Whoops! What happened to the Bonvecchiati  Hotel? We ran out of bubble bath in the room. We went down to breakfast, and there were no cups for coffee, no glasses for water, no fresh fruit or melon, just a few stale rolls, some cereal, some canned fruit, and just two waiters. This is the hotel that some of the adversely critical websites talked about, not the one we found on arrival.

We walked to the Rialto (we're ideally positioned between the Rialto Bridge and Piazza San Marco) and took a vaporetto to the Accademia, the great art museum of Venice.

Carol explored glorious Titians, Tiepolos, Tintorettos, (the three T's), while the Philistine read the Herald-Trib at a nearby café over a glass of fresh-squeezed blood orange juice. Food can be really cheap here--that juice is 2€, a small divine coffee gelato is 1€, a half-liter of decent red wine is 4€, an espresso is 1€, and a medium pizza is 2€. All of these are available on any block, and all of them are wonderful. On the other hand, we came upon a more elegant restaurant where vitello tonato was 25€, and a bottle of Pinot Grigio was 40€. So caveat emptor.

From the Accademia, we strolled over to the Peggy Guggenheim Museum. She was the niece of Solomon Guggenheim of the Guggenheims who drowned on the Titatic. She was a bit narcissitic and sought many artists as lovers. As WWII was breaking out, she went shopping for as many paintings as she could buy. "A painting a day," was here motto. Picasso regarded her as a tasteless materialist, and said to her, when she came to his studio, "You will find the lingerie department on the second floor, Madame." Her palazzo on the Grand Canal became the center of life for the glitterati of the 20th century, e.g., her husband, Max Ernst, Giacometti, Chagall, Paul Newman, Marlon Brando. She would take people for cruises on her large gondola, "La dogessa." There is a huge collection of modern art, tastefully displayed in a gorgeous setting. She herself is buried in her garden, next to a succession of her dogs. Her husband and children went elsewhere.

..

..

..

The man on the bronze horse formerly had a screw-off penis, but so many disappeared they had to weld it on.

We had a pizza at the foot of the Accademia Bridge and took a vaporetto back to the Rialto, where we looked for the fish market and vegetable market, but it was siesta time. I took a nap, while Carol roamed the neighborhood, looking for tschatschkes.

..San Zaccaria

..
 

In the evening, we had a leisurely dinner at Anonimo Veneziano, a small restaurant nearby that was warm and comfortable, and reasonably priced. Dinner was good, but remember, we live in Providence. I sent back a bottle of Valpolicella that was oxidized, something that I seldom do, and they were gracious about it. We strolled home in the quiet of darkened canals, awaiting the war.