Sennen had an emotional breakdown over tuna. Not tuna salad or canned tuna, but an actual piece of fresh tuna. My moment of crisis was over laundry and the laundry lady telling me they don’t do laundry, only dry cleaning when ample evidence – from freshly washed towels to the smell of Tide and the outline of large washing machines in the background – told me they did.
You never really know what your crisis or inflection point might be. They can be small or seem random – even appear trivial. Usually, things otherwise silly, trivial or outsized only make sense within their context – or their perceived context.
In my case, there is only one full-service laundry in the Canneregio. For the past two days, we’ve tried carrying our clothes there. They were closed on a day they should have been open. I really wanted to get laundry done before the big Christmas shutdown. We travel to Rome on the 24th. Our apartment here has only a washer – not a dryer – as is so typical in Europe and I don’t feel like managing hanging, drying and ironing on cold, damp Venetian days. So, I had built up a lot of hope around this one little laundry. Perhaps had I not seen the freshly fluffed towels or smelled the detergent, I would have chocked the whole thing up to my stupid tourist error. I’ve had plenty of those. If Venice were a city where one can just grab a taxi or call a ride-share to quickly get to the next laundry (as my cousin Jacob and I did in Kuching during a situation with jungle-soiled clothes in Borneo), that too might have taken away the sting of laundry lies.
Yet somehow, I was both peeved with and felt betrayed by a woman I had known for all of 45 seconds. I could only rationalize it by deciding her lack of English meant she was unable to tell me they only wash linens and don’t take tourist clothing. In other words, they don’t want to fold my boxers. Fair enough – neither do I.
That allowed me to move on to restrategizing our laundry situation, which didn’t seem SO bad. I have enough clean clothes to make it through Christmas and apparently, if Ailyn re-wears her jeans, she’s fine too. Then it turned out Sennen – who told me he packed eight pairs of underwear – had only packed three and he has already recycled his undies. “I packed them, but they somehow got lost!” Okay…. Luckily, we’re in a first world country, underwear can be purchased. Over breakfast at a nearby cafe, a quick Google search for full-service laundries near our Rome apartment assured me I’ll have multiple resources come December 26th and I was able to move on – eventually shaking the irritation a half-hour later,
The kids and I decided that if we saw men’s underwear nowhere else we went, we would stop by the Christmas market where we felt sure there would be a vendor selling them as we had seen lots of socks, shirts and other casual-wear there. So, we headed to the #1 Vaporetto to go three stops to the Rialto Market – known for its fresh fish, meat, produce and delicious cooked items. Historically, it was known for selling everything known to Venetians including spices, fabrics, perfumes and furs. Today, there are still some of those things in the back parts of the market which have been renovated into traditional retail – and if fact, Sennen later found a pricy pair of jeans he got there.
However, when we arrived by boat at the front of the market, the kids were eager to check out all the intriguing looking produce which included beautiful, perfectly ripe strawberries Ailyn HAD to have. Then Sennen saw the seafood section – and budding cook that he is who watches lots of cooking videos on YouTube Kids – he stormed the fishmongers’ tables just before they shut-down midday.
After ten minutes of independent exploration, Sennen came running over to Ailyn and me – desperate to show us a slab of tuna. He told me it was a great cut of tuna and wanted to get it. I looked and certainly, it seemed like a piece of tuna that would make very nice sushi. Sennen explained with some exasperation that it is the PERFECT cut of blue fin tuna and that it is extremely difficult to get this magic cut. Therefore, he wanted to buy the tuna – after all it was only 26 euros per kg, which is a lot of money, but worth it for such a premium piece of fish – and make it for dinner with a salad tonight. It was almost reasonable, except for the fact that walking a slab of fish around Venice for the day didn’t seem either pleasant or sanitary – and taking the Vaporetto back to the apartment and then back to the San Polo district of Venice was a 66 euro prospect – now making a piece of tuna a roughly 100 euro proposition.
Sennen understood the conundrum, but was deeply frustrated to being on the edge of tears – since this was the PERFECT piece of fish and something he has never seen up close before – almost like a celebrity sighting. AND in Venice where great fish seemed so apropos. After a deep breath, I gave Sennen the choice – we abandon our plans to explore than San Polo district, buy the fish, take it back to the apartment and stay within walking range for the day – or we walk San Polo as planned, let go of the idea of the fish and if the tuna remains important to him when we return to Westlake, we can go to Gelson’s at home which will most certainly have the best cuts of tuna and he can cook then.
Sennen understood the logic of it all, he knew his timing with the perfect cut of tuna was itself far from perfect and he didn’t want to give up his time in San Polo. He would take the Gelson’s rain check, but so great was his disappointment, he couldn’t look at any more fish and had to leave the pescatore section of the Rialto Market. Until we ran into a small restaurant around the corner famous for their Venetian deep fried fresh seafood where calamari and polenta fries helped soften the blow of being parted from his beloved cut of tuna.
