of the crowds, the lack of consideration for other people, the endless tour groups stampeding over anyone and anything who get in their way, the pushing and the shoving and dawdlers who block the entire alleyway while they look in shops or chat or just stand there indecisively. It is time for some space and that will happen soon enough. It is Sunday and we begin the long trek home on Tuesday. But let's begin with our last conclusion.

The Biennale is on, expect the unexpected

The fireworks never eventuated. Well they did, but not for us. We lasted until 10:30pm and gave up and went to bed to be awoken by sound of explosions at 11:30pm. The rumoured 45 minute display was just that, rumour. Obviously they commenced at 11:30pm to conclude at midnight. We both acknowledged the show had commenced with a weary sigh and drifted back to sleep. Fireworks are a bit passé for any Sydney-sider.

And I have nothing to say about this

When we emerged in the morning light, the evidence of the previous night's party had pretty well been erased. Except for the occasional smell of urine in the narrower alleys. Very reminiscent of Paris on a Sunday morning at this time of year. We ventured to our local Campo for breakfast - the usual, coffee, brioche and OJ. Not the cheapest but not the most expensive either. I paid and went to pick up my change when I noticed that amount on the counter was more than I had given him. He had given me change for 50€ not the 20€ I gave him. He looked somewhat surprised when I told him he'd given me too much money, but was grateful to put 30€ back in the till.

It was time to make our way to the Church of Santa Maria della Saluté, but before we reached our destination we came across the Gallerie dell'Accademia, San Marco. This was reached via a 'temporary' wooden bridge which has resisted its temporary nature and stands today, much like the temporary demountable classrooms of Australian schools. The Accademia was quite deserted so we detoured and spent a few hours there. I had tried to book tickets online earlier in the week, but that proved as difficult to negotiate as the alleyways of Venice or a ticket machine at an Italian train station. It was a bonus to find this museum so crowd-free. I imagine it was due to the late night festivities and fireworks.

The ancient race of ninjas

Another sign that we are nearing the end of our trip: the Accademia had a sameness about it to many other works of art we have seen over the past few weeks. More works by Tintoretto, Titian and Verenese. All special and spectacular in their right, but also similar to so many others. This is not a criticism, these artists and the many they influenced had a profound impact on the world.

Old or new?

What do you prefer?

There was also an exhibition of the work of Philip Guston, responding to the work of various poets such as Yeats and Eliot. The juxtaposition of his work next to the classics is puzzling. Well it is to me. All it does is to serve to highlight his lack of talent. I'm sure an art critic would tear down my comments, but his child-like renditions of feet, or scratchy depictions of every day objects against the work of Titian? Please. What was most interesting in this particular exhibition was the number of people who managed to repeatedly encroach on the alarmed spaces in front of the exhibits - all very clearly marked on the floor by lines and/or railings. As we moved through the spaces, we continuously heard the alarms being set off and actually observed one woman who set the thing off three times in less than a minute before her friend worked out it was her that was causing the alerts. Mind you, none of the security staff seemed remotely concerned or responded in any discernible way so may be they shared our opinion regarding the artistic merit of the works.

From the Accademia we walked down to the point occupied by the Church of Santa Maria della Saluté. It has views back across the Grand Canal to the San Marco area and down towards the main pier where the big cruise ships berth. It is certainly less crowded on this island and the views in large part are interrupted only by water craft, pylons and pontoons.

Looking back across the water to San Marco

Walking around the other side of the island we went down to Chiesa del Redentore to cross the pontoon bridge that is there for the Festa del Redentore. It is only there for one weekend a year and that is when the festival is on to commemorate the redemption of Venice against the plague through the intervention of the Virgin Mary, the patroness of Venice (in most artworks we have seen, Venice is represented by the blonde Queen of Heaven). The walk across the bridge is meant to be an experience reminiscent of either being on a boat or drunk, whichever best describes the rocking sensation that  is exaggerated by the wash caused by frequent boat traffic in the channel. This reminds Venetians of the precariousness of our earthly existence and the need to be grateful for the intervention of Mary to keep Venice safe. We walked across the bridge to the church just in time for midday mass.

