Day two...

Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Venice

Very shortly after writing day one, I decided to finish getting ready for the day, even if it was just a little after5:30am.  I was trying to be as quiet as possible, as mom was still sleeping.  I tiptoed towards the wall, inserting the prongs of my flat iron into the wall and BAM!  I blew the fuse and a faint smell of burnt something rose into the air.  Well, that got mary's attention, 
alright.  I tried unplugging the offender, tried toggling every switch - nothing.  I have to admit I felt awful, as no one was at the front desk and no one certainly no one was answering the calls I kept flooding into the PBX.  We had no choice but to sit there in the dark, staring at the window, waiting for daylight to begin creeping in.  Mom had yet to shower, extremely worried about the lack of ability to apply her face.  I, on the other hand, was far more concerned about the frizzy mass atop my head.  Finally, we heard movement - the breakfast attendant had arrived to setup for the daily display of fruit cocktail and croissants.  I flew the door open and begged the poor guy for help.  He chuckled under his breath as he very easily and quickly reset the box.  Sigh of releif.  There was once again yellow-tinted light in room 107.  
After breakfast we headed towards the Peggy Guggenheim Collection - an amazing collection of modern art displayed in the heiress' spralling, white palazzo.  Pollock, Calder, Ernst, Klee...Miss Peggy surely has one of the most impressive collections in the world.  I was very impressed, albight slightly annoyed with the hoards of children's field trips.  The Nasher's of Texas fame have restored the palazzo's wondrous gardens, filling the space with sculptures and creating a beautiful space for Peggy's eturnment.  
After being thorouly overwhelmed with modern art, mom and I cruised back along the rows of designer shops, browsing every floor of every shop, drooling over shoes and purses in the thousands of euros category.  A quick panini - mozzarella, lettuce and tomato wrapped in warm, dense flatbread, and we were off to stroll more of  Venice's winding alleys.  
St. Maria de Rosaria is a massive, looming marble cathedral with domes and columns - an absolutely beautiful stereotypical Italian looking display.  Facing out towards the lagoon, we thought perching ourselves on her glorious steps as we ogled our guidebook was a perfect plan.  We were able to soak in the sun reflecting off the murky water, the people strolling by, all while gleaning info about the church we were sitting atop.  Whammo!  I felt something hit the right side of head with a pretty good force.  I knew immediately what had just happened.  I turned to my mom, seated to my right and stated, "I think a bird just pooped on my head".  She started laughing.  "No, really.  Please.  Look".  Sure enough, a pigeon, in all of his Venice infamy, had dropped his fecal matter directly in my hair.  Of course.  Mom, dabbing and wiping, was completely disgusted and I was a wreck.  Crying out of disgust, embarrassment...who knows.  I pulled it together, we went inside and discovered it really was a beautiful church - even if I blatantly lied in the Lord's house claiming to be a student for reduced entry.  
In the afternoon, we headed to the Doge's Palace.  What absolute opulence!  Insanely guilded rooms seemed to go on forever, Huge fireplaces with intricate mantles crowning the extreme display of wealth.  I kid you not, these Veninicians think they really are something.  Dinner at a little place behind the hotel -artisti something - proved to be tasty - homemade ravioli with spinach in some sort of rich creamy delight.  We had to be the classless americans though, and eat and run.  We were running late to see some piano concert all the way across town.
My mom is reading a book on Venice's opera house.  Nicknamed the phoenix because it has "risen from the ashes" after two major fires (the last one in 1996 was deemed an arson), Mary has fixated herself on seeing la finice.  So, we rushed through the winding alleys, asking a local every three steps for direction (obvioously not my choice).  We arrived to the white marbled building just in time to be ushered to our PRIVATE box.  Oh my gosh, how much I felt like Mary Todd Lincoln.  We were directly in front of the piano, too.  Everyone could see us - in all of our misery.  Mom's neck was bothering her so she looked like a bobble head, bouncing her chin up and down.  I was just plain bored out of my mind.  I'm all for culture, but give me a break.  We decided to make a break for it, grabbing our purses, shopping bag and bee lining for the exit.  After dragging Mary out the main doors (she wanted to roam the lobby) we discovered it was absolutely pouring.  Not in a normal rainstorm sort of way.  In an oh-my-gosh what is happening and wtf, was that just lightning?!? Sort of way.  Yes, Venice was in the midst of an unexpected, unbelievable torrential thunderstorm.  After staring blankly for several minutes, we decided a plan of action was needed.  Mom went back into her operatic landmark while I stayed on the porch of sorts, continuing to gawk at the sheets of sideways water gleaming in the flashing of the bolts.  Now, here's where it gets good.  My mother, ever the inventor's wife, comes out of la finice with two shopping bags.  Yes, shopping bags, which we unabashedly placed atop our head to make the quick dash to Martini, a local pre-opera hoity-toity spot with dim lighting.  It was just across the piazza and looked...well...dry.  So we made a run for it, only to be viewed as the stupid Americans which we are, only made worse by the unsightly bags over our head.  We waited a good ten minutes with no service, despite at least 3 tuxedo donning waiters staring at us in disgust.  Ahhh, the judgmental servers.  So we left, dragging our pant hems through puddles and ruining our attire, all with plastic bags placed over our domes.  We moved faster than I've ever seen Mary go before, but hey, I get it.  Coifs come before tired and sore feet.  Back in room 107, mud was dragged all over the white carpet. Wool blazers were turned to crepe, silk blouses watermarked and wrinkled.  All while my adorable raincoat smiled at me from the closet.