After my morning shower, I enjoyed breakfast and conversation with pretty, Venetian B--- who mentioned how they had bought the Locando Orseolo in 2003. I had a nice morning meal and a pancake (crepe) that she really wanted me to try. I enjoyed it, and she seemed pleased by this.
I left my bag there since I was moving to their other hotel later that day and then I spent the next couple of hours wandering the streets and admiring the Piazza San Marco. Incredible architecture. It seems like you could spend years studying that one square and still not see all the little details in the buildings there.
Hours later while everyone was thronging the square, I went to the Gallerie dell'Accademia and saw many wonderful Tintoretto works, plus Titian, Genovese, Tiepolo and many other Venetian artists from 14th-19th centuries. It was wonderful. Afterwards, it was time to move to the new hotel.
The Al Ponte Antico is right near the Rialto Bridge, in fact the breakfast area has a patio that is on the Grand Canale! That is damn nice, especially when you're looking right at the Rialto bridge. M--- says they spent a fortune on it, but I think it was a good investment. I checked in, and went back out to the Arsenale area for more great seafood and authentic tiramisu at Trattoria Corte Sconta. Tomorrow, maybe I'll hit the Caffe Florian. Apparently past fans of the cafe include Henry James and Lord Byron.
I made one memorable social gaffe today. While waiting for my 7PM dinner reservation, I stopped in one of the local tiny wine pubs and had a soft drink. I did not realize you could not take chairs outside and people looked at me warily. Then a waiter brusquely asked me in Italian to get up so he could return the chair. My style of dress and physical features (tall, blue eyes, blond hair) marked me as a tourist, and I felt out of place in that neighborhood.
While trying unsuccessfully to blend in, I noticed that the old dudes go wine bar hopping here. They don't sit down at these small places, they just walk up and get a glass of wine either inside or outside at the little window. Once I had lost my chair, I got the hell out of there and went to another place where I stayed inside.
Funnily enough, the same old dude rolling a Johnson 8 horsepower outboard on a dolly came by this bar too and ordered more wine. We didn't see each other until I left, because he was outside and I was around a hidden corner inside. It was a funny coincidence. I guess there's nothing else to do before dinner if you're on vacation or retired.
After the pineapple juice and tea, I was done and went to the waterfront to wait where I felt less out of place. I get the feeling the people in that neighborhood don't like tourists, and I understand that. That kind of misunderstanding with the chair would be bad in Turkey I think, especially with younger people [this turned out to be false, in fact, people were very kind to me in Turkey]. It could have been a lot worse. I decided to go easy and to stop trying to blend in with the locals.
I still don't have a ticket for the Cesme/Izmir ferry I'm planning to take, so I'm going to wing it and see if I can buy one in Ancona. I'll lose a few days if I miss the boat, but if it doesn't work, I'll save the $500 and go by train or bus to Istanbul instead. I just realized my Eurail timetable has ferry times in it to Greece.
The thermostat temp is set at 18 degrees, so I had to work the conversion backwards from 72 F to find the right setting--22.2 C.
2 comments:
Tintoretto, huh? I recall him from college art class. I remember a black and white work showing a massive man moving forward with great strength. Don't recall the other artists, except Titian. Wow! So Byron frequented Caffe Florian. I once read Bryon's poetry to two teenagers, and when I looked up from the book, they were transfixed--having never heard his poetry before. The chair episode was interesting. So they drink standing up. Reminds me of NYC when I had to eat my frank and orange drink while standing at Chock Full o' Nuts. The faux pas seems inevitable to courageous travelers. I'll bet Parisians visiting that cafe would insist on dragging a chair out like you did. There's got to be a story there. Probably as simple as their custom.
You may be right about inevitable faux pas, but in this case it wasn't because I was courageous, it was because I did not ask before taking a chair outside. If I had been a little more confident, I would have asked--live and learn.
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