But that’s where the ‘and others’ (et alii) comes in.
We arrived in back in Italy in the afternoon, and by the time we had puttered onto the actual Venecian island and stumbled to our hotel, it was getting pretty late.
Which is fine, because Venice is a city built for the night:
Andy, who had been furiously checking his electronic gagetry to find the best places and things to eat, insisted that we try the Cuttlefish rissotto. So we stumbled down narrow passageways (somewhat ‘romantic’, somewhat ominous), and found ourselves outside a restarant that was selling more than just pasta and pizza.
It looks a bit like vomit, and even though it’s not really hard for something to ‘taste better than it looks’ when it looks like that- it nonetheless should be noted that it did, and was in fact very very tasty.
The place itself also made me appreciate anew the germans and their magnificent obsession of Apfelschorle (Apple juice with soda water). Because wherever you go in Deutschland, you will never, ever, ever come across a restaurant, cafe, bar or dining hole, that does not at least sell apple juice and apple spritzer.
This, apparently, is not the case in Italy, where if you don’t like alcohol and you don’t like coke/fanta/sprite, you’re pretty much doomed to a dry mouth and a thirsty existance.
There was time for some more wandering, and of course- coffee and cakes, before we fell into our beds.
(A bit dry to be honest, maybe they need warming and butter?)
The next day, we set out bright and early to the nearby islands of Murano and Burano.
The morning began with shenanigans- pretending to slip which nearly ended in actual slippage.
Murano, known for its glass, was wet and filled with shops keeping stocks ranging from cheap tourist tacks to marvelously over-done (and over-priced) foofery.
We headed for Burano- Land of Lacework.
Burano, at least, steals my heart for it’s rather spectacular buildings..
Although I’m a bit angry at the whole island for being so ridiculously damp that my camera fogged up:
Look! The cuttlefish was good enough to go back for more.
On the last day of Christmas, my true love gave to me- an Egg.
Who he drew a face on, named, and carried around with him for the day (and then cruelly consumed- what a monster!)
Andy and I headed to the Peggy Guggenheim collection, which features a fairly extensive indoor collection as well as a rather lovely little sculpture garden out the front.
This fellow reminds me a lot of something we saw in Paris (about 3/4 down the page).
I really really covet these earrings (the Calder at the top). Apparently Guggenheim wore one of each earring at some important party to show that she had no loyalty to either style of art.
By some kind of magic, when we left the gallery, the sun had come out, and we had one last glimpse of the city as we rode down the canals to the station.
We ended our journey with a last desperate dash for sugar hyperactivity.
Because nothing says ‘Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year’ like the sugar-shakes.