It was a hot night; we closed all the windows and ran the air conditioning, but it was too hot to sleep in the small bedroom with the low sloping roof (the kids were in a similar room, but the geometry of two single beds allowed them to have their feet at the narrow end and their heads at the highest point). We put the two single beds that formed the living room couches together and slept there. I was up for a couple of jetlagged hours in the middle of the night, writing travel notes and worrying about the cost of the AC, which I had calculated as an astonishing $30 US per night. It turned out, in the morning, that I had misread the meter and was off by a factor of ten.
Even more was closed on Sunday than on the holiday Saturday preceding. We had, fortunately, some cinnamon-raisin bagels from home which we had packed for a breakfast in Frankfurt never consumed. With a bit of toasting (the well-equipped kitchen even had a toaster, the first we'd had in a European rental property), they weren't bad.
We decided to go to the Accademia, and walked there via Piazza San Marco. The flags were about to go up and tourists were standing around expectantly. We passed through quickly and headed west, noticing that the facade of San Moise, which Ruskin loved to hate, was completely covered for a long-overdue cleaning. As we stopped briefly in Campo San Stefano, I asked N to back up to Pasticceria Marchini, just west, and pick out a couple of treats for the kids.
We reached the Accademia fifteen minutes after opening time, and there was almost no one there. The museum was already hot and airless. This somewhat shortened our time in the museum, unlike in 96, because the kids (and to be honest, we as well) tired so much faster. Z once again surprised us with how many details of paintings she had picked up, considering how reluctant she was to look at any books before we left. She identified with glee such subjects as the Presentation of the Virgin, the Dream of Saint Ursula, and the old Rialto bridge in the Miracles of the True Cross cycle. "I saw that before! I remember that from the book!" was a frequent refrain. A was quieter but volunteered finer details and asked quite sensible questions. We compared representations of the Christ Child in Giovanni Bellini's Madonnas with Child, and sat for a while contemplating Veronese's "Feast in the House of Levi".
By the time we reached the Ursula cycle, the kids were clearly fading, but they listened to the story and watched for details showing how Carpaccio had worked the contemporary Turkish enemy into the Continental story. A quick look at the portraits of Rosalba Carriera and we left.
The kids had had their grumpy moments but on the whole they'd been pretty good, so they got Paolin gelato for the second time in thirteen hours. No sense in wasting a trip to Campo San Stefano! We headed northeast and surprised them with a visit to the external spiral staircase at Palazzo Contarini del Bovolo, but they surprised us in turn by asking to wait for the ascent until their grandfather (who was due to join us for the last few days) could come along.
We had no source of fresh bread; the rolls I had picked up at the supermarket the day before were quite stale, and even toasting them over a gas flame (for they wouldn't fit into the toaster, and slicing them thin would have crumbled them to dust) made little difference, but we smeared them with gorgonzola, which made them much more palatable. The kids made do with cannellini beans and slices of grana padano.
While Z napped, A and I went out to the Standa supermarket to buy a few things. It was quite hot, but she was in a great mood, skipping along and chatting animatedly. We helped a couple of lost yarmulked Montrealers decipher the price tags.
We returned to find Z awake, and we decided to go on a boat ride. We walked up to the Fondamenta Nuove and caught the 52 "barrato" heading east. The kids stood at the back again and clung to the railing as we went through the Arsenale and around to the San Zaccaria stop. A quick peek at the Noah sculpture, a favourite of the kids, on the corner of the Palazzo Ducale (while everyone else was looking at the Bridge of Sighs), and we caught the #1 vaporetto up the Canal Grande, sitting on the left.
I didn't feel like pulling out the guidebooks and playing "check off the famous palazzi" (as others on the boat were clearly doing), but between N and I, we remembered many of the facades and details to watch for. The kids alternated between watching intently and squabbling with each other; we were, after all, getting very little breeze inside the boat.
We got off at the Riva del Biasio stop and walked into the interior of Santa Croce, crossing through the Campo San Giacomo dell'Orio to grab the last table at Alle Oche, which had the best pizza we tasted in 96. We ploughed through two bottles of aqua minerale and a half-litre of house Prosecco in addition to the pizzas rustica (sausage, peppers, ricotta), Toscana (beans, pancetta, onions) and bosco (various mushrooms), which were as good as we remembered them, and half the price of the one we had at San Toma.
Back through the Rialto and home; it was a cooler night, though still quite warm, and we all slept well for the first time.