We met up with Holly and Chas at their house and wallowed in our giddiness for an hour while we waited for our friend Janeen to pick us up. We took pictures in the front yard of the four of us, fresh and unrumpled before our long travel day and night ahead, and loaded up for the quick drive to the Cincinnati airport. Along the way we listened to my Italy playlist on my iPod. Our favorite is Tu Vuo' Fa L'Americano. We got to the airport just in time to get through the long security lines and eat some junk food pretzels. Holly decided she needed an iced latte from the food court, so she strolled down to get one.  We waited and watched for her as the line to board grew smaller and smaller until the last passengers boarded. The gate agent curtly informed us we'd be giving up our seats in seven minutes, so against Chas' protests, I slung my bag on the floor and took off at a sprint through the terminal to bring Holly back, iced latte or not. Luckily I soon saw her and waved my arms maniacally at her, ignoring the curious stares I was attracting. We ran back to the gate and boarded - the last four on the plane. Rather than risk Chas' chagrin, Holly sat with me behind the guys. Brian later laughed and said it was like a scene out of Chariots of Fire, seeing the two of us running towards them.

This was the short leg to JFK where we'd catch our overnight flight directly to Venice. Holly and I each had a surprise planned for the other and with much giggling and "Are you sure you want to know?"s we divulged them to one another. They planned to take us to a special dinner in Venice and in Rome. I insisted on Venice only - we had all saved scrupulously for this trip and I didn't want her spending her money on us. Our treat to them was to forego the rather complicated and difficult series of public transportation connections and long walks (carrying bags) over numerous bridges getting to our B&B would entail in favor of a private water taxi straight to our door. It would save a lot of time, allowing us to get to the fish market before it closed at noon - that was a sight I definitely wanted to show our friends.

We landed at JFK where we meant to buy a day pass to the Crown Room, allowing us to lounge and relax and have some wine away from the chaos of the airport. The club at our landing terminal was closed, so we went into the Business Elite Lounge where for $25 each we got to spread out in comfort in an enclosed glass-walled partition within the lounge and camp out for a couple hours enjoying drinks and yummy hors'd'oeuvres. We passed the time chatting excitedly about the upcoming trip. It was hard to believe that after months of planning and hundreds of phone calls and email we were finally on our way.

Our flight actually departed from a different terminal so we made our way over there and used our passes to spend a few more minutes and have a last glass of wine in the Crown Room over there. Considering the free drinks on hand, I'm surprised more people don't take advantage of these day passes. What's $25 added to a ticket that could easily be a thousand or more?  Just as well --  if it became overcrowded it would defeat the purpose.

We all took our assorted pharmaceuticals for sleep and boarded the 7?7. Holly and Chas were seated behind us. We kept turning to each other to giggle, "I'm too excited to sleep." My Sonata made me almost instantly very drowsy, but as is usually and unfortunately the case, I couldn't quite move from that not-quite dozing fuzzy gray world to real slumber, so after trying to eat a few bites of my horrid vegetarian meal, I spent the night contorting my frame into increasingly more convoluted positions, desperately trying to get comfortable enough to sleep. I finally opened my eyes for good though when the sun started to squeeze through the shades. 

We were all wide awake excitedly snapping photos when we flew over the Alps. What staggering views! We landed and made it through passport control quickly, then picked up our  bags and stopped at the ATM. Holly was so excited to be there it took three tries for her ATM card to work.

We booked our water taxi at the desk in the arrivals hall and walked down to the pier where boarded our lovely boat. It was the most incomparable transportation experience I've had. To be in the back of that boat under the bluest of Italian skies, speeding towards Venice with the mountains behind us and the wind whipping away my fatigue, was the best arrival to any country I've ever had.  Holly was sparkling with excitement, already taking slews of photos. Good thing we're both all-digital and have 2 gigs each! The best moment was our arrival into the Grand Canal. None of us knew which way to look first at the captivating scene before us. Even though Brian and I had both been before, seeing it on this fresh March morning under dazzling sunlight was like a fantasy. Our boat driver maneuvered us through the many narrow canals to our hotel - the B&B Ponte Vechio 3749. The cost - 90 euros, plus a 10 euro trip - was well worth it for such a spectacular introduction to the city.

We checked into the Ponte Vechio. The man on duty had an odd sense of humor, teasing Holly, not in a very nice way I thought, about her restaurant choice. Our room had a (Venetia glass I assume) chandelier, slanted floor, wrought iron headboard and view out over a canal. We were on the 2nd floor (3rd in our world) with Holly and Chas directly beneath us. We rapidly dropped our bags, brushed our teeth and hit the calle. We took the traghetto (the 50 eurocent gondola) across the Canal and walked together to the Rialto Fish Market.

