Of course the obvious question is what became of Day One and Day Two? They are drifting away from me in that foggy sea of memory. Let’s see: after being packed into the tiny area Air France calls a seat I landed at Charles De Gaulle  airport where I planned to spend a relaxing productive time between flights.  Instead I had to quick-step to Terminal 2F (more than a mile) for my connecting flight to Venice.

At least when I finally got to the gate women from Air France helped load my belongings into the security X-ray,  very different from going through security in the USA.

Anyway I finally got to this little Venice B&B. Gosh this is supposed to be about Day 3 and what I now remember of Day 3 is spending the morning from 9:30 on looking (systematically I hope) for the simple osteria I had eaten lunch at the first day I visited San Marco square fifteen or more years before. Every subsequent trip to Venice I’ve searched in vain for it. This time I found it (Osteria De Campana, 4720 Calle Dei Fabbri) when, exhausted,  I was about to give up!

The wifi I was counting on in this little (let’s say “tiny”) B&B apartment doesn’t work on my smart phone.  But the woman and her husband are so helpful how can I complain — take the washer-dryer I couldn’t find: I had spilled wine on my shirt and Levis on the plane. She said to give them to her and yesterday when I came in I saw them hanging on her patio. Later they arrived neatly folded on my little couch.

My time in Venice was actually Day Three, part of Day Four before boarding the ship and Day Eleven after returning from the cruise. It almost felt like home.