Of Glass and Gothic.

02/13/2007

We have been back from our hols for over a week, however, only now have I a mini moment to scribble a few words as I wait impatiently for some tardy guests to appear for breakfast. February, normally a month for quiet contemplation has, this year produced a bulging diary of social events from weddings to fundraisers, which has seen me at one minute disco dancing till dawn in far flung Fife. The next, full regalia cast aside up to my oxters in freezing burn water trying to persuade frozen pipes to give up a dribble or two to provide a cleansing shower for dearest Dottie prior to our next bash. Add to that the sudden demise of the motor that has remained faithfully for a decade, rainforest loads of bumph decorating the desk, the early appearance of visitors and endless meetings with Beadles and Bureaucrats, a day or two of peaceful idleness would be most welcome.

Venice was delightful, although our original plan to go in the first week of February rather than the end of January would have seen a couple more of our target eateries open for business. A visit is best spent walking and riding the vaparetto, making time for plenty of prosecco stops and fortified by at least eight plates of food per day. The interiors of the many churches and museums are magnificent; however my taste favours the wondrous watery world of the city and its architectural exteriors. Perhaps nothing prepares one for the culture shock of walking through the station arrival hall to be met by the unexpectedly romantic vista of the Grand Canal, Palazzos and the Frank Lloyd Wright bridge, rather than the taxis and traffic outside every other city terminus. The Venetians are a fairly bolshie lot, still congratulating themselves on sacking Constantinople a couple of times, so the shopping was poor and the most heard English phrase was “No Touch”, to say nothing of silly cover charges in all restaurants. I have been told that most Venetians have left the islands for the convenience of the mainland, leaving a population of stubborn elderly who baulk at the tourist dollar, and the sinking of their city. Certainly property prices are astronomical with £500,000 the minimum required for a modest flat, however if you favour a Grand Canal palazzo complete with gothic ghosts and a lot of water in the ground floor at high tide, have £5 to £10 million ready. A super break for the two of us. A Happy Valentine’s tomorrow all you lovelies, yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.