Venice

Coming into Venice was a blur. Not because of my alcoholic stupor, rather because it was surrounded by a thick fog.

Venice is wonderful. So different. It doesn't matter where you go, you always come to water. And it's not stinky or smelly. On the map it looks so far, but then five minutes later, you've arrived at your destination. There are so many twisty, turny "roads", or as North Americans know them, alleyways or rabbit warrens. You quickly learn to go with the stream of traffic. One final truth about Venice, all roads lead to either San Marco or the railway station.

Besides, where else do you use a boat as a bus.

Our little house is truly a hidden gem. Very small, squished in between two bigger homes, I think it was formerly the gardener's home or shed. Really compact but with an amazing view. We love it. The gardens are pretty and it is so quiet, you can't believe that you are so close to the main thoroughfare of Venice. But as Eden had its serpent, our little garden has its own downside -- mosquitos. You wouldn't believe how many different ways there are to kill or keep away mosquitos. We have them all, for both inside and outside the house. The little beggars are voracious. All you have to do is open the patio door and you are instantly targeted and impaled by 1000 miniature darts. Venetian mosquitos are smaller than Canadian ones, so if you see or hear them, it's too late. On the upside, the view is breathtaking from inside the house, behind a pane of glass.

From Venice

Breathtaking -- Heart stopping -- Oh, no (as you realize that something has really gone wrong) -- Oh, that is not good -- Not too far away (just halfway across town) -- Oh, that is really bad -- We will have to call the fire brigade -- 200 euros.

That's how our second afternoon began.

We had just finished doing our first load of laundry (so proud of ourselves) and put up the drying rack in the side garden, when Mom and I stepped outside to hang up our wet laundry. Given the mosquito invasion plans, I turned around to close the door. When I heard the clicking of the door and I realized That I'd just done something seriously wrong. With the finality of that click, I looked at Mom, then back at the door with no doorknob, and got that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Neither one of us had a key. Like all good paranoid North Americans (plus the air conditioner was on full blast because it's quite hot and muggy here ) all patio doors and windows were locked. We had no key.

A frantic dash to a nearby store (yes, Italians are very tolerant of touristas) resulted in me leaving Mom to the tender mercies of the minute mosquito demons in the garden and hoofing it halfway across town, without a map, to the rental agency's office. Once again, it really only took 10 minutes, but you know how time slows when you are in a crisis mode. I made it with only one wrong turn and returned with replacement keys in hand. I had expected to see only the remnants of Mom's sacrified body but there she was, calmly sitting on a lawn chair with a branch in hand, keeping the tiny hordes at bay. All was well, I thought, just a bit sweaty and out of breath, but okay.

Then I tried to put the key into the door. It wouldn't go in , let alone turn. I had left the original key in the door, so that I wouldn't forget it. However, that prevented us from using the second key. With another exchange of looks, and Mom trying to look encouraging and optimistic, off I went again. A second call to the agency informed us that if we couldn't somehow push out the key, the only recourse was to call the fire brigade. That would cost 200 euros. I guess that there are no locksmiths in Venice. I also had the stray thought that perhaps there was a burglar at a nearby cafe, but didn't voice it.

I returned to the house and Mom and I pondered our fate while we waited for the rental agent to arrive. We looked at our various options (which window would cost the least to replace). The front and patio windows were quite large (and $$$$ to replace) and the bathroom window was about a foot square. No way I was going to slip through that one. Then Mom remembered the kitchen window. I didn't because it was shuttered and dark. We went around the side and there was the shutter. We moved the rickety table sitting in front of it and tried to open it. It moved! Then we looked at the glass window. I reached up and shoved. It moved, very easily, I might say. After a quick jig of joy and jubilation, Mom shove me through the opening. Good thing I remembered my old memories of shimmying through the milk box at our old home on Pharmacy Ave. And Danny going headfirst down the stairs. I went through the window feet first, with nary a scratch, just a multitude of mosquito bites.

I opened the door for Mom, gave her a key to keep, phoned the rental agent, and we sat down and sighed. Crisis resolved.

Hopefully, this will be the last one we have to experience. That makes three.
One, I lost Dave's hat that I'd borrowed in Vienna.
Two, I left the electrical. adaptor in Vienna.
Three, the locked door in Venice.

Wel, I still haven't told you about the sights that we've seen and the good things that have happened; however, they will have to wait til next time. I have a few photos posted on Picasa, so try this link. Maybe it will work. Venice">Venice