Venice is mysterious! Walk along one street, turn a corner and you are in a campo. go further and you;re in a street so narrow – not an alley but a street – in which you must turn sideways in order to get through to the other side. See one name that you recognize, look again and it’s spelled differently and you’re not sure where you are. Last night a restaurant was there, tables outside, chairs and cloths, this morning nothing, not even a recognizable awning.
It rained on Sunday. People all around us appeared with yellow and blue tie on boots to protect their shoes and legs from the water. Venetians take it all in stride. Shop owners simply raise their goods up a bit and open their doors. Restauranteurs sweep out the entranceway and say, Bourjourno! and list what’s on the menu at the moment.
The only wheeled vehicles are work carts – ancient looking, strollers for babies and wheel chairs. I can’t imagine negotiating Venice in a wheel chair. Cobblestone streets and really, no accessible bridges. I imagine it makes for a circumscribed life. Parents put their kid on the scooter and pull the along. Dogs are everywhere. But not like in Moscow. These are pets not citizens and they go into restaurants, stores and on the vapparatti. They get carried in arms and purses and backpacks and they all look quite comfortable and pampered. I think a dog’s life in Venice might be pretty sweet.
We wound up staying two extra days because of what appeared to be transportation cuts due to government finances. Turned out that we didn’t have to stay – the trains were running but the only way you cold know that was if yo went to the forravio and looked at the schedule in person. The mystery that is Venice had us going in circles quite a lot, but last night we walked our route two times, working it out to only have to haul our luggage over two bridges rather than the four or five we would have taken had we not figure it out.
We are taking the train to Trieste this morning. A two hour ride through the country side. In Trieste we will get a bus to Rovinj – or Porec – at which point we are likely to have to buy a car to get to Rovinj. Our last Air b and b hostess, Claudia, an expat Hamburgian says there are not buses to Rovinj at this time of year. So .. .while I have my fingers crossed that we will spend the night in Rovinj, I’m not counting on it.
I think bus stations world wide share an air of uneasy seediness. This one is dark and sad and Soviet like. It’s got to be because trains and planes cost quite a bit. Buses, not so much. We fit in well with the other bus users. Two enormous suitcases, a carry one each – all we need is two goats and a chicken and we’d be taken for locals. I have an enormous scarf that I can wrap around myself and store the chicken close too my body. I’d probably be able to get one of the goats in there, too.
From my understanding we’d only have to pay for the seats that we and the goats occupy so if R wears one of the goats around his shoulders we won’t have to pay extra. There’s more goo to this. If we get stranded on the way we can either eat eggs or kill the chicken, milk the goat and perhaps start a little stand by the side of the road where we can make a little money on others trying to get to Rovinj in the off season. From my observations in Venice, Italians could use a little structural integration and I’m imagining a barter system that would allow for a higher income bracket. Perhaps even setting up an Air b and b account for those unfortunate others. I’m thinking it all could turn out fine. Really.
In our 4.5 hour wait for our bus we’ve had one coffee, one espresso, one sandwich, 2 beers and a glass of wine. We are trying to spend the last of our euros.
Ravinj in a deluge – next.