I got up before seven and headed out to the nearby shops for supplies: croissants and rolls at the panificio, fresh milk and bottled water at the salumeria. The tap water is drinkable in Venice, as it is everywhere in Italy, but the bottled stuff tastes better. It is not true that wine is cheaper than water; we could get a 1.5 litre bottle of still water for as little as L330. Unfortunately, in my haste, I purchased "frizzante" (sparkling) instead of "naturale": six bottles worth, no less.
I made coffee at home and had a croissant before anyone was up. Z came running out of the bedroom as usual, perky and snuggly. The others got up gradually. N took a quick shower (I was showering in the evenings, N twice a day) and we left for Padova.
We walked all the way down the Strada Nova to the train station, A and Z asking many questions about the people with big packs peering at maps at every intersection. There were numerous trains to Padova, and since it was the site of the conference we attended in 96 (commuting from an apartment in Cannaregio), we knew the drill.
It was another cool and overcast morning, perhaps the coolest to date. On the train I took out N's book on the Arena Chapel frescoes, which she studied from while at university, and showed the kids the black-and-white reproductions and told them the stories: Joachim and Anna and the birth of Mary, and then the life of Christ.
The sun was out when we got to Padova but it was still cool in the shade. We picked up a little brochure with a small map of the city (good enough, we thought) and headed for the Chapel. Checking our bags, we walked out of the adjoining Eremitani museum and over to the building.
There was no lineup and fewer than fifty people inside, a very comfortable number. It was warm and the air was still, though. I held Z, N held A, and we went through all the panels in chronological order. N added details of parallels and symbolism for A. Z recognized the presentation of the Virgin at the temple by analogy with the Titian rendition in the Accademia; something about a little girl climbing steps by herself holds a special resonance for her.
When we had done with the main panels, I pointed out the secondary decorations: the panels of the Virtues and Vices along the bottom, and the small quatrefoils with various stories and incidents. "Maybe you can find one you know," I said to A, and she glanced over at the nearest one and said, "There's Jesus presenting the key to Saint Peter." I went over and, sure enough, she was right. No doubt on a future visit we will discover that it is really Moses removing a booger from Aaron's nose, but I'm impressed nonetheless.
In 96 Z was asleep in the stroller, it was cooler, and we spent over ninety minutes in the chapel. This time we still managed well over an hour, and had to go back twice after leaving for the kids to satisfy their curiosity about this or that. We were spared the waves of tour groups that swept through in 96; people came and went in small family groups. Z's favourite was the picture of the Devil in the Last Judgement; no doubt her interest is permanently sparked by the Bosch tryptych in the Palazzo Ducale.
The day sort of fell apart after that. It was quite hot when we left, and we wandered through Padova trying to find restaurants we knew about. The map was inadequate, and a passerby insisted the street I was looking for did not exist (a guidebook had spelled it wrong). Both restaurants, once we found them, were closed. We fed the kids a plate of noodles at the Brek self-service restaurant just off Piazza Cavour, but N declined to eat such slop, and I kept her company. Everything else interesting was closed until 3:30, and Z was getting sleepy with no stroller to nap in. We headed back to the train station and caught a train back immediately. Fortunately, A read a chapter book and Z fell asleep on my lap, giving us some time to cool off internally, if not externally.
A took both packs and I carried the sleeping Z out of the train station and down the Strada Nova. We stopped at the Pasticceria Dal Mas, the only place near the train station recommended by any of our "gourmet" references, to give Z a snack; she chose something with custard, puff pastry and strawberries that had to be the messiest thing in the store. Fortunately, Z woke up before my arm fell off, and walked the rest of the way home.
N went ahead with the kids while I ran down to Campo S. Maria Formosa and bought a "tarta salata" filled with rucola and cheese at a pizzeria called Cip Ciap. We ate this in the apartment as a sort of very late lunch while the kids had some fruit. Then they settled down to play and N took a snooze while I went out scouting for possible dinner locations nearby.
Everything in our books that was within quick walking range and not closed for holidays seemed hopelessly touristy or rather unimaginative in their choices, so I picked up some aqua naturale and some spremute arancia rossa (blood orange juice not from concentrate) at the Standa and headed back to cook dinner.
We had tortellini with pesto and the last of the green beans, and cherry tomatoes, washed down with the last of the Prosecco. The kids discovered they enjoyed spremuta and grapefruit juice with a bit of the sparkling water I'd accidentally bought in the morning.
We suited up for an expedition all the way out to Campo San Stefano for gelato, thankfully cut short when A announced in the Campo Santa Martina that she had to pee. So, instead, we went down to the Salizzada San Lio and bought them a cup of nocciola at La Boutique del Gelato to share, which they did on the steps of S. Maria Formosa.
After that we had more fruit at home (the last of the figs, grapes, and some purple plums), and the kids went happily and quietly to bed, after I promised them a less stressful day tomorrow.