I hate this. Knowing I'm leaving. Listening to the church bells, the splash of the water in the canal, watching the play of light on the ceiling of my room, knowing that, in a few days, I'll be back in Hawaii, in a different light, with different sounds. And who knows if I'll ever be here again?
Today, we did an art morning, Ca' Pesaro, a modern art museum where there is a Biennale exhibition interspersed with the standing collection, which appears to be primarily from the early years of the 20the century, and the movement that went from representational to cubist and moderne (as if I knew what the hell I was talking about). I liked the way the Biennale artist, Braco Dimitijevic of Sarajevo, wove his extremely life-like figures, made of resin and other materials, into the overall exhibit. One in particular, a hefty man, sitting, his legs sprawled out, seemed to me to speak to a large conventional marble, also a man, also legs outstretched, but not sprawled, not relaxed or in control, but very much posed. And not, like the modern figure, dressed, but nude.
It has been a revelation, seeing modern art with Bonnie, something I would never, ever have done on my own. The galleries after galleries after galleries of older works have pleased but not provoked me as the modern art has done.
We were in a cramped warren of pathways, canals and campi off the St. Stae vaparetto stop and had lunch at a little place, a pizzeria, Il Refelo. The pizza was amazing. I don't like pizza. Never order it. Cadged a piece from Bonnie, cheese and thin-sliced mellanzane (eggplant) and knew that, if pizza were like this in America, I would crave it. Had penne pasta, infused with the flavor of smoked pancetta; I think, based on what I read on the menu, that the name Il Refelo might refer to a wood-burning oven, which lends its style to the menu. I don't know. Tangential Italian. Uncommunicative waiter.
The restaurant is composed of a small room of perhaps a half-dozen tables (which looks as though it would be very nice in the evening), a kitchen and a stone-paved campo, where they set up tables under umbrellas, overlooking a narrow canal used by both "real people" and gondoliers. This is a very lovely, quite and not much visited part of town. A large gull glided in and we watched as he (she?) swallowed a piece of bread twice the width of his neck and performed an elaborate swallowing dance until it had gone down. Then it posed for its closeup on top of a mooring post. Families glided by in their small boats. A professional tour guide brought her party to lunch; a boon for us since she was speaking Italian very clearly and somewhat slowly, so our evesdropping was much more fruitful than usual.
Long dark night of the waiting for the conto (check), as usual.
Invested in a trio of Donna Leon books for the trip home (and I do mean invested; a paperback costs E10, around $15!), had a lovely afternoon reading and lolling in bed, visited our landlady the Contessa who will host us to drinks the night before we leave, played with her little dog Webby and cadged a suitcase from her attic for Bonnie's overflow), got the address of a music shop so I can try and find my favorite Italian pop artist.
Business business.
Can I get a do-over?