Day 27 – Fly me to the moon

We’ve got this moving thing down pat and are down for breakfast in the little square across from our Airbnb in no time. We sit facing out into the square and the morning sun and an elderly lady wrapped in a beautiful red coat starts talking to us. Di says, ‘I’m sorry we don’t speak any Italian’ and she understands ‘Ah, Si, no English’, but keeps regaling us with long animated stories anyway.

In the square an older couple have tried to drive the wrong way out of the square carpark and a young lady has got out of her car to ‘let them know’. She stands at their car window for some ten minutes, the intensity of her rising voice pitch matched only by the increasing speed of her gesticulating hands, until the whole ensemble becomes a screaching, light-speed-hand blur. Helpfully, she walks alongside their car window, as they slowly slink away, so as to ensure they’ve not missed anything. All the while, red coat lady gives us a running narrative of the ordeal in Italian.

Later, the lady’s son / friend? arrives with little dog and son. He’s a big bloke in shorts with tats all over his calf muscles and we watch as his toddler son runs, stiff legged, relentlessly around the square, barking dog in tow, as his cappuccino goes cold.

The bus is so packed we can’t reach the ticket machine which seems to worry no one in particular. Cup of tea at the railway station then we’re on the train to Venice!

Our instructions to the Venice bnb are; right over the first bridge, right again, left, right over the second bridge, third left, through the square……get lost, retrace steps to railway station, start again. We find the lovely little place eventually just as the afternoon sun lights up little campo (square).

The room is cosy but delightful with cream brochade wall paper and matching tied back drapes revealing a small courtyard garden. We stuff all our gear into the quaint timber cupboard (have I been drinking too much Aperol spritz?) and rug up to enjoy the late afternoon light.

I’ve not been to Venice, Di has as a young girl but, wow! We wandered the narrow alleys across myriad stone and iron bridged following the signs to the Realto.

Somewhere in the maze of wonderful bridged spaces we stop for a rest at a little cafe in a small square. There’s a French lady sitting there, all rugged up, enjoying an Aperol spritz, espresso and a cigarette (or two). The bar man has helped her over the one bridge from her first floor balconied flat that overlooks the square and the canal, as her daughter, formerly from California, is away. She was born in Alsace, ‘very good wines’, and lived in Sydney for a time, when her son was there. She’s very concerned about the ‘poor people who only do the selfies’. She was a lovely, warm articulate lady, with whom we could have sat and chatted into the evening – but sunset at the realto called!

As you approach, the plain stone walls and doors become shops glowing in the fading afternoon light; glass shops, leather, masks, trinkets then, as you get closer, the ritzy fashion shops.

There’s a hundred people on the Realto, all lined up to watch the setting sun drop down over the grand canal – stunning!

It’s dusk as we enter St Marks, stars are starting to appear through the evening haze. We find a cafe out toward the lagoon and sit, wine in hand, watching the people pass by, as the piano man plays, ‘fly me to the moon’. Three young sisters watch him play and sway with the music, one of them dances, carefree.

Later at dinner we enjoy some local fare before being offered a complimentary post meal cherry grappa. We order another and coffees which he provides but refuses to charge us.

It’s a lovely start to our short stay in Venice.