June 19

We made a deposit on a key to let us in and out of the campground after hours. It would be an advantage to get an early morning start on our travels for the day but you can't do that in Italian campgrounds. Waiting for somebody shows up to open the gate is essential. They have our passports. The lake, the sky, the hill in the distance looked to be painted with one pot of blue paint with a smudge of white mix to distinguish the values. Later the glare of the sun would wipe out this cool pleasant walk along the lake that leaned toward being a bit chilly. I thought about the readings I had done before leaving home in the Emilia Romagna section of Italy for the Gourmet Traveler and Lynne Rossetto Kasper's Splendid Table . Apparently Fellini had a fascination with fog. The fog was not thick enough for a feeling of loneliness but did it soften the lines on the scene of blue.

Soon the sun was grabbing our attention with its early morning intensity. We parked our packed car by the reception to wait for the last few minutes before our release. A beautiful tall man with dark hair and classic sculptural feature was munching on a piece of bread but put the snack down long enough to run our VISA through the machine, returned our key deposit and the passports and opened the gate. Two sharp right turns placed us on our way (in less than twenty minutes) to the peninsula on the same lake that holds a ritzy resort with healing baths for the rich and the Sirmione Castle. Another walk required because the town is accessible only on foot. It was lovely and cool as we traced the narrow streets past the castle, over the bridge and to the lakeside as we raced to get as far as we could toward the tip of the peninsula and back before our parking meter ran out. These Italian tourist things want you in and out. No lingering allowed (except over a meal).

It is Monday. That means museums are closed unless you are in Paris, Chicago or London. Vicenza is a center for Italian textile manufacturing as well as computer components, is also heavily stocked with massive buildings designed by Andrea Palladio. We drove around in circles for a bit and found a parking ramp but no shade. The clerk in the parking shed who seemed to be wired from his most recent encounter with grapa tried to made a joke with us but we didn't understand him so he shrugged and gave up. He had the impish kind of look that convinced me that he was enjoying life and killing brain cells as quickly as possible. We wandered past piles of leftover Sunday garbage and found ourselves a few feet from the information office and the Teatro Olimpico. The information office was open but the theater was closed. We could not see much through the iron gate. Across the square from Information stood the Palazzo Chiericata. Prominent and bold. We rattled the locked doors. Two lovely young women with chubby bellies exposed under their cropped skirts and tops in the tourist place were so sorry but all the Palladio monuments except churches were closed because it is Monday. We figured that so we took their map and walked the streets to find all these massive buildings. Their dramatic exterior motifs made them easy to find. The Basilica Palladiana which had been remodeled from a Gothic style by Palladio gave us a choice view of the internal harmony that he strives for in his design. While walking on the Piazza del Duomo we were approach by a teen giving out samples of yogurt. Hit the spot. We hoped she wouldn't recognize us around the corner so we could have another. We also stopped in to see the interior of the Gothic Duomo. It took less than two hours to make the rounds of those amazing buildings. On our return trip to the car I photographed several store windows for the fashionable clothing. Wedges are a big deal in Italy. I was sure Aunt Mary would want to see several samples of those types of shoes as well as other couture. A beautiful deli provided a stunning array of finger foods. Fresh egg-size mozzarellas, two kinds of olives, and a tart-like berry pie set us drooling. Cherry tomatoes and other stuff were warming in the car. The pie was a disappointment. Too sweet and not enough berries.

We drove on in the direction of Venice. Palladian villas dot the Brenta Riviera landscape. What an incredible artistic life he led. We reached the campground across the channel from Venice about noon.

We had stayed at Camping Fusina Venezia across the channel from Venice on the last trip to Italy so we knew what to expect. It's noisy. Partly because it is a party place. The tour company Kon Tiki who caters to 21-35 year old people seems to be stationed there. Wild things can party without responsibility. They drink, dance, eat and scream themselves to the edge of something or other while those in charge see to it that they miss falling into the channel. The numerous ships that use the channel day and night add thunder to the atmosphere as well. We wear ourselves out during the day and sleep contentedly with earplugs in addition to sleep aids like red wine. It is a beautiful well equipped campground.

