Arrival in Dijon

When our lightning-fast TGV train pulled into the station at Dijon Ville, a sudden burst of rain was sluicing down the train windows. We struggled our heavy bags out onto the platform into a cold mist, just barely sheltered by the platform awnings. The rain poured down.

Our friend Nancy was there to meet us. By the time we'd gone down one station escalator and back up another, the rain had lessened and we made it to her car. It was a quick ride through the narrow medieval streets of the center of town, and we arrived.

Click to "embiggen"

It is a medieval townhouse, originally built in 1541, in the Rue de Petit Potet. The enclosed garden is still damp with the rain, but the sun came briefly out.

We're tired, but feel welcomed and ready for the next adventures.

View of the lake

Here's a view of Lake Geneva, Switzerland, from the window of the train from Milan to Lausanne.

Here's the incredibly steep hill we had to climb in the heat of the afternoon, from the train station with our luggage, to get to our hotel.

Here's the approach to the hotel.

Here's the reward - a view from the balcony of our hotel room.

Here's the lake a couple hours later, with a summer thunderstorm blowing over. We're staying inside, safe and cosy.

Made in the shade

Cichetti at Cantina do Mori

Let's face it, summer in Venice is hot. And with the sun baking from above and glancing off the water of the canals, hard working people need a little refreshment. "Andar un ombra," they'll say - "Let's go for a little shade."

Un ombra is a small glass of wine, taken during the heat of the day, preferably in a quiet, shady place you can relax. A little corner joint, with a counter and few stools, maybe a couple of small tables outside - as long as it's shady and out of the heat.  And it would be good to serve a few salty snacks, to go with the wine.

These little joints are called bacari - and here in the part of San Polo where we're staying, there are a couple of good ones worth visiting.

Arrividerci, Venezia

It's a travel day. We're taking the train to Lausanne.

They got me!

Tourists can be foolish, but you'd think someone who's used to foolish tourists in her own milieu would be a little smarter than I was yesterday.

In our neighorhood of San Polo in Venice, we've noticed several times a trio of roaming musicians  - accordian, fiddle and guitar - playing outside cafes and bars for tourists; playing near the gondola stops, playing in the wide campi. Sometimes the music is corny - "Carnival of Venice," perhaps, or the theme from the Godfather. Other times it's charming - and yet other times it's incongruous, like American country-western tunes.

But the other day near All' Arco, they strolled up just as we were leaving, playing "My Way". I liked the way they looked near the outdoor tables, and my camera was already in my hand, so I just snapped a quick photo.

Ooops!

I know better than this. I know that when I see the silver-painted statue-dancer on the Third Street Promenade not to make eye contact. I never snap a photo of the guy with the snake twined around him in Palisades Park. I avoid all the countless Spidermen and Sponge Bobs on Hollywood Boulevard, the plastic bucket drummers, the CD sellers down on Ocean Front Walk, the 3-card monte players in Times Square, and I actually don't care if that little kid on Bourbon Street can tell me where I got my shoes at.

I know that interaction, particularly with the sound of a shutter clicking, is a transaction.

I've actually paid some of these guys willingly - once with a visitor friend who wanted a photo with Darth Vader in front of the Chinese Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard - but never without having small change at the ready. Let me emphasize - small change.

But here in Venice I screwed up. They spotted me immediately, and moved in. We were backed into a corner under the sotoportego, my hand frantically fumbling in my bag for a couple of coins. "No change!" I said, "Sorry!"

Here's where we were trapped!

"I can make change!" said the fiddle player. [The Man I Love] bravely stood by me, though he knew even before I did what a dumb thing I'd done. All I had was a twenty. The fiddle player did change it, but even so we ended up paying a ridiculous sum to take care of my photographic obligation.

Although to be fair, they did play us an entire rendition of "C'est Si Bon" with a fine flourish at the end. But I was so embarrassed I didn't even take the photographs I'd dearly paid for.

Throughout the rest of the day, we continued to hear them playing in nearby streets. I was torn by the desire to run away from embarrassment, and the thought that maybe I should go get more of my money's worth.

Morning light

Every morning the light is different. This is today.

