Everybody else in the world calls it Venezia, even the Germans.

I slept deep on the train, held captive by dreams that were painted by Klimt, deep, erotic, delicious. I got up once in the night. The WC’s on either end of the car were out of order and my bladder was bursting, so… I went back to my compartment and peed in the sink. Sometimes a traveller has to improvise. Back in my little berth I fell asleep instantly, and descended into a dream filled with warm embraces and sandalwood.

7am and I was up. The air had changed. We were close. I took a little sponge bath, put on some clean undies and a fresh shirt and got ready to meet an old place new to me.

We’re approaching Santa Lucia, a smiling adios to the Colombian steward, off the train, down the platform, into the station, it’s early all the snack stands are shuttered, announcements echoing overhead in Italian, German, Russian…oh and English too. Past the ticket office, I’ll be there later, and out the front entrance and there before me is the Grand Canal. I’m in Venezia. I am soooo in Venezia,

I sat on the steps of the train station and considered the Grand Canal for a long moment. Even at 8:30 in the morning it is bustling with traffic in the form of small boats, tour boats, gondolas, water taxis. No cars in old Venezia so getting a cab to my hotel might be tricky. One of the reasons I booked the Gardena Hotel is that they claimed to me 200 meters from the train station. I took a look around and did not see the hotel, but I knew it was close. Went to a tourist center and bought a map from an impatient young woman who seemed relieved that I knew exactly what I wanted and had my money ready. I knew the hotel Gardena was in the Santa Croce district right across the grand canal from the train station, the address was Santa Croce 239. Santa Croce had to be a Main Street in the district, perhaps leading to some sort of piazza. But the map said otherwise. All I could find was a street called “Croce”. I got off my butt and headed for it. Getting around Venezia is an adventure. What looks like a street on a map is really a tiny alley and there are little passageways that do not show up on maps. I was having a ball. Stopped at a bakery and bought a piece of bread with olives baked into it. Munched and wandered for a bit. Got to “Croce” but no hotel Gardena, and the address numbers were in the 900 range. Hmmmm. A bit of thought and I realized that the address “Santa Croce 239” meant “building number 239 in the Santa Croce district”. Having figured that out, it was a simple matter to find my way to the Hotel Gardena, which, as it turns out, was a little less than 200 meters from the train station. The great physicist Richard Feynman wrote about the joy of finding things out, and finding out where my Venezia hotel is located was pure joy.

Dropped off my rolling bag with the front desk and headed back out. The streets were jammed with people from all over the world. I’ll bet it has always been so for Venezia. In the past it was a center of trade and commerce. Now it’s a premier tourist stop. Either way it is somewhere people want to be.

I wandered, not paying attention to street names, just going by feel. Saw a nice outdoor cafe and sat at a prime table with a view of aThe foot traffic. I ordered a bottle of wine and just sat and enjoyed the day. I saw children running and laughing, beautiful women strolling, lovers walking hand in hand, lots of couples, old, young, happy, bored and all hoping to connect with the magic that is this this place.

Back to the hotel for a nap, then back out to have some dinner. Found an outdoor place in a little piazza in Santa Croce. A young waiter and an old. The young waiter spoke no English but we managed with a mixture of Spanish and French. He brought me a bottle of chianti and another of Pellegrino. The older waiter was German but he knew enough English to ask me where I was from. I told him and he seemed surprised, he said that people from the USA don’t usually speak more than English. I took it as a compliment.

For dinner I had spaghetti with squid ink, salad, and bruschetta with mushrooms.found out I had been miss pronouncing bruschetta all this time. The “CH” actually sounds like a “K”.

As I ate my dinner a local dog, collared and tagged, back with white paws, wandered by looking for scraps from the diners. He wasn’t having much luck, but he was quiet and polite. The young waiter gave a token wave of the hand at the dog and went about his business. I guess the dog knew that patience is it’s own reward.

An old lady, in big shoes and long raincoat came ambling by the restaurant. She must have just come from the beauty shop as her hair was perfect shining silver. She saw the dog, stopped, put down her shopping bag, and held out her hand. The dog must have know on her scent because he turned toward her, and without fear, or hesitation, walked up to her. She leaned forward and stroked his head once, twice, three times, and the dog just looked up at her and smiled, I mean he really smiled. His tail wagged easily.

It was a neighborly greeting, a “hey how are you doing?” They looked at each other for a beat and the old lady picked up her shopping bag. She gave the dog a wave and headed toward the dark end of the Piazza. The dog watched her go for a second or two, then headed off in the opposite direction, perhaps toward his home, or perhaps to find a café with more generous diners

I finished my meal and my wine and returned to the hotel. This was a great day.