After setting up our tent to claim our view of the channel, showering and eating some lunch we bought three-day ferry tickets. The three day deal is the best. One round trip costs 10 euros. A three day pass costs 20 euros and you can spend all day everyday riding the ferry if you want. It also includes trips to another island where there is a beach.

Venice is incredible. It is so unlike anything one could imagine. All the talk about it slowly sinking is probably true but at the moment its a fascinating place to visit. I was thrilled to embark on the tenuous ground after the ferry ride. Couldn't wait to run and see if it was as exciting visually as it had been three years ago.

Because I had been working intently on my sculptures for the Anderson Center I was not as well informed about what was going on as was Richard. He often tries to spot exhibitions that he thinks I would be interested in seeing. He spotted the Pontus Hulten collection on exhibit at the Palazzo Franchetti of the Instituto Veneto di Scienze. Had read about it and was sure I should see it. The Poster had an Andy Warhol print and I wasn't sure I wanted to see Andy's work in Venice. We purchased our tickets and went in. It was incredible. There were works by his friends: Sam Francis, Claes Oldenburg, Andy Warhol, Robert Rauschenberg, Kiki de Saint Phalle, Jasper Johns, Jean Tinguely (one of my favorites), Ed Ruscha and Rebecca Horn. There were more: Sebastian Matta, Arne Jones, Piotr Kowalski, Walter De Maria, Guiseppe Santomoso, Kazimir Malevich, Marcel Duchanp, Francis Picabia, Max Ernst, Constantin Brancusi, Evilio Vedova, Daniel Buren and Richard Long. I went around twice. (Richard was experiencing some pain in his feet from the standing around and went to find a chair. It’s the standing that hurts him. If he keeps moving then its not so bad.)

After the exhibit we searched the streets that narrowed and narrowed to find a scala. A staircase that he had read about. Back and forth, round and round and as luck would have it we found it. Beautiful. My brother had been so entranced by Venice that he mentioned in one of our travel conversations that he wanted to go back and explore every street. After this search for the staircase I felt that we had come close to accomplishing that. Once you find something like that its not an easy matter to figure out where you are and how to get back to the Grand Canal. We walked and turned and walked some more and suddenly surprisingly the Piazza San Marco greeted us.

After a stroll around the square we parked our behinds on some steps next to a tratatoria where the four-piece band was playing “Don't Cry for Me Argentina”. I watched the man with the noble chin wander from his world to laugh with a trio of women drinking wine. They passed their cameras for him record the evidence that they were really in this magical place. He looked very cool even though he was overly dressed for the heat in a black waiter's suit.

Close to the ground where we were you can no longer look past the cigarette butts, feathers and pigeon crap that’s everywhere. Everything needs a cleaning but you must look with your romantic mind past the flaws. Look up and away. That is where the beauty is. When in New Orleans you check out the famous streets at night so the grime is diminished by latent light. In Venice look to the mosaics on the massive Basilica of San Marco. Their glass tessera glitter a true gold. It’s the shape of the multiple arches rather than their aging stains that’s important. The ninety-nine meter-tall campanile is an impressive sight. Annoying and fascinating people parade their joy of being in this place of fantasy and expensive beers. Fashionably varied skirts flounce around the beautiful legs of young women. Children stand ankle deep in pigeon patches sharing their snacks. The guy sitting next to us extinguishes his cigarette at last.

The evening ferry is the best because they bring out the double decker. The top deck is the place to be to catch the cooling breezes, experience the setting sun and in general enjoy the view and the rocking motion of the boat.

The waitress at the camp restaurant went into a minor rapture about how good a beer tastes on a hot day when we sat down at an outdoor table after sunset. We slugged the pints down in minutes while waiting for tortellini and Bolognese sauce. The sauce was o.k. and the underlying tortellinis were abundant and fresh.