The sun sparkles brilliantly on the bay as our boat pilot deftly navigates the water streets through traffic moving people, food, crates of stuff, cars, cement mixers and such, on to the Murano factory where we observe glass blowers in action before succumbing to hard sell…Ducky gives in, his booty to be made to order and shipped.
Finally escape back to our cruiser and on to a waterside restaurant overlooking the Gondolas at the San Marco Vallaresso and the Campo Abbazia…a rather impressive Church just like the rather overpriced menu…but absolutely worth every Euro.
The lighting is soft, the water clean and a beautiful shade of aqua, the buildings proudly displaying worn and faded yet regal and quite majestic facades in soft patinas made even more intriguing by the moss growing on their skirting…the bridges don’t disappoint either…a simply stunning photographic moment captured on the Pont Rialto.
A wander through Chanel, Hermes, Sergio Rossi, Pucci, Balenciaga lined streets and home,
later to take an evening ride through the canals. It’s rather cramped for five in our Gondola, a deft balancing act managed well by our punter Stefano who uses elbows and feet to buffer our passage through the narrow canals, at the same time serenading us with some zesty ‘O Sole Mia’ Italian opera that would do Pavarotti proud.
Its a refreshing change as we’ve been singing ‘When the Moon Hits Your Eye Like a Big Pizza Pie’ over and over to the point where Ducky feels obliged to buy Dean Martin’s best so that we can learn the next lines. Almost down pat however we’ll need to dust off our best Edith Piaf again soon…or maybe Air or Phoenix for Paris is drawing ever closer. Sigh!
to a gin martini with ‘drive by’ tonic we are giggling within minutes in the majestic Hotel Palazzo Giovanni. In celebration of our Fifi’s milestone birthday, Ducky surprises her with a pre planned upgrade to an exclusive suite where Murano Chandeliers delight and luxury abounds. A further Gin Martini over restaurant choices before Ducky finally exercises authority and insists on a Chinese nosh. The guru of this gastronomic pleasure and one must bow to the professional.
On every corner couples earnestly argue over maps in an effort to find their way home through narrow winding alleys and over the many bridges.
