Description: First Impressions
Walking down the steps of Santa Lucia train station, I’m convinced we’ve stepped back in time. It’s like nowhere I’ve seen and I pinch myself. No cars, no bikes, only streets of water and astonishing buildings with Turkish-style windows, barber poles and fancy cafes lining the canal. Gondolas pass silently as we buy tickets for the vaporetto to our pensione on St. Marks basin.
Previously…
Evelyn, our gracious Welsh hostess in Florence, helped us book a pensione before we left. April marks the start of the "silly season", and she recommended we have somewhere the first night. Just as well. Of the four places I short-listed, we got the last choice. Italy had been inexpensive, so we decided to "splurge" on a two-star place with a view. And what better city to choose.
Welcome to Fawlty Towers
We cruised the Grand Canal for 30 minutes, retrieved our jaws from the floor, and disembarked at the Arsenale stop. Our pensione faced the water, over a bridge near a sculpture of a big welcoming hand.
The proprietor was reserved but all smiles. Behind him a short man hunched over a ledger chatting (apparently) with himself, while another man in waiter’s garb passed with a plate of fried bocconcini. They would become known as Manuel the Desk Clerk and Mr. Bocconcini.
Manuel led us up two flights of stairs, then down a few steps to a mezzanine. We turned a corner, up another flight to another mezzanine, then along a hallway that sloped to the left. Around a corner was a small landing, then finally, our room. Strange, from the outside this is a small building.
"Are we still in Venice? I’ll bring breadcrumbs next time," I said to Karen.
Small Building
Light filled a warm, friendly room. The comfy bed was framed by a chunky wardrobe, writing desk and quality furnishings. Karen opened green shutters to the most amazing view. A three-masted sailing ship passed, people waving. To the right was the Grand Canal, ahead was the church of Maggiore.
"David. You won't believe this!" Karen was scratching her head, smiling.
There, directly below us, was reception.
Hmmm, small building from the outside.
Across the way a ginger cat perched on a window sill, pre-occupied with something below. Every afternoon this cat would be in the same spot. We never found out why. Maybe it was lost too.
The Shower Closet
Down the hall was a closet, at least that’s what I thought it was. I measured it – five feet by four feet. But the closet had a shower, basin and mirror in it, oh, and two hooks on the back of the door. No shower curtain though. Lucky we brought plastic bags.
Each morning we’d head down the hall, plastic bag of clothes in hand, then down (many) stairs to breakfast. And each morning Mr. Bocconcini would offer us fried bocconcini. And each morning we would politely decline.
One day I’ll return and order fried bocconcini for breakfast.
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