Breakfast in the hotel is a hoot. It is served until 10:00, and we stagger in at 9:59, to join other bleary tourists who cram around tables the size of briefcases and pick at their stale croissants and granola. Our table is always mysteriously animated, given that we start out looking like rumpled bed pillows. We explain epigenetics to each other, and the dilemmas of taking psychiatric drugs, and determine whether pigs have wings (they could, with minimal alterations to their DNA. Also, you could breed sheep with butterfly-wing wool).
Immediately after breakfast we went in search of lunch. Food is important, everyone knows that. But to French people, it is a daily experience of art. To plan meals, to eat them, and to discuss them afterwards, that is a truly satisfying way of living. The rest of us are learning.
We go to the Fish Market, where there are indeed fish but also farmers' stalls and shops, as well as a few trinket stands.
Immediately after breakfast we went in search of lunch. Food is important, everyone knows that. But to French people, it is a daily experience of art. To plan meals, to eat them, and to discuss them afterwards, that is a truly satisfying way of living. The rest of us are learning.
We go to the Fish Market, where there are indeed fish but also farmers' stalls and shops, as well as a few trinket stands.
Then we walked. Venice is such a satisfying place to walk! We found a museum of Greek icons, which had paintings on wood and stone of saints doing remarkable things. There was the Assumption of Mary, the Day of Judgement (horrible to behold!), and St. George and the Dragon. I love sacred art because it has that double element of the thing and the meaning of the thing, which to the uninitiated often seems rather peculiar. Like the saints traveling along inside a holy pea-pod to witness Mary's assumption.
In that same courtyard was a Greek church, full of gilt and lovely icons. On the ceiling was a picture of God. I saw God on the ceiling of churches in Russia, too. It's a bit shocking, given Commandment #2. But, on re-reading it, I see that we aren't allowed to depict ANYTHING in nature. So, depicting God is no different, I guess, than depicting a saint or a pea pod or, basically, anything that I, personally, paint.
In that same courtyard was a Greek church, full of gilt and lovely icons. On the ceiling was a picture of God. I saw God on the ceiling of churches in Russia, too. It's a bit shocking, given Commandment #2. But, on re-reading it, I see that we aren't allowed to depict ANYTHING in nature. So, depicting God is no different, I guess, than depicting a saint or a pea pod or, basically, anything that I, personally, paint.
We tried to have coffee at a canal-side restaurant, but they wouldn't serve us because you can only have coffee in a café. So we moved to a canal-side café and had an enjoyable hour there sketching and eating tiramisu.
We walked along the seaside amongst enormous crowds, including dozens of handsome Africans selling handbags and dozens of rather hunched looking Indians selling squishy balls with eyes on them.
We walked along the seaside amongst enormous crowds, including dozens of handsome Africans selling handbags and dozens of rather hunched looking Indians selling squishy balls with eyes on them.
Then we ducked into the maze of alleyways again and the crowds melted away. We spent several hours in the garden of a small restaurant over cannolli, spaghetti with mussels, and tiramisu (again!). After the table was cleared, we played Belotte with charming French playing cards.
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