8E to 4L and I’m here… so is the cruise ship. Shit! Going to be long lines and lots of tourists..yuk! Please, tell me you’re laughing with me! It has been brought to my attention that my humor is getting lost on some readers. Yes, I know you’re stalking me, but I wish you would come out of the closet, say hello, and let me know you care.
Needless, ful, to say, I’m joking! Very few people get my sarcastic whit, but it is humor I assure you!Anyway, walk over the bridge, just follow the crowd, water bus B, will take you to San Marco square, which I have one last order of business. I also desperately need coffee, and the two coincide. Therefore, I must brave the crushing cruise ship crowd, pass Rialto, and onto Harry’s Bar. Thus fulfilling the necessity to sup with the ghost of Hemingway. I wonder what, if anything, he will say?
Nothing I haven’t already said to myself, a thousand times or heard a million. He was, just a man after all!
After you get passed the pretentiousness and the prices on the menu, it is easy to fall in love with this place. Situated just off the water, with no view of it, the rich wood, and low, ribbed, white ceiling gives me a sense of being aboard a ship. The staff wears luxurious white with black tie, seven bar stools, 20 tables, no shorts allowed, I must admit I feel underdressed in jeans. I can see this on board a an old canal schooner, and feel the surrounding seas passing by.
OMG, sorry Elaine, but an EXQUISITE gentleman just left. Out of a novel, he had dark green tartan plaid pants, a red turtleneck, dark green corduroy jacket, and perfect hair! The staff seemed familiar with him, and words like debonair were invented for him. I would love to have dinner with him and hear his story. He shuffled his, easily 80 year old body toward the door that at one time was regal. He nodded, acknowledged the staff and they all smiled with their eyes, knowingly, as though he dined here often. I want to follow the man, see where he goes and what he knows.
Ok, that moment just left, and then my sensational desert arrived. The creme souffle was served in style with dazzling, hot flames to warm my chilled bones. I wish Mom was here to see the proper service still existing in this old world staple! I know I’m coming back, no matter the cost. Asparagus soup, baby artichoke something, screams my name, and my next hotel is just around the corner. The hostess assured me this is my table, with crisp white linen, whenever I want it, all night long. I’m so cozy and warm, I would love to stay all day, but Venice awaits! I need a scarf and to find my hotel. I have found a beautiful place that, no matter what card I have, loves me!