Holly says ... My very fist 50 eurocent traghetto ride ended up costing what felt like 100 Euros.  After all the traveling and drama that we had gone through, we finally made it out venturing into the Venitian air - on foreign soil.  But wait...all eye's were on me because *I* was the foreigner.  And I just knew all the Venetians had it out for me, especially the traghetto driver who *pretended* to have a 'good hold' on the 50 eurocent that I handed him.  Apparently *not*.  So down into the grand canal went my first (what felt like) 50 Euros.  I felt like someone being taunted while the audience was throwing rotten eggs standing up pointing their fingers at me laughing and gawking at me.  Frantically scrambling around, still while I *just knew* all eyes were on me, I finally found some more coins.  Handing over the *second* 50 Eurocent successfully to the traghetto driver, I have just made my first offical purchase in Venice....a 100 Euro Traghetto ride.  Hmmm....I wonder what will lie ahead.

We roamed through the sights and smells of the fish market, gawking at the medley of astonishingly fresh fish and seafood on display, before deciding to make our way to Piazza San Marco. First though, I needed caffeine and was jonesing for one of my favorite things in the world - a tiny perfect cup of Italian espresso. The first bar we stopped at was serving only wine now that it was noon (one of those moments when I just wanted to turn and say to my friends, see, this is Italy!). No worries, another café was on the other side of the small piazza we found ourselves in, so I got to try out the Italian I'd been working so diligently at with my CDs and night class, with my order for "Quattro café." I was disheartened that Holly, not a fan of coffee at home, recoiled at the strong taste. Mine was relentlessly strong but good, so I tasted hers and it seemed like maybe it had the dregs of the espresso in it, because it did have a harsh taste.

Invigorated by my jolt of café we continued on towards San Marco, but decided to stop for a quick lunch first. I learned that choosing a place to eat with four people is exponentially more time-consuming than with two. No one wants to be the one to make a authoritarian decision, so there's a lot of dithering about where to go. We settled on a small sandwich shop called Stellina. They had laminated menus featuring photos of the food outside - the kind of place I'd never eat at when home, but for some reason being in Italy makes it OK. I had a panino which was just OK - this location was on a heavily touristed corner with no incentive to serve good food. Holly and Chas loved their pizza though. It was the thin-crust type common in Venice. Chas was rather shocked that his canned soft drink was E3.65 - more than $4.00. I had to resist (at least I hope I resisted the obnoxious urge, memory fails me) to say "I *told* you wine was cheaper than soda here!" Holly scored mega points for pointing out the change machine in the back of the café by some arcade games. She had taken heed of my warning that one often needs change over here, so we all loaded our pockets with euro coins, used the free bathroom and set out again for San Marco.

The weather was glorious and Holly was blown away by San Marco. What delicious fun to witness my friend's reaction to the beauty of this celebrated piazza.  While I wouldn't call myself jaded by any means, after six previous trips to Europe and innumerable cathedral visits, I certainly am not as stirred as I once was by such sights. Though this was my second visit to Venice, I felt as though I was seeing it anew.  We cavorted about with the pigeons under torrents of sun, laughing and squealing at the peculiar feel of the pigeons claws gripping our arms, hands and heads.  What a grand playground it was in the shadow of the magnificent Basilica San Marco.

We joined the small queue to enter the Basilica after we'd had our fill of pigeon fun, and entered the dim, vast cathedral. Quietly we drifted throughout the place, stopping frequently to marvel at the mosaics and the marble, then climbed the stairs to the museum where we wanted to see the original bronze horses plundered from Constantinople. The steeds atop the basilica outside are replicas.  Never one to pass up a free restroom while in Europe, I joined a line again, and thoroughly proved myself not to be the knowledgeable European traveler others think I am by pulling the emergency cord in my attempt to flush the toilet. The multitude of ways to flush over there will always befuddle me.

 After wandering through the museum we stepped outside onto the ledge that runs the width of the Basilica. Under the shadow of the horses we admired one of the best piazza views I know, then simply rested in the sunshine. I realized that I didn't feel nearly as exhausted or jet-lagged as I normally did by this point in day one of a trip, and wondered if it was due the to homeopathic jet lag remedy I had taken on the overnight flight.

