Venice, Italy

We got off realizing how lucky we really were that we didn’t have our other two 45 and 30 pound bags. You can guess which is mine. Shoes people. We didn’t have to lug our bags down the street and over a bridge. It was a couple minute walk back to our apartment which was right near the ferry stop. Rosella was waiting for us. We had been in communication with her all along because of our delays. We rented the Airbnb from Rosella. You have never met a more lovely lady. Big hug and double cheek kiss. She led us down a little “street”, Calle de Colombina, to her door. Now if you were taken down a street like this to a door like this in the “D”, you would keep walking but she was so proud of her place and it was charming and so Venice. Up one flight of cement stairs to another wooden door with a door knob right in the center. If she wasn’t proud enough of the outside, she was of the inside which was also perfectly Venice. Here, your host shows you around, answers your questions, and shares places to go. In Italian, I might add. She had a little Ipad type thing with Google translate where she would talk into into so we could read it in English. The funny thing was that she would do it while looking at you and smiling like you could understand her. I stood there smiling wanting to understand and shaking my head like I did. I cannot tell you how nice she was.

Rosella gave us a bottle of Prosecco, a bag of Italian cookies, a full bowl of fresh fruit, some juice and a pretty glass necklace that had meaning but...I couldn’t understand. I took a picture of the translation so I could decifer it later. She insisted on romance in Venice. She doesn’t know Paul. He is a romantic. Funny, too, when it came to mechanical things or “man” things, she addressed him. “Woman” things, to me. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that, if needed, it would be me fixing the air conditioner or radio (which, by the way, played romantic CDs like Pavarotti and some 70s and 80s love songs). I am ok with gender roles especially when it comes to taking out the garbage and carrying heavy things. Wink. I am selective.

She left and we settled in and decided to just go to dinner and go to bed. It was around 6 PM and we had been up for about 36 hours. We went down by the ferry waterfront to a restaurant and sat by the water. Perfection. The sun was setting over the lagoon where the waterways were set up like roads. It was a disorganizingly orchestrated array of little local motorboats (cars) and ferries and taxis all avoiding each other by a hair. The big boats nearly swamping the little ones with no concern by either captain. Picture Mexican or Italian roadways but on water. Craze. Our dinner was delicious. A starter of Prosecco, procuitto
and seafood tartar. Then we shared a seafood platter of shrimp (with faces) and tuna. Yummy. Not the faces. I pretended it was just a cute holder of the shimp meat resembling the actual shrimp. You know, like the cute corn holders we use on the ends of corn on the cob. I know, it is a stretch. We were there until about 10 and hit the sheets hard. Let me tell you, the pillows in Italy are not like those we stock up on in the states. No Costco around here? Two king pillows for 20 bucks. These were your grandma’s old pillows she tries to pawn off on you from 30 years ago because she feels guilty throwing them away. Throw. Them. Away. Along with the crocheted itchy blanket. ShiverRead more