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| The view from the Rialto Bridge |
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| The other view from the Rialto Bridge |
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 ...
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| 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.
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| A well, of sorts |
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| 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
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
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