Paddling Santas

In Vilnius, Lithuania.

ADDED: In Venice, the Santas row.

More here from the hometown of Mr. Irene's Dad.

Santa Regatta

Santas grace the Grand Canal.

Thanks to my childhood Best Friend for catching that post.

Heading Home

Venice, Italy, June 1984. The motonave takes me back to the Lido.

Spring Tourists

Venice, Italy, April 1984. The crowds swell on the Rialto Bridge during the Easter holiday.

The Life Box (Part 8)

When I lived in Venice, I rarely sent packages to my parents. The cost of mailing a parcel was not prohibitive, but meeting the requirements for overseas shipment was troublesome. The Italian Postal Service required boxes to be wrapped in a particular type of paper. The rules demanded that senders buy an approved brand of twine to secure the paper, and the guidelines specified that the twine must be secured by a peculiar, anachronistic, wax seal. I had to stop at several stores and offices to purchase the items that satisfied the requirements. Finally, packages sent to overseas locations has to be mailed from the central Venetian post office. For me, that meant that I couldn't ship parcels from the post office on the Lido, where I lived. I instead had to visit the big post office near the Rialto Bridge.

Current Italian Postal Service rules still mandate compulsory guidelines, but the present requirements seem less onerous.
 
What did I send when I prepared "care packages" for my Parents? I often packed up some hard candies (usually "Perugina Rossana") for my Dad, and for Mom, I selected knitting yarn. Italian yarn was a real bargain in the 1980s—I usually could buy enough Missoni or Fendi yarn for a sweater for under twenty dollars. (Comparison: In the States, today it costs over $200 to purchase yarn for a "designer" sweater.)

Venice, Italy, May 10, 1984. This package, worth $73.40, contained enough yarn with which to knit three sweaters and less than half a pound of candy. Today's customs form is similar.

A Touristy Walk

Venice, Italy, November 1, 1983. Most Italian businesses and libraries—like the Archivio di Stato, where I worked—close on All Saints' Day. The best thing to do is to take a long walk.

Fresh

Venice, Italy, November 1983. Morning commuters shop at the Rialto market on their way to work.

Market-Day Reunion

Venice, Italy, April 1984. Things get tight at the narrow Rialto Market.

Locals shop at the Rialto Market, too.

Venice, Italy, April 1984. The shops straddling the Rialto Bridge serve both tourists and Venetians.

Market Traffic

Venice, Italy, April 1984. In the 1980s, few Italian women wore trousers in public.

Dawn

When I lived in Venice, I rented a room from a padrona who lived on the Lido, the narrow barrier island that separates Venice from the Adriatic Sea. The spot at which I worked, the Archivio di Stato di Venezia, stands in the city proper, at the Campo dei Frari. As a result, I had a considerable commute every morning. I rode a motonave from the Lido to San Marco, and then I made a thirty-minute walk from the boat, through the San Marco district, over the Rialto Bridge to Campo San Polo, and then on to the Archivio.

Because seating was at a premium at the Archivio, I tried to arrive there each day when the "sala di studio" first opened, namely at about 7:30. This meant that most mornings, I stepped off the motonave at San Marco just as the sun was rising.

Piazzetta San Marco, Venice, Italy, January 1984. To the left stands the Doge's Palace. Could there be a better way to start the day?

It still feels like we're just getting started.

Here's another photo of Mr. Irene and me as we arrive in Venice for our honeymoon:

Venice, Italy, June 1989. Mr. Irene and I wind through the Venetian canals, by motoscafo, from the airport to the Hotel Flora.

(For Mr. Irene: remember what I said during a sleep-walking incident at that hotel? "Guarda! C'è un gran barbone francese giallo nella finestra!" That is, "Look! There is a large yellow poodle in the window!" You see? I can predict the future.)

Isn't it grand?

Venice, Italy, April 1984. This is the view my Parents and I see when we look down at the Grand Canal from the Rialto Bridge.

The honeymooners ...

... arrived in style.

Venice, Italy, June 1989. Mr. Irene and I travel by motoscafo from the airport to our hotel.