Plan: two islands; plan II: four islands (one twice)

Boat to the Islands, madam?

That’ll be a Number 2.

We’ve done and seen so much already. We’ve done the big lap (almost) on the Vaporetto. We’ve walked miles. We’ve been flexible and not very structured so far. There’s no point attempting structure in such a beautifully unstructured city. When the starting point is a malarial swamp, and everywhere’s crisscrossed by narrow canals and lovely stone bridges, a degree of flexibility, acceptance that, heading for any given destination, you’ve rocked up somewhere different, but equally visually fantastic, unique and interesting, is a necessity. We’ve been to restaurants, bars, cafes and gelato stands. We’ve got through gallons of water from bottles and drinking fountains. We’ve sat in a local bar and tried the prosecco wine, the sprtizs, the house whites. I’ve had bar snacks of creamed salt cod and BLISS has had bar snacks of brie-like cheese over chopped, salted cucumber. We’ve been to the regatta and the concert, the big squares, and we’ve been here a day and a half.

Today the plan was to wander north from the hotel to the Vaporetto stop, and have a look at Burano and Murano.

Naturally, we missed the stop for Burano and ended up at Torcello, enjoying the absolute quiet, watching the fish, looking at the church and the many stone sculptures, sitting in the stone chair under the huge olive tree.

Then we went to Burano. Terraces of fishermens’ houses, all painted in vivid (the unkind might go for lurid, certainly you’d not want your suburban neighbours painting their render those colours) blues, yellows, reds, oranges, real postcard stuff.

After twenty five years we were separated. BLISS got herself the wrong side of a crocodile of Americans, all trailing the bloke holding the red umbrella aloft, all wearing red lanyards with black boxes tuned to his throat mike on the end, all stopping, frequently, at every vestige of a photo-opportunity (shutter-bugging one of the guidebooks called the phenomenon that routinely causes pedestrian traffic jams on the Rialto Bridge).

So pretty was the island that we went there twice. I peaked too early and got us off the boat going to Murano on the other side of Burano. Half an hour until the next number two boat. Ooops.

Murano is a large island compared to the other two. Sections are devoted to manufacturing glassware, glass jewellery, glass ornaments, and glass sculptures for the squares; to selling the glass items; and to feeding the tourists buying glass items as souvenirs. Neither BLISS nor I are any good at shopping, and lacking retail stamina, I was all glass-shopped out in no time at all. We’re neither of us immune to clumsy moments, either (viz the front of my shirt after feeding time) so I stood outside with the bag (comfortable in that I’ve insufficient street cred to begin with to worry about toting a large handbag) while BLISS browsed. Well, by browsing I mean went into two or three whole shops. My brain went into Cheese Glass Shop mode involuntarily.

“Do you have any glasses?”

“No.”

“No glasses?”

“Not much call for them around here, Sir.”

“But they’re the single most popular for of glassware in the world, they’re even named after…”

“Not in these parts, Sir.”

“And, what, pray, is the most popular form of glassware in these parts, my good man?”

“Little glass spiders. Oh. The cat’s broken them.”