These messages are from a series of e-mails written after our vacation to Paris and Italy, in the summer of 2002. The events recounted in this internet diary occurred on Wednesday, June 26.
--Jim McQueen
Wednesday was our first full day in Venice. We'd seen a lot of the narrow streets and canals, so we decided to go to the glass-blowing district. This is located on Murano Island, slightly apart from the main city center, but still inside Venice.
We knew we could find a vaporetto stop at Piazza San Marco, so we made our way there. As we were crossing the piazza, an Italian man stopped us and addressed us in English, asking "Would you like to see the glass-blowing factory on Murano? I have a free water taxi." He must have been used to suspicious reactions from tourists, because he was very quick to show us a city-issued ID on his lapel. We took him up on his offer, and he led us to a water taxi next to the vaporetto stop.
The water taxi was a beautiful old speed boat, and the five of us were the only passengers. The driver took us through a narrow canal to the other side of San Marco, then across to Murano Island, to a private pier at a glass factory. We were met there by an Italian tour guide with a very Russian first name -- Dimitri or something -- who showed us where the craftsmen were blowing glass.
We watched for 10 or 15 minutes. It was impressive to watch their skill, but it was a hot day, and the roaring kiln didn't help. The factory exit was through the showroom, which explained their generosity with the water taxi. At least there was no heavy handed sales pressure, and we looked around and left without buying anything.
And that was pretty much how our day went. We went down one side of the canal, and back up the other, stopping in gallery after showroom after factory. One fun sight was a familiar DHL courier sign, on the side of a heavily laden boat coming down the canal. Even overnight express packages have to ride on a slow boat before jetting off to points around the world.
Love,
Jim
When lunch time came on Murano Island, we didn't feel like spending a long time in a restaurant. We'd walked around a lot, and at one point passed through a quiet courtyard in a residential area, off the main canal. As we neared it again, we popped into a small shop selling take-out sandwiches and pizza. We bought both of those, and some cold drinks, and found a shady bench in the courtyard. We were so comfortable that an Englishman walking by asked where we bought our lunch, and a little while later he was also eating on a bench, a couple of trees down.
After lunch we shopped some more. We bought small gifts of blown-glass for each of the boys to give to friends back home -- one was a tiny red scorpion, the other a cute clear octopus with a little orange fish inside.
Nancy shopped energetically for a good souvenir. She was torn between wanting something classy and nice, but not wanting to be gouged by some tourist gallery. In the end she settled for a lovely blue and turquoise vase. The glass walls were heavy enough that we were sure it would survive riding home in her suitcase, which it did.
When we were weary of shopping, we found a vaporetto back to San Marco. We returned to our hotel, for the now routine nap-and-shower before dinner.
We chose another informal restaurant from Susan's guide book, the Osteria a la Campana. Sean ordered mussels, and was dismayed at their appearance. However, once he figured out how to pry them from their shells, he ate them all with enjoyment. Susan again liked the mild red wine, and Nancy and I discovered a new treat. They served Prosecco, a local sparkling white wine. Like the rest of our vacation, we ordered the house wine, and it came in an open pitcher -- a very pleasant way to have champagne. (It was also about six Euros a liter.)
The kids both wanted dessert, but didn't have the patience to puzzle out the unknown items on the menu. I ordered two desserts for both kids together, and while we were waiting told them they'd each try half of each dessert. When it arrived, they both like the teramisu, but both decided their favorite was profiteroles.
Love,
Jim