The heat and humidity we'd endured over the past days caused us to utilize more clothing than we had allowed. The realization of this hit Jim this morning when he discovered that he was rapidly running out of clean shirts.  I recalled, during a careful reading of the multi-page hotel manual that took up a good bit of room on the dresser, that the hotel offered laundry services.  On past trips, we'd rather enjoyed going to the local laundromat and doing the wash ourselves. Where else can one truly mingle with the natives than where we're all when washing out our undies?  Still, for the sake of time and convenience, we decided to make use of the hotel's facilities.
 
Gathering up shirts and socks, Jim made a quick call to the rather brusque gentleman at the front desk, who swiftly sent a maid up to our room.  A pleasant, tiny, fifty-ish woman, she was only too happy to help but knew not a word of English.  Jim was gesturing and waving clothes in the air while she nodded, grabbed them, and said something that sounded like "antipasti."  I wondered if he was really going to get his laundry done or if, in fact, he'd traded his shirts for a plate of appetizers!  Time would tell.

We took the Vaporetta to the Rialto stop. It was lovely to see Venice in the light of day.The shops were open and abuzz with clientele eager to spend their lire. Umbrella-covered stands and vendors dotted the squares, with background music supplied by strolling musicians. The bridges, silent the night before, were lined with open stores, windows sparkling with their wares.  Lampposts that had preciously lighted our way with a rosy glow the night before, showed their pink glass panes in the sun. No matter where I looked there was something to see, do, or most importantly…eat!

I wondered if he was really going to get his laundry done or if, in fact, he'd traded his shirts for a plate of appetizers!  Time would tell.

We wandered aimlessly, getting lost in the narrow alleys and twisted passageways that comprise Venice.With reckless abandon, we truly let ourselves go, treating ourselves to candies and pastries from the sweet smelling Pasticceria Marchini at Ponte S. Maurizio, a convenient, delightful refuge from one of the three outbursts of rain we experienced during the day.  We bought a beautifully wrapped bag of square, fruity jelly candies covered with powdered sugar, a sinfully delicious chocolate-dipped clementine, and a "cookie" that Jim could not resist that was the size of a bagel.  It turned out to be a wonderful almond pastry with a ribbon of date filling running through. I moaned embarrassingly loud when I sunk my teeth into the delectable dessert.  The selection at the pasticceria was incredible.  Every available space was
covered with one kind of confection or other.  I was particularly taken with the chocolates molded to look like carnival masks.  I wanted to pick one up to enjoy later, but the heat and humidity deterred me.
 
Surprises awaited around every corner including the Venice Pavilion, where we found a very handy little phrase book and a boxed set of 12 Italian recipe postcards. Around the corner from the Pavilion, and just in time to quench our thirst, was Harry's Bar. Literary buffs that we are, we had to give it a try. Jim wanted a beer to offset the day's heat, but didn't see it on the menu. Instead he ordered a Vodka Collins at L21,500.  I had to have a Bellini. What else?  But it rang up to a whopping L23,000!  It did taste like fresh peach juice, but was served in a tumbler the size of a juice glass.  In American dollars this sparkling gem came in around $12.50!  How did Hemingway ever afford this?
 
Heading north toward the Rialto, we ducked in and out of places of questionable interest to avoid the rain. With the dinner hour nearing and having eaten only breakfast that day, we decided dinner was in order. The covered patio of the Ristoranti Rialto was appealing, and it was unexpectedly pleasant watching the rain falling into the canal and tourists scattering for cover. 
 
We ordered salads of spring greens that we dressed ourselves using the bottles of vinegar and jewel green olive oil that were present on every table. We also selected a bottle of Brunello Di Montalcino 1995 to commemorate the year we were married.  Jim
ordered the meat lasagna as his entrée. I took the advice of our affable waiter and chose the house specialty, Lasagna Rialto, that he had described as meatless, vegetable lasagna.  It was instead lasagna noodles layered with delicately flavored cheese and ribbons of pesto.  It was superb!
 
After one last wander we had our nightly gelato. Tiramisu for Jim and for me, "Cream of Dog," actually "Crema de Doge," but I dared Jim to order it the other way as I snorted with laughter and obviously too much wine!  I haven't a clue as to what the flavor was, but it was luscious.  Jim took one bite of his, holding the cone a bit too firmly, and snapped it in half, sending his precious scoop onto the cobbled ground with a smack. There it rested, melting, between his two sandaled feet.  Completely dismayed, he returned to the shop, broken cone in hand, to an unsympathetic shop girl who would only sell him another.  This too snapped in her presence, but he managed to catch it to avoid paying for a third!  She handed him an empty cone in which to place the broken one, saying that he "squeeze too tight!"
 
The darkness was falling quickly, so we headed back to the vaporetta to ride to the train station. When we returned to the hotel, Jim's shirts had been successfully returned and our bed had been turned down, each of our two pillows graced with a lovely note on cornflower blue paper reading "Buona Notte!" And there, sitting on the note, there was a small box containing a single molded chocolate mask. Favoloso!

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