It was on to the campanile then, just down the stairs, a few steps over and up a crowded elevator. The original collapsed about 100 years ago and presumably this modern one is safe. It offered 360 degree bird's eye views of Venice, encompassing the domes of the Basilica, the rooftops of the Doges Palace, the lagoon and its many islands, and a sea of red rooftops. It began to get quite chilly up there as the sun began considering its descent, so we made our own descent and began the meandering sort of walk one takes to get anywhere in this alley and canal-strewn city. Our aim was Rialto, as we knew how to find our hotel from there. One of my favorite things about Venice is the discovery around every bend and down every slender alley of another alluring view. It was growing colder as the sun began its earnest slide behind the steeples and roofs of the city so we ducked into the inviting-looking Osteria Da Dino. We gathered around a wooden table in the pleasant dining room and drank cappuccino (no one gasped in horror that we were consuming milk after 11 am) and nibbled on cookies.

When we got back to the hotel, we all took nice long refreshing showers and readied ourselves for dinner. I ran down to Holly's room which I found dark. "Did your electric go out too?" she asked. "No," I replied, wondering what had happened.  Evidently her battery charger for her camera (which had gotten a strenuous workout that day) shorted something out in the electrical system. Though she used the proper plug adapter the appliance must not have had a wattage converter built in. Chas knocked on an unmarked door and a nice young man came out and flipped a breaker which turned the lights back on.

For dinner Brian really wanted to return to Ai Tre Speidi, a tiny restaurant he had loved during our last visit to Venice. We had fond memories of the two chefs/waiters/proprieters there, one of whom had demonstrated for us the correct way to de-head and de-bone a fish. We arrived at their opening time, as they don't take reservations, and were seated immediately. I had loved the spaghetti with pesto on our last visit so chose that for my pasta, and asked the server for his main course recommendation. I ordered his suggestion of what turned out to be calamari - not breaded, and simply pan-cooked in a squid ink sauce - and plain polenta. I was heartily disappointed in this - my first dinner back in Italy, but did my best to choke down the things. The guys, meanwhile, amused themselves by comparing eyeballs on the variety of creatures on their seafood plates. Next time I'll stick with the spaghetti alla pesto! We drank a bottle of the house red for E10 - one of the things I love about Italy!

We did our best to make our plates look like we had eaten most of the food but it didn't fool our server who clearly looked disappointed in our performance as he cleared away the meal. After dinner we stopped at a gelateria around the corner for our second gelato of the day, then walked back to our rooms and hit the sack. I often have a lot of trouble sleeping my first night in Europe and this was no different. Despite having slept almost not at all on the flight, and very little the preceding night, I finally had to resort to a second Sonata before I could drift off.

We awoke the next morning - Sunday March 12, our first full day in Venice, to cold weather and a snowy/rain mixture. Good thing we packed warm clothes! We fortified ourselves at the B&B's breakfast with infusions of cappuccino as well as good breads, yogurt and orange juice then set out for San Giorgio Maggiore, a church purported to offer Gregorian chanting in their Sunday morning worship service. We first walked to San Marco which was nearly deserted in the biting cold and increasing rain. Brian bought an umbrella from a street vendor after his blew inside out - the new one serving little purpose against the wind-whipped rain.

We walked to the vaporetto stop and bought our 24-hour passes. I planned on stretching them until the next morning when we'd ride over to pick up our rental car. We rode over to the island the where the church is found and went in for a look around before the service. It was very cold inside the church. We sat with the other tourists when it grew close to 11 and waited patiently for some action. Finally amid whispering and looking around, people began heading out one of the doorways and disappeared. Those remaining passed the word along - the service was being held in a chapel upstairs.  We sheepishly followed the other tourists upstairs and took a seat in the throne-like wooden pews along the perimeter of the room. I watched, mystified, as the various clergy read their lines in Italian (and maybe Latin?). Not being Catholic or Italian, very little of it made sense, but it was enjoyable to sit in the warm room and listen to the soothing sounds. We were disappointed that they never performed any Gregorian chants, but amused ourselves a bit observing an elderly gentleman in robes sleeping across the chapel - we thought he may actually slide out of his seat.

I required a restroom most dreadfully by the end of the service (shouldn't have had two cappuccinos, orange juice *and* water at breakfast!) but couldn't find a sign anywhere directing me to one. I asked a petite Argentinian nun in the small gift shop downstairs and she must have recognized the urgency because she took me with her out of the church around the corner and into another building. I didn't know where she was taking me but I trusted she wouldn't lead me astray.

We hopped back on the vaporetto afterwards - fortunately it had stopped raining - and took it to the Accadamia area. We then just wandered and wandered through alley after alley, eventually ending up back by Rialto. Breakfast had worn off by that point and we were able to come to a consensus about where to eat, so we happily left the cold outside for a warm and bustling yellow-walled dining room. We sat back in a corner and enjoyed wonderful pasta and pizza - all trying everyone else's. That's a definite benefit to traveling with friends! I had rich creamy quattro-formaggi macaroni. It was lovely, with thick penne-style noodles smothered in cheese sauce with an interesting bite coming from the use of a blue cheese. 

