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Report 1936: Our Month in Italy - Spring 2011

By Boleskine from NJ, Spring 2011

Page 23 of 30: Mercoledi 18 Maggio 2011 - Miscellaneous Miseries Cured by a Great Dinner

View from Rialto Mercato Pontile

We all sleep very late, and despite or perhaps because of that, we all feel awful. Martin has a sore throat; I am coughing and achy with a bit of a sore throat too. We leave for our espresso before Sarah and Brian are up, but even two espressi don't do much to pep me up. I feel as though I can just about walk. Martin thinks maybe smoke from the mosquito coils is making me cough.

When we get home, Sarah is up; she has a stiff neck; Brian sleeps until nearly 1:00, and awakens with a dreadful headache. It is a gorgeous day, so what the devil is ailing us all? We all stay in just sitting and reading and looking out of the window. There is a Slow Travel GTG in the late afternoon, but not only do we all still have our miscellaneous miseries, we do not want to inflict any germs we may be harboring on our friends so we decide to stay home.

Martin puts a wash in and then takes a nap; Sarah and Brian go back to their room to lie down. I really want to go outside into this beautiful sunny day, but the thought of putting on shoes seems overwhelming, and the more I move the more I cough.

We are running out of time; a week from today we should be well into our journey home. I don't want to be stuck inside in Venice. I walk up to San Polo and go to the farmacia to try to buy some Rame Oro Argento; stupid me! It is closed. I haul myself back over the bridge. No one in the apartment even notices that I have been gone, which is just as well as I am now quite grumpy - then again how would anyone notice that?

It is probably a good thing we missed the GTG as everyone but me sleeps most of the afternoon, and I am coughing too much to fall asleep. I hang up the now clean clothes on our drying rack and then read. We have reservations at Poste Vecie, the oldest restaurant in Venice for dinner. Sarah and Brian walk; Martin and I take a vaporetto to Rialto Mercato. What a wonderful idea it to create that stop; it makes shopping at the Rialto so much easier because we do not have to carry everything home or over the bridge, and it makes going to restaurants in the area easier too.

Wilma is there tonight. It is good to see her. Both her sons work there now, and they are as efficient and attentive as she is. We enjoy our complimentary Prosecco while we look at the menu. The whole staff knows I will wind up with spaghetti con vongole verace for my primo, but I always look anyway. Tonight Martin and Brian join me while Sarah indulges in ravioli with asparagus. The spaghetti con vongole verace is as wonderful as it always is, and Sarah raves about the ravioli which has both an asparagus filling and a creamy asparagus sauce.

For his secondo, Martin orders the orata Poste Vecie which is one of his favorite dishes; it comes with little boiled potatoes which he also loves. Brian has the grilled sole which he enjoys though he would have preferred potatoes to the grilled polenta. I'll take polenta over potatoes any day, but I have no potatoes to offer him as an exchange. Sarah and I both order il second del chef, which tonight is rombo with tomatoes and olives. It tastes delicious, but neither of us had expected to have to do our own boning especially on a fish covered in sauce. We manage well enough and both the fish and sauce are delicious, but we have quite a pile of pin bones on our plates.

Martin finishes with a warm chocolate cake with the vanilla ice cream that was meant to accompany my warm orange cake with chocolate and orange sauces. Sarah has a sgroppino, and Brian chooses a glass of recioto. It has been an excellent dinner and very reasonably priced as well. Sarah and Brian leave to walk home but Martin and I linger to talk to Wilma, her sons and the owner.

As usual after dinner we prefer taking the vaporetto if that is an option. We are amused by some Brits who keep talking about on which side of the river they want to get off. I have become resigned to Saint Mark's Square instead of Piazza San Marco, but, really, there is a difference between a canal and a river and the words canal and canale are virtually identical in both languages.

As we walk home from the vaporetto we do not encounter a single person needing directions so I can muse on the fact that next Wednesday at this time our plane should be just about preparing to land in Philadelphia; it is for the best that I do not know how much later than that our arrival will turn out to be. In any event, I'll be far, far away from Venice and all its rivers.

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