We spent the morning touring Verona. Verona was pretty but mobbed with tour groups, more people/sqr. meter than Venice. Not too much to see other than the statue of Juliette and the outside of the Roman amphitheater. No great sights or museums.

Took the train to Venice which ran horribly late. Giuseppe Nucatola, Barbara's 4th cousin once removed, couldn't get the day off to meet us. This was actually fortunate considering how late the train was. Finding the hotel was a bit of challenge. We were given about the most quiet room we've ever had--quite amazing being a two minute walk from San Marco.

Quasimodo/Igor at the hotel led us to Trattoria Alla Rivetta, which was similar to Osteria Romana in Rome, with highly professional but humorous and very happy waiters who loved their customers using 5 or 6 languages. I had Sea Bream, B had Shrimp & Pasta. 1/2 l. of house Prosecco got us tipsy. Panna Cotta for dessert.

Afterwards, we strolled past the dueling orchestras in surprisingly quiet St. Marks Square, then we strolled all the way to the Rialto Bridge and back, along a path with hundreds of upscale shops.

Carla got Giuseppe's phone number. We called him as we were walking through Verona. He told us that he had to work that day, and asked if we would like for him and his family to meet us in Venice tomorrow. Perfetto!

Another train ride, and ah, Venice. We had directions as to how to get to our hotel via vaporetto, which is basically a water bus. We quickly discovered that we were waiting at a vaporetto stop that was heading away from the center of town. We searched for the stop in the other direction and boarded the boat.

Of all the places we were visiting on this trip, Venice is the only one we had been to before. That was thirty-three years ago on our honeymoon. Venice has a magic that casts a spell over visitors. Do you remember the muted colors that were in your box of sixty-four Crayola crayons when you were a child such as yellow ochre, burnt sienna, dandelion and flesh/peach? Those were the colors of the palazzi along the canal. And the water is a very soothing shade of green.

Our hotel seems to have been taken over by the hotel next door. As we were walking down a long, quiet, empty alley, someone behind us called, "Signore! Signora!" The manager's assistant explained that we should follow him... this way. He didn't look like Marty Feldman, but we called him Quasimodo/Igor (to ourselves, of course). We did not remember the Rialto Bridge from our honeymoon, but we remembered St. Mark's.