The pontoon bridge

Then it was time to get hopelessly lost again. We staggered back across the bridge - swaying and moving with the waves and mapped our route back to the Accademia where we needed to cross on the other temporary (since the early 1900's) bridge back to the main island. Somewhere, somehow, we missed the Accademia; we think perhaps we walked around the back of it and down the other side and missed the bridge. We wandered happily until we realised we weren't where we were supposed to be. We were geographically embarrassed. We were lost. Hence today's title, Island of Lost Souls by Blondie. We couldn't find any of the nearby streets on a map, we were lost on an island of lost souls. In a moment of dejà vu, I thought it would be a good idea to follow the signs to Piazzale Roma, which we did for a while. Until we decided to locate Piazzale Roma on the map and saw that it was miles away from anywhere we wanted to be and it appeared to be a transit terminal of some sort.

No idea where this was, but it's where gondolas go to die.

Back to the drawing board. Then I lucked onto Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, a ginormous church that would have to be on the map. It was. Wow. We were way off course and a long way from where we wanted to be. So, it was time to retrace our steps and find that elusive bridge near the Accademia. This time we were successful and thought it prudent to stop for a drink, a bite to eat and a rest. Semi-accidentally we located one of the cicchetta osteria's that was recommended to us but we couldn't get a seat so went around the corner to a cafe and took up a position people watching and enjoying a birra alla spina with a panini.

And that is Venice.

It was then, dear reader, that the crowds started to get to me. We were following a circumlocutious path home, as one does in Venice and the paths seemed to be narrower and the maddening crowds larger and the mindless tour groups more plentiful. Unusually, we did not pass a shop where you could buy wine so we had to back track and head towards San Marco and the area behind the square. Not good at this time of the day because the day-trippers were all still here. Eventually we found a shop that sold wine, Jayne made a quick purchase and we made directly for the apartment. Time to rest and recuperate before dinner at Da Jonny's at 7pm.

Dinner was beautiful once again. Tonight we shared a bowl of mussels and clams followed by gnocchi with red sauce and prawns and Jayne had rib-eye fillet and I had cuttlefish, finished off with desserts and coffee. Service, atmosphere, food, everything was perfect. We sat outside which meant we got to watch many a confused tourist wander past, not once, in many cases twice and occasionally three times. Not all of them were amused by their geographic dislocation. Sitting eating delicious food with a glass of wine - I was vastly amused. Although the call of the night goes to the older French lady who stopped to ask directions to the station and how long it would take to get there. Our waiter happily pointed to map and showed her the route to take and said it would take about an hour to walk there. Off she went only to return about 10 minutes later, a face like thunder, ignoring the directions she had been given. When we told the waiter, he laughed, shrugged his shoulders and said, "It is Venice".

Then is it was back to the apartment to sit in the altana and listen to the sounds of Venice changing gears into a more relaxed pace once many of the tourists had returned to the mainland. That's a happy thought with which to conclude this post.

Fun fact: The two most common sights in Venice?

1. People walking with a map in hand or sitting at a cafe with a map open, trying to work out where they are or how to get some where else.
2. People walking with the mobile phone in hand, following google maps.

Thunderstruck (Venice)

The view from the Rialto Bridge

Almost 3 weeks into the holiday and I'm thinking, I don't want to write today. It is a beautiful afternoon in Venice and we have had a very relaxing day. Anything is distracting me from this post, including the gondolas trying to make the left corner back towards the grand canal. That turn, as tight as it is, has been made even more difficult today by what we in Australia call a 'dick'. He arrived just after 9am this morning in his power boat, playing AC/DC's Thunderstruck at top volume on his phone. I was impressed by the volume his phone could achieve (assuming he had no bluetooth speakers hidden on the boat), but otherwise, bogan, bogan, bogan. There is a place reserved for you in Australia and, since you obviously have money and little class, I'd suggest The Shire. No dear reader, not where Bilbo Baggins comes from, the other shire, the one that is home to racist bogans.

The other view from the Rialto Bridge

While we had planned today, everything was flexible because there were no time constraints. Our first stop today was the Rialto Markets. We weren't intending to purchase anything because that would mean I had to cook!!! No, no, we were just going to have a look and not take pictures because a dead fish is a dead fish in any country and isn't really that fascinating (are you reading this Asia?).

The pressure was on because I had to navigate us to Campo Bartolomeo as it is adjacent to the Rialto Bridge and then the markets follow. As a bridge it serves its purpose, but I am uncertain as to its fame. It lacks the charm of Ponte Vecchio, although it has similar crowds; people just standing around staring, smiling vacantly, holding selfie-sticks and phones in the air. If I was a pick-pocket ...

Interesting architecture, a mixture of Christian and Muslim.