No photos, please

Me taking a photo of an antique mirror in a shop window

 Tourists love to take photos, myself included. So many tourists take photos in Venice that it almost seems as though every tourist's photo album should be full of pictures of other tourists taking pictures of them.

We've seen some amazing sights, including stunning works of art, impeccably preserved historical artifacts, and incredible workmanship that I can't show you because photos were not allowed. Some places are sacred sites, and the taking of photos would be an offense. Works of art and craft are the property of artists, and photographing them is tantamount to theft of intellectual property or copyright violation. In other situations, people with cameras can be disruptive, rude and unpleasant, so shop owners or proprietors forbid photos.

A man taking a photo of himself on the Rialto Bridge.

Now, one can argue whether in today's age of cheap, digital cameras, such prohibitions are really warranted. And, indeed, many places that once forbade cameras now permit them - the Musee D'Orsay in Paris was full of photo-snapping art lovers when we were last there. If one really admires a painting and wants to learn more about it, what better way than to have a record of it, both the work itself and a shot of the information plaque?

But even so - when there is a sign saying "no photos" it's only polite to obey. And when it's uncertain, one should ask. "May I take a photo, please?" Most of the time, people say yes, but if they say "No," put the camera away.

Exterior, Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari

Today we toured a famous Venetian church that is home to some truly stunning works of Byzantine, Gothic, and Renaissance art. the Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari. I longed to take a photo of Titian's "Pesaro Madonna" - but I didn't - there were many signs posted forbidding cameras. Instead, here's a picture of it from Wikipedia, in the public domain.

Even so, while I stood there looking at it, I noticed there was a man with a camera crouched down by the steps leading to the high altar, snapping away.

Later, we visited a shop where handmade carnival masques were made. There were prominent signs saying "Please do not take photos inside the shop." While we chatted with the owner, two young girls came in, huge cameras around their necks, and while the owner's back was turned, they got off a few shots.

We walked further down the calle, and in another masque shop, we encountered the same girls. This time, the shop's owner sharply rebuked them for taking pictures.

Yet.....at the Museo Palazzo Mocenigo, in a tiny passage between two of the stunning rooms with their magnificent painted ceilings, there is a 17th century painting of a small dog, a black-and-white terrier mutt with a crazy toothy grin. I longed to photograph it. There were no guards and no other visitors there, and I could have slipped my camera out of my bag, snapped a shot and no one would have been the wiser.

I didn't do it.

But since then, I have done an internet search for an officially sanctioned image of the dog painting, and I can't find one.

What do you think? What would you have done? Would it have been harmless for me to do it? What do you think of taking photos, of rules against photos, and of people who break those rules?

The smells of Venice

Venice - A tropical city, densely built, where people live very close together. Not only are there untold amazing sights around every corner - a cornucopia of smells also assails the senses at each turn.

Keeping cool

Folks in the know don't recommend Venice in the summer months - it gets too hot. It's a muggy, damp hot. This morning there was so much moisture in the air that the windows of our air-conditioned flat fogged up. And even at six in the morning, when I opened the casement to take this photo of steam rising off the canal, it was already hot.

Venetians know how to keep cool. They've been doing it for a thousand years. One of the most popular drinks served here is a spritz - a mixture of white wine, sparkling soda, and a bittersweet digestif. Most common is bright Fanta-orange Aperol, but you can also get a spritz made with Campari or Cynar - which makes the drink more rosy.

Elegant spritzes in stemmed glasses

Whether it's sitting out on the broad campo by the Rialto Mercado with the rest of the tourists, overlooking the Grand Canal, or sitting at a working-class bar overlooking a tiny secluded rio, a spritz is the best way to beat the heat of the day. Pick a table shaded from the hot sun, and relax.

Spritzes are served on ice with a wedge of orange to garnish, and often a wooden skewer with a big fat green olive. They can be elegant, in a stemmed glass, or workaday, in a sturdy tumbler.

Something about the bitterness of the digestif keeps spritzes from tasting too sweet or cloying. They take the edge off the heat. A bit of salty snack also helps - even a tiny dish of potato chips or salted peanuts.

A refreshing break from sight-seeing

Cin cin!

Thanks to Une Femme D'un Certain Age for mentioning the spritz in comments!