One Winter Weekend

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

O n her last full day in Venice, Lucy slept late.

She indulged a little, ordering room service so she could linger in bed a while longer, watching a local English-language morning news program and nibbling on a croissant. Finally, she took a hot shower and dressed for the day.

She made sure to pick out the nicest outfit she had and tied a scarf around her neck. She wanted to see the morning Mass at the Basilica, and afterwards, she would do a bit more sightseeing in the city, and go to dinner.

Then return to the bridge, do what she came here to do and go home.

After the late Mass she found a café where she could get a quick snack—more coffee and croissants sounded just about right—and then set off to do her shopping. She wandered through the Rialto food market and was fascinated by the variety of items available for purchase, but declined the vendors’ inquiring nods regretfully. Unfortunately, she had no way to take home fresh squid or crab meat in her suitcase, however delicious they might be. She would have to settle for one more evening of stuffing herself with local delicacies before heading home.

After the food market, she spent some time admiring Rialto Bridge from the windows of a local café, where she snacked on deep-fried meatballs, olives and bread drizzled with plenty of olive oil and herbs.

The waiter who dished up her antipasti had plenty of suggestions for where to shop on her last day, along with a warning that if something seemed cheap, it probably was: “Many shops import goods from China,” he explained, “so stay away from the cheap stuff. Real Italian quality, it will cost you. But it’s worth it!”

Lucy kept his warning in mind when she caught a water bus out to the island of Burano. She wanted to take a peek into the Church of San Martino, which looked positively rustic after the decadence of the Basilica, and the Oblique Bell Tower.

She also hoped to see the school of lace-making, where she was told a few dedicated Venetians hung onto the craft of making fine lace by hand. She was impressed by the number of hours that went into the craft; for herself, she’d never had the patience for fine handicrafts, so she couldn’t imagine spending hours and hours on one tiny piece.

Besides the church and the lace-making museum and school, Burano boasted rows of colourful houses along the main canals that looked even prettier with a dusting of snow on the roofs. They reminded Lucy of colourful cupcakes with icing on top. Too soon it was time to board the bus back to San Marco, and she looked one more time at the colourful waterfront as they sailed away.

Back in the city, it didn’t take long to find all manner of shops with tempting goods that she knew her family and friends would love. Leather goods, Venetian masks, handmade chocolate and more—it was hard to pick out just a few things.

Finally, she settled on a tooled leather journal for her dad, one which she knew he would enjoy writing in and would look lovely sitting out on his desk. He prided himself on keeping a neat study and this journal would fit right in. There were lovely cashmere scarves and tiny blown-glass paperweights for her mother and sisters.

She picked up an extra blown-glass necklace charm for herself—a souvenir of her trip—and finally returned to her hotel as dusk fell and the shops began to close up for the day. In the distance, she could hear the bell tower chiming out the hour, and she knew it was time to find something to eat—her stomach was rumbling even louder than the chatter of passing tourists.