I'm missing a morning in Venice, thinking of when E. and I would walk down the four flights of stairs inside our hotel the Ai Do Mori, in search of where to have a cappuccino and to pick out which delectable baked treasure we would eat that day. Out the door away from the Piazza San Marco (which was just a left turn from our hotel down a short block) we would go, a quick right against the flow of most foot traffic. We might go left and right multiple times, up one Calle and down another. A small square might open up before us or a dead end to one of many small canals. A gondola might glide by awaiting passengers or already inhabited with a couple on their romantic tour. Silent except for the oar as it would break through the still, opal colored water.
We didn't always pick the closest place, often trying to find one with seats to sit at. Most of the Venetians would stand next to the bar to have their quick espresso or cappuccino, chatting away to the barista animatedly. "Buon giorno!" and "Ciao" were all I could pick up. Everyone seemed happy in the morning in Venice. For that matter every establishment we went into we were greeted kindly.
We would savor our breakfast treats, remarking on the flakiness or if one had a filling and what it was. I would clean the cup with my tiny spoon to scrape the remains of milky froth left at the bottom. A part of me really wanted to order just one more but the beginning of the day begged me to stand up and start the adventure of our day.
Venice had countless panifici or bakeries. We saw meringues the size of your fist. Some in the shape of seashells that were delicately dusted with cocoa.
Then there were the toasted tipped macaroons that looked shamlessly like nipples.
It was impossible to escape all the sweets that tried to lure us and lure us they did by our standing at the shop window examining every item. Our mouths salivating while we resisted (why?) a purchase. Why were they all so big? The Venetians were not overweight but svelte and neatly attired. They must not buy them but are bought by the turista.
All of this just one of many layers to fantastical Venice. Buon viaggio con me!
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| E.'s photo ~ our hotel the Ai Do Mori |
We didn't always pick the closest place, often trying to find one with seats to sit at. Most of the Venetians would stand next to the bar to have their quick espresso or cappuccino, chatting away to the barista animatedly. "Buon giorno!" and "Ciao" were all I could pick up. Everyone seemed happy in the morning in Venice. For that matter every establishment we went into we were greeted kindly.
 |
| Photo by E |
We would savor our breakfast treats, remarking on the flakiness or if one had a filling and what it was. I would clean the cup with my tiny spoon to scrape the remains of milky froth left at the bottom. A part of me really wanted to order just one more but the beginning of the day begged me to stand up and start the adventure of our day.
Venice had countless panifici or bakeries. We saw meringues the size of your fist. Some in the shape of seashells that were delicately dusted with cocoa.
Then there were the toasted tipped macaroons that looked shamlessly like nipples.
It was impossible to escape all the sweets that tried to lure us and lure us they did by our standing at the shop window examining every item. Our mouths salivating while we resisted (why?) a purchase. Why were they all so big? The Venetians were not overweight but svelte and neatly attired. They must not buy them but are bought by the turista.
All of this just one of many layers to fantastical Venice. Buon viaggio con me!
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