“I’m sorry I had such a hard time, Daddy. I really overreacted,” he said after a few bites. “It was just such a great piece of tuna.”
I understood. It can happen to the best of us.
Meanwhile, Ailyn just kept quiet, eating her strawberries.
Her time came shortly after when we explored the more retail side of the market and walked the streets of San Polo where shopping abounded. Ailyn flitted from store to store looking at clothes, skin creams, jewelry, leather goods – much like a wealthy Venetian woman of the city’s golden age might have. She even managed to get a deal on some very affordable earrings.
We walked, shopped and snacked our way through San Polo until Ailyn decided if she lived in Venice, it would be San Polo for her. Quieter than San Marco, busier than the Dosoduro with access to retail and eateries to her liking, Ailyn had found her Venetian home.
Unfortunately, for all the walking and shopping, we had not encountered any men’s underwear. So, we made our way through San Polo up to Ferrovia where we crossed the Grand Canal by bridge. Then we walked the length of the Cannaregio down to the Christmas Market where we took care of key errands including grabbing some items for dinner at home (without the pricy fish) – something they both wanted for the second night in a row – a belt for Ailyn whose pants have amazingly been loosening, a cup of mulled hot wine they wanted to try again and of course underwear.
While dinner, hot wine and a belt were all easy-peasy – and had we wanted women’s underwear we would have been drowning in choices – men’s underwear was shockingly elusive. One market stall had a very European cut of men’s underwear which Sennen first assumed was women’s and then had to hear twice that it was men’s before he could accept it. To Sennen’s chagrin, I insisted we buy at least two pair just in case we found nothing better and reminded him that had he remembered his own underwear, he wouldn’t be facing this conundrum.
Almost at the point of giving up, I spotted a nice menswear shop that seemed like they might have underwear amid their very complete line of personal furnishings. And they did. Moreover, the well-sized, nicely styled underwear came in black and dark blue – much to Sennen’s liking. I was so happy we had a viable solution, that I didn’t think to ask the price and learned at checkout that two packs – four pair – of underwear were 70 euros. To me, clean underwear comes in higher priority than a perfect cut of tuna, so I invested the tuna money into underwear that I hope Sennen will cherish – as they are per-pair, more expensive than any I have ever owned.
May he wear them in good health.
By 5pm, our little trio was complaining about their feet and ready to head home. They have no desire to go back out this evening. Roughly seven hours of walking – with occasional breaks – was a lot of them and this is the fourth day in a row of roughly 12,000 steps on my part – which means more for them. It was a good and tiring day.
As gorgeous, imagination grabbing and rich in history and art as Venice is, in many ways it’s not an easy city. As mentioned in my tale of laundry woe, it’s hard to get around easily and quickly. Unlike Paris or New York, when the kids are ready for a break, we can’t just drop into the closest subway station or hail an Uber and get back to our lodgings for a rest. It’s a schlep and takes time. I don’t usually spend so much time contemplating, let alone stressing laundry.
I’ve actually spent time mapping out a plan to get to the train station Wednesday because with the many bridges and narrow paths, getting our bags there on foot could be an exhausting endeavor. Instead, we’ll get to a nearby Vaporetto station on a line that goes to the train station. It’s actually taking the long way around – but it’s much easier than what would appear to be a reasonable walk.
Venice also has fewer dimensions than any other European city I’ve been to aside from Athens. It’s beautiful with amazing art, architecture and some fascinating history. But, unless you want to tour historical sites and museums, it begins to come up thin on things to do. It doesn’t have Paris’ incredible diversity of neighborhoods, lifestyles and intrigue. It’s not as livable as Cannes. Venice sells its past – not its present or future to its visitors. Venice is no longer a capital, a center of industry, part of a movement, a thought leader, an innovator. Treaties are not signed here, world leaders do not use it as a meeting venue. Venice was the forward-looking marvel of another time that continues to captivate.
Only, I think my kids have taken almost all they can from it. It has been great, eye opening and enjoyable. Knowing when to leave is sometimes essential to sealing in a good memory and I think I timed it just about right. Tomorrow is our last full-day in Venice and I think the kids have only one left in them. We could have even called it after today.
Rome and our side-trip to Naples will be great. A different vibe, set of sights and new and more varied things to explore. I think Venice has set us up for success – smaller, slower paced, easier to adjust to – it was a great first step into Italy. And beauty always counts for a lot.
One third of Elizabeth Gilbert’s year in Eat Pray Love takes place in Rome – but I think, with Hanukkah being here – the three of us had the entire trifecta right here in Venice. Laundry, tuna and pricy underwear aside, Venice has been a wonderful interlude and I have enjoyed both the city and the experience it has afforded us.