After lunch we pressed on and took the vaporetto to Ca Rezzonica , a palazzo on the Grand Canal which is now a museum. We toured the interior admiring the furniture, art and the grand rooms themselves, then hopped back on the vaporetto to Ca D'Oro and walked and shopped. Holly practiced her Italian in a tiny bar, ordering Quattro cappuccino. The guys were paying for the glass we'd picked up in the shop next door, so the lady working clearly thought we were foolish tourists who don't know the difference in duo and quattro, and kept asking with an eyebrow raised, "Quattro? Quattro!?" We insisted on quattro and she complied, though with more than one sigh thrown in. 

We walked and walked some more then, meandering in and out of shops for a couple of hours. I fell in love with an adorable black and white leather purse in one shop but was vetoed by my financial manager (Brian).  It was really getting cold at this point.  This was the night Holly and Chas planned to take us to dinner but I was too hungry to wait until our 9:00 reservation, so Holly and I split a big piece of takeaway 4-cheese pizza. The man that served us kindly volunteered to slice it in two for us.

After this day packed with sightseeing we returned to our rooms for showers and rest before dinner. I walked down to their room shortly before time to go to find they were not even close to ready. "We fell asleep," they explained.

We had directions printed to Antica Trattoria Poste Vecie, said to be the oldest restaurant in Venice, but grew confused trying to locate it. We made fun out of it though, pretending to be on the Amazing Race searching for the pit stop, and found it right on time. The exterior was delightful with its own little bridge and a red and white pole. It had a romantic interior with fireplace, white-draped tables and candles. Our server brought out complimentary prosecco which was a nice start.  We had chilled sardines to start, and I ordered squid-ink tagliatelli with crabmeat, and Holly had gnocchi with lobster. They were both good. The guys each had salmon. The bottle of house red we drank was nice so we decided to have another. We all had dessert - I traded with Holly because she had plate envy for my pear cake and I had her panna cotta.

Things turned quite interesting after dinner. We were just promenading back to our room, stopping now and then for more photos, when we passed a jazz bar. Brian abruptly (and uncharacteristically) said we should go in. It was late and we were tired so we first said no.  "I'm buying drinks," he said, so in we went. We were seated past the bar next to a cute young couple deep in conversation. Holly and I ordered Bellinis (on my *list* to drink in Venice) and the guys had what turned out to be shockingly large beers. We sat and talked about our impressions of the city and what they though about foreign travel so far. It was fun to hear what they thought of everything. We talked about the many differences in how things are done at home and here, and how many things we find to be better here. We had another round of drinks and struck up a conversation with the couple next to us. Their names were Mike and Dorota. Both living in London now, Mike is a filmmaker originally from Scotland and Dorota comes from Poland.  At some point Chas disappeared but returned later with an American couple he'd found in the bar.  Conversations and happenings after this are a little wine-fuzzed but I do recall long entertaining conversations with Mike and Dorota, and a feeling of guilt that I had abandoned Holly to the (somewhat annoying) American couple. I was trying to keep an ear on both conversations but finally gave up when out of my right ear I heard an American voice saying, "I don't really like the taste of licorice," when on my left a Scottish voice was saying, "and then we smuggled him into Russia ." At some point during Mike's story about driving across Mongolia and Russia Holly passed me a note with just two words: Snobby American.

After innumerable more bottles of wine around the table the bar finally closed at maybe 3:00 or so and they ran us out.  We parted ways with Mike and Dorota after promising to go on an adventurous drive across Mongolia with them in the future, and the four of us headed haphazardly in what seemed like the right direction. Many dark alleys and dead ends later we admitted we were lost. This didn't seem to strike us as particularly worrisome, but rather amusing and we continued our rambling around the hushed and dreaming city. We attempted to consult the map but the wine seemed to be preventing me from making any sense of letters, so we gave that up and tried to follow our sense of direction. Ha. At last Brian spotted a large duck in a store that triggered his memory and we found our neighborhood. At somewhere around 4 in the morning we made it back to our room and slept for a few hours.

Breakfast came far, far too early the following morning. With a tender head I made my way downstairs hoping that cappuccino would work wonders on me. I would have loved to have slept in but we were meant to pick up our rental car by noon. It was a bright sunny morning when we left our B&B to catch the vaporetto to Piazzale Roma. Unfortunately our 24-hour passes had expired thanks to our shenanigans of the night before so we all bought another ticket, and enjoyed the ride down the Canal sitting in the very back, outside.

Are you still reading?? This is as far as I've gotten as of 8/4/06. More to come. Much more.