N and I were awakened at night by the sound of rushing wind, then rain on the roof. I went to the small casement window in the kitchen roof, which was cracked, and could feel a powerful draft of cold air. Opening a window, I was greeted by a strong wind, and a spattering of moisture. Lightning flashed in the distance. I turned off the now useless A/C and went back to bed.
In the morning it was cold enough that I decided to put on long pants and a sweatshirt for the trip downstairs to the baker. I got the garbage out just in time, having slept late because the light was so muted. It was overcast, with scudding clouds, and though it was not raining there were puddles everywhere.
This considerably reduced our "wasted packing" quotient, as we got to use our cold-weather gear which had lain dormant for more than two weeks. We had planned an excursion to the northern islands for this day, but on reflection decided that it was not worth the travel overhead, especially since we had seen them in detail in 96 and K was not particular about destinations. This was concluded before we saw the weather, but given how choppy the canals looked, it would not have been a pleasant ride for us.
So, instead, we headed for the Accademia, taking more or less the same route as the night before. The streets which were deserted and ominous the night before were sprinkled with Venetians about their business but, fortunately, few tourists.
We reached the Accademia about ten. It was warm enough inside to take off our sweatshirts, though still pleasant enough that we could linger more over paintings. The kids enjoyed showing K their favourites (A: Giorgione's "Tempest"; Z: Bellini's "Sacra Conversazione", the one originally a San Giobbe altarpiece) and explaining details they remembered from the previous visit and from their pre-voyage study. I filled in some lacunae. I had Lorenzetti in hand, but it was not good on details of paintings, and the museum had undergone some rearrangement since the last revision of the book.
The kids started to get hungry around eleven-thirty, but held on long enough to show K the Miracles of the True Cross and Ursula cycles. Then we headed out. "Are we having gelato?" Z asked hopefully, but, no, we were just heading home to have lunch. I split off to go buy the kids some treats at Marchini, catching up again before the others had gone far. N spotted some Nannini panpepato from Siena in a pasticceria window and went in to buy it. The weather had put off many tourists but the Rialto route was still crowded near the bridge.
Lunch was finishing up leftovers, but high-quality ones: the last of the Asiago, gorgonzola, and mozzarella di bufala, the tomatoes, and the arugula, with some new bread from the panificio. I shaped the leftover risottos into cakes and fried them in olive oil; this went over well, and even the gritty risotto was much improved by the treatment. I poured glasses of the pinot nero; K does not usually drink red wine, but was impressed by its light fruity quality. Even A, who usually thinks little of wine though she keeps trying mine, asked for a tiny amount in a glass after a trial sip.
Naptime for Z, and K. Naomi worked on organizing our possessions for the move on the morrow, while I went out with A, who had expressed a desire to feed the pigeons on Piazza San Marco. But first we went down to Fondamenta Osmarin, near S. Zaccaria, to a shop where we had bought A a small mask pin and a Murano millefiore pendant in 96. N thought Z should have similar souvenirs. But A was not impressed by the pendants (they were not made in the shop, unlike the masks), and talked me into a larger ceramic mask with musical-note jester hat, to be shared between the two kids. We also got a small mask pin for Z. The kids are still too young to wear them; we'll put them on display in their room.
We went down the aptly-named Calle Canonica, which is indeed a canonical touristy street, and into the Piazza. A was rather cautious about pigeon-feeding; she asked for only as much as could fit in one of her hands at a time (about three grains of corn), and after scattering it would move away rapidly to avoid the tide of birds. When they wouldn't leave, she would suggest going elsewhere. So we did this several times, moving about the Piazza, and I told her stories of various bits and pieces on the outside of buildings as they occurred to me. She wanted to go into the Basilica again, but the lineup was rather long. The sun had come out, though it was still cool, and the flocks of tourists had reappeared.
Instead, we went up Calle dei Fabbri and turned off at a random right corner to start making our way home, without a map in hand. Of course, I had the one in my Newton should I ever need it. We managed to avoid touristy streets all the way to Campo S. Bartolomeo, and if the Ponte della Fava had not been closed for repairs, we could have avoided that campo, too. A was in a great mood, skipping and chatting, despite a slight eye infection.
Back at the apartment, I cooked the last of the plums (destoned by N) in a bit of pinot nero, then reduced the juice to a syrup, poured it over them, and set it aside to cool to have later. I cut small slices of the Marchini treats (another buccellato and a large zaleto, one of the quintessential cornmeal cookies of Venice) for everyone.
At about six we went out walking, up to the Fondamenta Nuove (where the waves were still splashing over the edge of the pavement) and over to the church of the Gesuiti. There were some renovations going on but the over-the-top interior was pretty visible, with its marble carved to resemble swags of damask. This church typifies everything about the Baroque I despise, though the pink palace in the centre of Trier (Germany) gives it good competition. There is one saving grace to the Gesuiti, and that is Titian's "Martyrdom of Saint Lawrence", though we almost didn't see it for want of a L500 coin to turn the lights on.
We walked back along various Rio Tera (filled-in canals) in eastern Cannaregio, regaining Calle Larga Giacinto Gallina near our apartment and stopping in at Da Alberto, an osteria a couple of blocks from our place. They had a table for us on condition we finish by eight, which was fine as it was only six-forty.
We ordered a double antipasto di pesce, which had both large and tiny shrimp, sardines and other small fish (including one that the children were convinced was mackerel, though it was baby-finger size), octopus salad, baby octopus, and sarde in saor. The kids had a spaghetti alla cappe (caparozzoli), and we shared four secondi: grilled sogliola (a substitute for the seppie ai ferri, which was off), baccala alla vincenza (a substitute for baccala mantecato, which had intrigued K), seppie con polenta, and frittura mista. The last had not only sardines in it, and really tasty shrimp, but also many tiny squid, or seppioline, which were fabulous. The seppie was the best of the trip, showing considerable depth of flavour; the polenta was white, which I'd read about and never seen.
On impulse, I ordered a glass of fragolino in lieu of any desserts; this is wine made from the uva fragola we'd had from the market, and everyone was quite impressed. I meant it for N, but A took quite a shine to it, and had to be restrained from having more than a few sips.
The kids were too cold and tired to have gelato, so we walked the two blocks to the apartment and finished off the Marchini pastries, along with the plums in wine, which were also a hit with everyone. N speculated that the oblong "vacasse" plums I'd bought were actually cooking or baking plums, since they never seemed to ripen, whereas everything else was overripe by the day after we bought it.
N completed her packing, I went through another round of collapsing empty water bottles and clearing out the fridge, and we all sacked out early.