Urine Analysis

Let's travel together again today. Hang out with us while we work our way to Venice airport to return our rental car. We leave at 10am. We're at breakfast now in our hotel - the Waldorf Palace - in Cattolica. Breakfast is varied and plentiful. Lots of rolls, breads and pastries. Eggs, bacon, sausages. Another area with a variety of sliced cheeses, salami and other meats. Lots of sliced fruit, yogurt, cereals and juices. And, of course, coffee. All of it tasty and fresh.

A minor bit of tension just took place between me and Robin. She's now reading The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest, which I just finished. It is dense, complicated and very compelling. Lots of Swedish last names that start with E. It was hard to keep track of all the players. In talking about the book with Robin, I accidentally revealed a key plot point that she hadn't gotten to yet. Marriages have come apart over far less.

To distract us from this bit of literary frisson, Wendi is reviewing the various ways of getting from the Airport to our rented apartment in Venice. Another bit of tension - we've had no email responses from the lady who is renting us the place. We're to call her when we arrive. But some acknowledgment of our emails would have been nice.

OK. Upstairs to do final packing.

We're packed and waiting for Jack and Wendi, and suddenly an OMG moment. I was reading out loud about some out-of-the way sights to see in Venice. Basically, advice to avoid the tourist hordes on the islands of Murano and Burano in favor of Isola San Michelle. It is a quiet graveyard island with very famous people buried there. One is Ezra Pound. When I read that, Robin said, "Oh yeah, my friend Cathi Schellhous has a relative who was Ezra Pound's mistress. What??? My life is so pitifully simple that this constitutes a brush with fame for me.

It's 10:10. Our hotel bill is paid. We are on the Autostrada for 80 miles towards Bologna. Actually it's not THE Autostrada; it's an Autostrada - A14. The Garmin is now the navigator. No hills here. Sort of flat farmland with a slight roll to it. Relax and enjoy the ride. Close your eyes if you want. If anyone says anything snarky, I'll tell you.

Out of nowhere and unconnected to anything being discussed here in the car, Robin just said, "I think the cat peed in my suitcase." She was referring to our cat at home. That remark begs no discussion.

We missed the exit from A14 to A13, which goes towards Venice. We were caught between big trucks and couldn't get over to the ramp. Caused a minor in-car freakout. Calmly, I said to trust the Garmin lady. With no drama she said, "Recalculating." Then she routed us back to the A13. Easy.

An email did come in from the woman who is renting us the apartment in Venice. So that very slight worry has evaporated.

About 60 miles to go. This is not a direct route, nor is it scenic. It is the fastest. Personal note to our three children: Who wants the Garmin when we die? I think it's more valuable and useful than the Oriental rug that's getting faded by the sun.

We just stopped at one of the very elaborate gas stations/rest stops/coffee bars/stores that dot the Autostradi here. Had espressi and bought candy. Back on the road. Discussion in the car turned to emotional moments in Italy. For me it was my first sight of Venice decades ago. For Wendi it was her first sight of the Duomo in Florence on a previous visit. Jack piped up, "I got emotional when I saw the carbon fiber Colnago bike in Cattolica. Brought tears to my eyes."

Somehow, and unbelievably, that remark led to a question about whether or not we each believe in an afterlife. The question was left unresolved, other than Jack repeating a George Carlin line about all of us coming back to work in a carwash.

Robin can't let it go. We see hills on our left as we approach Venice. One hill we just saw has a castle on top. I said the castles are up high so the royalty can piss down on the peasants when they revolt. Robin said, "Somebody pissed in my luggage."

Now we're seeing signs for the airport. Garmin Lady rules! I considered Lady Gaga my girlfriend until I read a long feature about her in Vanity Fair magazine. I broke up with her. LG out. GL replaces her.

We caught a direct ground bus from the airport to the big station in Venice. Two Euro per ticket. That's nothing for that distance and pleasant a ride. From the station to our place is now all by water. A three-day pass to use the water bus system is 33 Euro. Quite a bit more expensive than 11 Euro for three days unlimited in Rome. But the cost of running a boat system must be a backbreaker.

The apartment is found by walking through a warren of narrow alleys, through a couple of lovely piazzas, called campos here, and down another alley to this old, interesting place. It's spread over three floors. Living area, kitchen and half-bath on the first floor. A private patio-garden outside. One bedroom on the second floor and a third bedroom and bath on the third. The decor combines Christian and Buddhist artifacts, symbols of heraldry, metal sculptures of every kind, Florentine tassels here and there, artificial topiary and Marilyn Monroe refrigerator magnets. Oh yeah, and the faint aroma of urine. Could it be from Robin's luggage? Here's the problem. Once we leave, we will never find the apartment again.

Now we're hungry. It's 4:45. And we've had no lunch.

Sitting at a nearby restaurant for a very early dinner by Italian standards. OK, if we go walking we will find our way back, because I put the address into the Garmin and my new girlfriend will guide us back and forth. Our official address is Dorsoduro 3660, 30123 Venice. (That second number is a zipcode.) But on a map the alley where our apartment is shows as Calle Renier. If you're messing with Google Earth, pull up Campo di S. Margherita, and you'll see the fascinating, wonderfully off-the-beaten track area where we're staying. Our place is 20 steps off the Campo down Renier.

This area is simply wonderful. It's a real-people neighborhood. Sure, there are tourists, but they are few in this area. We could easily spot that we're in a working area. Kids in the Campo on foot-scooters pretending to be Valentino Rossi, others kicking soccer balls. Teen-agers smoking and flirting. Adults walking and sitting everywhere, just enjoying the cool evening. Lovers leaning against walls, kissing. Real world stuff.

In about an hour we'll go out to a nearby outdoor jazz concert. Will the jazz be really creative? Who cares, we're in Venice. There is nothing like it on this earth.

PHOTO NOTES: Both by Jack. Kids play on the Campo. What a Starbucks could only hope to be - a community gathering place.