We couldn’t have asked for a nicer day.

Yesterday was grey and the skies were threatening. I was worried we’d awake to rain. Happily, the sun was shining as we crossed the long bridge from the mainland to the group of islands that makes up the city of Venice. I know it sounds cliche, but we really did spend the day in a postcard.
We walked 23 km and an inch off of our combined height, but we didn’t even mind. We wandered back and forth between the islands, in and out of streets not more than three feet wide, across bridge after bridge over the canals. Hopelessly lost, most of the day, and not minding a bit. We ate lunch in San Trovaso, in honor of Grammy (who spent six weeks here, just before Hannah was born, studying art.) It was pizza, of course, in an outdoor cafe right on the water. San Trovaso is the borough of Venice where the gondolas are made and the area that Grammy spent most of her time in. We walked through the big basilica on San Marco square and were completely bowled over by the mosaics. We’ve seen a few mosaics that have been awe inspiring, but this church makes the others look like fourth grade art projects. No kidding.
I could have walked for weeks in the narrow alleys just going in and out of the glass shops. With the island of Murano just a quick ferry ride away there is Murano glass everywhere. The children watched, fascinated, as an artist created a swan as the stem of a wine glass in one shop. They fell in love with tiny frogs, spiders with glass legs as narrow as the width of a hair, funny sea creatures and vegetables… all artfully twisted from molten glass. I spent half an hour in a bead shop carefully choosing some special beads to send home to our bead-artist friend, Mrs. Wood, who we hope will be kind enough to work her magic and spin them into wonderful souvenirs of our trip here. Hannah, with great deliberation, chose her first pair of earrings to replace the ones she had her ears pierced with in Berlin: blue milla-fillore (sp?) studs… of Murano glass, of course! Tony watched, with an eagle eye, all day long for the little stores that Grammy promised us would be there: the ones with casks inside from which you can have your water bottle filled up with wine. At the end of the day, he found one, and bought four little water bottles of different sorts of wine… for less than four euro. Bring on the bread and cheese.

What would a trip to Venice be with gondolas?

The children were captivated from the instant they saw their first one. There was much speculation on how hard they were to “drive” and what the red striped shirts (as opposed to the black striped shirts meant.) Everyone wistfully wished for a ride but didn’t even ask. “They’re WAY too expensive boys… maybe we’ll get to take a water taxi… but don’t ask Dad, just wait and see,” admonished the older sister. While the kids and I shopped for a dinner picnic, Daddy scouted out the price. Very expensive, indeed. We walked on to the grand canal and asked again. Even more expensive… over a hundred euro for forty minutes for the second one. Daddy paced. The kids started looking for water taxis. I kept shopping. We wandered back toward the original gondola, only to find the gondolier gone. Drat. I kept shopping. Tony eventually found the guy, in a bar, and waltzed in to interrupt his wine and seal the deal.

The gondola ride was, simply, spectacular. We learned a lot: there are 410 gondolas in Venice and they are individually licensed. The licenses are usually passed down within a family. The red shirts and the black shirts do not have different meanings, just a change of pace for the gondoliers. There are two types of gondolas: the old and the new. The new ones are the ones with the big toothed metal fins on the front that you see in all of the pictures. These are asymmetrical, which makes them easier to steer. It takes about two months to learn to drive one of the new ones. There are only twelve of the “old” gondolas in Venice. They are symmetrical, which makes them harder to steer. They take six months training to be allowed to conduct. We had the good fortune to ride on one of the old ones. Our gondolier was the fourth generation of men in his family to glide the long, black boats along the rios of Venice. He has a son, whom he hopes will become a doctor: “But, if he not too good on the study, then last resort: gondolier like his Papa.”
It is late now and we’re tucked into our tent. The children collapsed almost as soon as we got their teeth brushed. We’ll be in Venice another day or two mopping up the juices from todays full plate and figuring out where we’re headed next. There are more places to look forward to in the coming days and weeks, but I just can’t imagine how anything could be better than today.