Venice, Italy
Husband and I took the Secret Itineraries tour of the Doges Palace. We toured the Pozzi (prison), the rooms of the Deputy Secretary (keeper of the Council of Ten’s secret archives), and the office of the Grand Chancellor, all connected by hidden passages, narrow hallways, and concealed doors. Several bumps on the head taught Husband and me just how short Italians used to be.
We also learned not to dawdle.
Lingering to take some photos, we missed the tour group’s exit from one room to another through a hidden door. (It was built into a piece of furniture; when the door was closed, you couldn’t see it was there.) We spent the next twenty minutes wandering through the building, looking for a way out. When we came across the torture chamber, I could almost hear the screams of the prisoners who had been there before. At that point, we were fairly cold and damp (and in need of a restroom). Our guide had told us how Casanova purportedly escaped from the Pozzi; I figured if he could do it, Husband and I could, too. We made our way to the top floor and found Casanova’s cell. Unfortunately the hole he’d supposedly dug apparently had been patched. So we proceeded to jump up and down on the wooden floor. (Another plus of my new booties: their wooden heels make a heck of a racket!)
Within minutes we heard voices; shortly thereafter we were found, scolded, and set free (the latter of which I believed questionable at one point: I thought one of the museum guards was saying we would be charged with trespassing; in fact he was joking, saying we would not be charged because we’d already served our time. I gotta work harder on my Italian!)
Husband and I skipped the rest of the palace tour. For some reason, we both preferred to stroll outside the rest of the morning.
More Venice…
I need one of these for my bad hair days.
Passed this glove store en route to the water taxi that was to take us to the airport for the flight home. How nice of them to wave good-bye!
In the States, teatime means two plain Finn Crisps, a multigrain cracker that beats the Sahara for dryness and matches Styrofoam for taste.
Alas, they are not sold in Venice. So I had to make do.
Of course, I had to try it.
Rowing. Not singing.
Never singing.
No one wears a striped shirt like these guys. #GondolierGroupie
