Venice Adventures cont'd

Some of you may have been confused about the dating of my blogs. The truth is that I didn't have time, or access to the Internet, or was fighting with the program, or was, simply having too much fun to be stuck inside writing all our escapades. So, I jotted little reminders on pieces of papers and tried not to lose them permanently. Now that we are settled in Nice, living a less active schedule, I can get caught up. That's why the timing is off. Only for a few days, provided we don't gallivant off to Monaco and visit Prince Albert and my namesake, Charlene, the new Princess.

Back to Venice.

As promised, this is all about exploring the underbelly of Venice, the markets, the little stores and the maze in which they are found. So we went shopping.

A feat not quite as easy as you may think. We started off at the Rialto Bridge ('cause that's where all good commerce begins) and headed into the bowels of the market.

First we wound our way through the souvenir shops. Mom was pretty good at staying close because she'd already dulled her appetite for souvenirs in the shops near our "wee hoose". She also had had to follow me the night before through the streets of the San Marco district. I am sure that sun has never landed on those cobblestones since the 15th century. The buildings loomed over the roads and street signs were optional. You reach your destination by going from 'campo' to 'campo' or squares, if you want to call them that. Each square has at least five exits from it, and they all have signs that direct you to San Marco. Some roads even have the same name. After going around in squares a few times (I hate la calle della Bissa), we finally found the Venetian version of a Dollarama. Not the store we had been looking for, but it did have the electrical adaptor that I needed. The owner even came from Taiwan, so he was quite happy to learn that my daughter was living in Taiwan. We got a 'special price'.

But I digress. Back to our adventures in the market.

After the souvenir came the real people's market. Everything imaginable. That's where I lost Mom. Her little pudgy fingers started twitching at the sight of all those apricots, grapes, and peaches. And she wading with the best of those Italian mamas and sunburned tourists. Hopping from one foot to the other she started her long process of choosing the perfect peach, gently cupping the peach and, oh so carefully, testing for ripeness. Only to be rudely interrupted by the merchant advising her "no toca". Mom paused and looked quite put out, but was able to restrain herself from lunging over the fruit to throttle the merchant. A compromise was reached and Mom was able to point at her desired fruit and the merchant put it a paper bag. To the day we left, Mom complained that the peaches weren't ripe because she couldn't test the. Did you know that Mom is a tactile buyer? More about that later.

Then on to the fish market, where you got a good look at what all those delicious seafood you eat for dinner, start off as. Mom didn't quite touch the fish, squid, octopus, and different types of shrimp, but her fingers were a-twitching and they hovered just scant centimeters over the slick surfaces. The fish market even had standards, There, carved on the marble columns, were the measurements of the minimum lengths that your fish (sardines) could be. Some bright spark (probably one of my ex-students) had written his measurements under the sardines. It was not a complimentary comparison.

We continued along our merry little way, winding along, following the stream of traffic, because, on this side of the canal, all roads lead to the bus station. Somewhere along the way I spied a SALE -- a SHOE SALE. My dream had come true. Italian shoes. Right up there with chocolate for breakfast.

And I even made it home without losing them.

After that marvelous find, my visit was complete. Even the dinner that we had being serenaded by "classical" music - Dean Martin sing O Solo Mio and Volare - could not compare. All the incredible (and really big - no postage stamp sized Mona Lisa here in Venice) paintings and frescoes by Tiepolo, Titian and Tintoretto (affectionately referred to as the Three T's) could not beat my bargain. Although, I must admit that the Three T's were pretty impressive. And even the fine art that was displayed around the "wee hoose" paled beside my shoes. Sigh.