The bridge crossed (and crossed off the list) we grazed past the tourist stalls and moved slowly towards the markets. They were as described, a produce market and that is what they were, fresh fruit, vegetables, seafood and flowers. There were other shops around where you could also purchase cheeses and meats. If we lived here, this is where we would shop on the weekend, it had a diversity that I wish Eveleigh markets could replicate.

There is an interesting mix of architecture in Venice, due largely to it being a major destination on the trade route. Another interesting fact is the importance of fresh water. As an archipelago, fresh water is life. The closed wells that you see everywhere are actually fresh water storage areas. The space surrounding the well has drainage holes in the stone and when it rains the water is channeled underground into a storage system. Ingenious. Indeed the Basilica of San Marco was considered to be the life blood of the place because its vast floor area acted as a huge catchment for fresh water.

A well, of sorts

The drainage point to capture water for storage

After the markets, I thought it would be a good idea to follow the signs to Piazzale Roma. No dear reader, I had not the slightest concept of what we would find there. Off we went, following the signs down this alley and out of that one, emptying into a Campo and looking for the sign and setting off again. After maybe three days (ok, 30 minutes) I deferred to my map reader. We were close, but the Piazzale Roma appeared to be little more than a hop off point for the mainland. I should have researched that one.

We still hadn't had breakfast and decided the nearest cafe that served pastries and coffee where you could sit down would be a winner. And it was a winner. Fresh orange juice, pastries and great coffees -  we sat down to enjoy breakfast and the company of pigeons. You are never without the company of pigeons in Italy. While we were contemplating the day, Jayne consulted her map and noted we were not far from one of the restaurants that had been recommended by Anna. The two we had already visited were great so we thought we should check out Osteria Ca' Mocenigo. A quick discussion with one of the staff and a lunch booking was made.

There was a bit of time to fill before lunch but we intended to head home for a domestic chore - hanging out the washing - and on the way we looked for some presents to ensure our spoiled family remain spoiled. This task consumed more time than we had anticipated and we didn't arrive back at the apartment until almost 11:30 which created a tight timeline in which to hang the washing out of the window and battle the crowds, navigating back to wherever it was we had our lunch booking.

I should have photographed our washing. It's too late now, we've brought it in, but it was on a line that is fixed to the outside wall of the apartment. Yes, it's 3 floors above ground and you have to lean out of the window to peg the clothes on the line. Not easy for a short person, but fascinating.

Lunch. A long lunch. So long in fact the planned museum visit was postponed. We arrived back at the restaurant at 12pm, the first customers for the day. Not so crowded we thought. That didn't last and when we left after 2pm it was packed, but I am getting ahead of myself. We were greeted warmly and had our choice of tables. We were offered menus in both Italian and English and settled in to select our dishes. Not so easy. Too many wonderful choices. After some negotiation we managed a shared caprese salad and then house lasagne and black spaghetti with prawns and tomatoes. The lasagne would take at least 30 minutes ... that's OK, we weren't in a rush.

The bread arrived with the water and the wine. We sat and nibbled on the beautifully fresh bread, drank the wine and watched the restaurant fill up. The head waiter/owner was most adept at selecting the nationality of his customers and offering menus in an appropriate language, we were one of the few who were offered a choice. Interesting. The salad was, as you would expect, colourful and tasty. Jayne loved her lasagne and I thought my black spaghetti was superb, especially the prawns, very sweet.

Post lunch we had the shopping to do as planned, but the museum just seemed like a bridge too far (did you see what I did there? Bridge? Like it's Venice, there are bridges everywhere). Back home to ... well, rest and then head out for an afternoon beer when we thought it was going to storm. Curious? I wanted to be in the local Campo to watch everyone run for cover and close their stalls. OK, maybe not nice, but a really cool spectator sport.

Once we had safely ensconced ourselves under the awning, we ordered drinks and waited. Nothing happened. We watched a group of four people crowd a woman sitting on her own until she left and gave them the table. Truly fascinating to watch. I wanted her to stay and at least make it awkward for them to communicate with each other, but she seemed unperturbed and stood and gave them the table, not that she moved far. She stood nearby, intently texting on her phone.

The awnings around us started to be raised, the table clothes were placed on the tables and the umbrellas were put away, the stalls began packing up and the rain drops arrived. Large raindrops that sent staff scurrying. Our awning was extended (nice), some tables were unmade, a few people re-located to the inside ... but not much else happened. Whatever storm there was slipped to the west of us despite the promise of what we saw yesterday.

We walked down to the Grand Canal where they are placing barriers along the water's edge in preparation for the fireworks tonight. If you have been to the New Year's Eve fireworks in Sydney, my well travelled reader, you would understand the level of paranoia that goes into the planning of the evening. The barricades they are using here would not stop pre-schoolers pushing them over and falling into the water. Perhaps in Italy the expectation is that children are the responsibility of their parents and drunken adults (insert own national prejudice, although there has been some consistency of nationality in drowned drunks in Australia) who slip beneath the surface and don't return are contributing to Darwin's theory of evolution.

Then back home to tap on the keys a little and the prepare for the climb to the terrace (known locally as the altana) to eat cheese and drink wine and watch the fireworks that reputedly will last 45 minutes. I know we come from the land of crackers but really, 45 minutes? I doubt it will hold my interest for 15, but we shall see.

It is bed time (after 10:30 pm), dear reader, and the fire works have not eventuated...

fino a domani

Bridge of Sighs (Venice)

The title today dear reader was just too easy. Although as I sit to write this, a gondola is moving past outside and the gondolier is singing Volaré, but no. Robin Trower, legendary guitarist released the Bridge of Sighs album in 1974. It is still worth a listen for budding guitarists.

As one would expect in the current age, the occupant of the aforementioned gondola, a young woman, is oblivious to her surroundings, head down focused on her mobile phone.

Here is today's rant: is the worst invention in the world the selfie-stick, the camera app on a mobile phone or the concept of a selfie? Perhaps the answer is none of these things but the self-absorbed, self-obsessed, entitled morons on the end of said phone or stick. I know my trip is nearing its conclusion, but I am tiring of photos that get spoiled by someone who has to chronicle their existence by taking a photo of themselves in front of every sculpture, painting, fresco, body of water, church, whatever. You are a spec in time, you are not worthy of  your pathetic visage being associated with such cultured beauty. Appreciate the scene, take a photo, but keep your ridiculously smiling head out of the frame. To put this in perspective, I have almost 600 photos and Jayne and I appear in 1 each.

We woke to wet roads

Jayne's vision of the wet roads proved to be a premonition and we awoke to light rain, which grew steadily heavier and finally blossomed into a thunderstorm so impressive I could have been home in Sydney in February. We made our way to Campo Bartolomeo to meet our guide because today we had a pre-booked 4 hour walking tour of Venice. We hesitated at the umbrellas by the door, but many cathedrals and museums in Rome and Florence take a dim view to visitors carrying things so we departed without them. Apparently, Venice is not so strict.

San Marco Square in the rain

The Campo wasn't too difficult to find, although we did end up taking a route that was not the most direct - if any route you choose can be considered direct in Venice if it's not on the water. We met the group leader, checked in and went in search of coffee and pastry. Easily accomplished and most satisfying. Iole, our guide was more than happy to re-negotiate our tour, so we flipped it and began in the Doge's Palace, followed by the Basilica and finished with the walking tour, by which time, the sun had come out and the rain had gone.

Look closely at the water spout

and in the afternoon sunshine

Random comment: I have noticed what a wonderfully family-oriented country Italy is. Everywhere we go, there are loving dads taking their daughters on holiday with them. They appear to have a very close relationship ... just saying.

A painting on the ceiling - if Michelangelo had been smarter ...

The Doge's Palace was as spectacular as our research had shown. In case you missed it, SBS (Australian TV) broadcast a series called Invisible Cities and featured Rome, Florence and Venice. It was great viewing and provided a good background for our trip. We even discussed parts of it today with Iole. She was impressed that we had done some research and was further impressed that we actually listened attentively to what she had to say. Jayne was quite dumbfounded by this. Why would you book a tour and not listen to your guide? When we discussed this later, I told her that I had, on more than one occasion, heard someone say, "the only reason to book a tour is because you get to skip the line" (please insert your own cultural prejudice, I will not be drawn on this, unless there is alcohol involved).

Wall painting in the Palace above the 'important people'.

The floor of the palace

Venice has some stunning architecture made all the more amazing because it is built on an archipelago with a high water table. The buildings you see in Rome or Florence would have disappeared below the surface or would have collapsed by now. The Doge's Palace is an excellent example of ingenuity. The floor appears to be stone, but is in fact an artificial creation of stone pieces held together with a lime mixture - it is the forerunner of the imitation granite bench tops of today. This layer of 'stone' sits on timber which allows the floor to move with the building. 

OK, here's another ceiling painting

The ceilings in the Doge were, as Bruce McAveney would say, "special". Not the reliefs of Rome and Florence, but a series of paintings on canvas that were nailed into giant ornate frames, suspended from the wooden ceilings constructed by the city's shipwrights. The effect is breath-taking. The entire structure is designed to move and we could actually feel the flexible flooring as groups walked around the rooms. Venice is entirely constructed of light-weight materials built around wooden frames because anything heavier would collapse or sink. This is also why there are many fire hydrants around the city because, despite all the water, Venice would go up in smoke very easily, as its major theatre did in 1996 - burnt to the water level within 4 hours of an arson attack  Parts of the Doge's palace also succumbed to fire and had to be rebuilt in the 1500's.

Following the Palace, we went into the Basilica San Marco. Like most churches over here, there is a no photography rule which I, unlike many tourists, observe. This is the church where the remains of St Mark are interred under the central altar. Yes, dear reader, I have long been circumspect about claims of religious relics, but this story seems to be quite plausible. The Basilica itself, to labour the description, is spectacular. Again no frescoes or reliefs, but like St Peter's in Rome, mosaics. Not a mosaic on this wall and another over there, the entire church, walls and ceilings, are mosaics using 24 carat gold leaf. When the lights are on it sparkles as if in sunlight. Words do not do it justice. It lacks the grand space of St Peter's but the domes and gold leaf and stories written in the mosaics elevate it to a world of it's own. Let's put this in perspective, we are at the end of the trip, we have seen so many churches and religious relics and this Basilica still managed the wow response when we walked in. That alone needs to be respected.

Mosaics on the outside of the Basilica

This is actually a dome in the foyer, despite how it looks

Colleoni, from a distance it's difficult to see his best attributes

By the time we emerged from the Basilica, the crowds had come out because Venice now was bathed in brilliant sunshine. Unlike yesterday though, the breeze kept the temperature down. So commenced the last part of our tour, walking towards the Campo Sts Paul and John, via, well, who knows? Everyone gets lost here because the "streets"are called "calle" (alleys that are for pedestrian traffic only) and the real "roads" are the canals. I have been down supermarket aisles that are wider than the calles. As we wove our way through the maze of calles, we did manage to get a long view of the Bridge of Sighs (through which we had actually walked on our tour of the palace and its prison cells), hence today's title.

In the final Campo of the walking tour, there is a statue of a celebrated mercenary named Colleoni. On his coats of arms were depictions of scrotums. Originally two, he added one more because he wanted everyone to know he had "balls", more balls than a bullfighter. Funny. Apparently his troops would shout it before battle. The original term was 'coglioni' so it is easy to see the school-boy denigration form one to the other.

All this walking had taken us to the other side of Venice where there was a restaurant that had been recommended by Anna, so it was time for lunch. Now I'm not sure that I could eat pizza every day, but this restaurant had 6 pages of pizzas on their menu. So, I decided to have pasta. Just joking. We both had pizza and a cheeky little rosé and watched the traffic on the water.

An ambo at work, but not for us, thankfully

After a very relaxing lunch it was time to find the way home. Jayne was a little apprehensive, but as Iole had pointed out today, maps are pretty useless, so it was a matter of trusting my sense of direction. While I admit this failed me miserably in London (another reason to dislike it), not so here in Venice. We navigated through the crowds and found our way home so I could have a nanna nap before we ventured out for an afternoon birra.

While I succumbed to paying 9€ for a birra in Florence in Piazza de Repubblica, there was no way I was paying 16,50€ for a beer in the Square San Marco just so I could people watch. We walked back to our local Campo and settled in the shade and had a couple of draught beers: 13€ for 2. What a bargain!

That is about it for the day. We have planned tomorrow, well Jayne has while I've been writing and it's now time for a white wine on the terrace as the sunsets over Venice.

fino a domani

Deep water (Riomaggiore to Venice)

Riomaggiore

The time came for us to leave the Italian Riviera and we were both OK with that. The party that never ends, to borrow a phrase from Richard Clapton's lead into the live version of Deep Water, continued last night until 3am. My fervent hope is that those inconsiderate revellers had accommodation very close to the early morning garbage trucks or, at the very least, the clunking of our bags on the cobble stoned paths woke them as we left for our train at 6:45am.

Monterosso

There is no doubt that Cinque Terre has a natural beauty and a slightly fraying charm about it. The buildings are looking, like Jayne and I at the moment, a little tired and could all do with a fresh coat of paint. After visiting four of the five villages it appeared that there was a sameness about each of them in terms of what they had to offer. While that was OK, there was nothing to really keep us there for more than the three days I had allocated.

Vernazza

No doubt I would have a different perspective if I were living over here. It is a place where you can go and sit and relax and do nothing, but not somewhere you can get sleep. The nights were very hot and if the air was still, it became more problematic because you really needed the windows open and then of course there were those dicks who sat and drank at the harbour all night and didn’t mind everyone knowing they were having a good time. I watched a few of them staggering up the hill after 2:30 this morning, shouting their goodbyes to those who continued partying, oblivious to those trying to sleep in the buildings that towered above them.

We managed to get a booking at the restaurant recommended by our hosts on our last night. It was a fitting way to end our time here and the food was excellent. We shared a plate of octopus, followed by seafood ravioli and then a mixed grill, also seafood. Well dear reader, it was a seafood restaurant.

The trip to Venice requires a couple of train changes. Our initial train was 7 minutes late arriving at Riomaggiore and 5 minutes late getting to Sestri Levante. That gave us 10 minutes to catch the connecting train to Milan. As it turned out, we needn’t have panicked - the Milan train arrived on the same platform as we did from Riomaggiore and it was also running 5 minutes late. We changed from a regional to an intercity train and from 2^nd class to 1^st for the almost 3 hour journey to Milan.

We were slightly late arriving in Milan (14 minutes) but I had allowed 45 minutes between trains so there were no concerns. We are in Business Class for the last leg of the journey to Venice. The Frecciarossa would have us there about 2:30pm. It's a long day of travel, but it is easier and far less stressful than driving. So far, all my plans have gone like clockwork. This is the fourth country in which I have enjoyed high speed train travel and I can't believe the politicians are still procrastinating about it in Australia. After all, we have the wide open spaces and vast distances. It just makes sense, so that's why you'll probably never see it - at least in my lifetime.

As mentioned, the final train was about 15 minutes late getting into Venice. We exited the station and turned left as instructed and went to the water taxi rank. Where we waited for about 10 minutes for our pre-booked taxi to arrive. It's a very busy area and Jayne learned today just how lightly we actually travel. Two Indian families turned up with a porter from the railway and a trolley to hold their bags. The first family consisted of husband and wife and they had 4 large bags between them. I glanced down at our one medium sized bag and my carry on. The next couple also had a pre-teen child and they had 6 bags! Amazing.

Into our taxi and out onto the Grande Canal. The water taxi was recommended by our hosts and while there are significantly cheaper options, it is a great way to meet the fabled Venice. The trip to our accommodation in San Marco occupied about 20 minutes and we saw all manner of interesting things that hopefully we will re-discover as we walk around and get lost in this unique city.

From the dining room window

Anna met us at the pier and walked us through to our accommodation. Another top floor unit - I just can't help myself, but we have a terrace which will provide an uninterrupted view of the fireworks on Saturday night. Don't be afraid to get lost, we were warned. It happened on our first outing, but that's OK; it just means we discovered some really interesting shops. Masks and glassware abound.

Gondolas, gondolas and ...

We found the supermarket and a wine shop. The wine shop sells wine on tap as well as the bottled stuff. You just turn up with your empty bottles: glass or plastic, it didn't appear to matter, and then you choose your wine and get a refill (I hope to get pictures). Can you imagine that in Australia? The nanny police would want to close it because it wasn't hygienic enough, or the discounted prices encourage drinking, or just because it is a bloody good idea. We didn't have any empties, having just arrived, so we purchased the more standard fare.

Venice from our terrace

Dinner was at Da Jonny, recommended by Anna. Excellent. The food was superb, so much so that we have booked for later in the week as well. Once again we shared a couple of smaller plates, scallops and ravioli before having separate mains. Jayne had fish and I had duck breast - they must have been huge birds, I could barely eat it.

Then it was back home for a glass of red on the terrace in the breeze. I think we are going to struggle adjusting to Australia's temperatures when we return. I paved the way to the terrace, or altana, as I believe it is called in Venice. The sun was setting, the seagulls were wheeling in to settle for the night. Jayne turns up and says, "I just looked out the window at the road and thought, gee, the road is wet. It must have been raining". OK, a canal can't get much wetter and it is a road (of sorts) for boats. You've gotta love her. We laughed about that until the mosquitoes tried to carry us away.

Good night dear reader.