Sweet Rosy Venice

Dolce Far Niente

Translation:  The sweetness of doing nothing.

I’ve quoted this sentiment before.  It was my grandpa’s modis operandi, and he loved to reflect on the sweet joys of relaxation:  I do nothing and then relax, he would cheerfully exclaim with a delighted grin.

I took a page from his playbook this past weekend.  It was the last time my family will be all together for a while. To mark the occasion, we jetted off to Venice for three glorious days.  I abandoned my usual break-neck pace of sightseeing and  s l o w e d    w a y    d o w n.

The Cipriani hotel beckons you to stay put and ignore the chaos across the Grand Canal.


Why fight the hoards of selfie stick-wielding tourists as they navigate narrow passages, traverse ancient bridges, ride in gilded gondolas, and flock to stuffed museums?

Dolce far niente.

It is too tempting to sit at the resort’s massive salt water pool, listening to the waves gently lap against the adjacent dock, sipping a numbing cocktail, reading an engaging book, soaking up the bright sunshine.  Ahhh.


The sunshine was the main attraction.  Summer ended too abruptly upon return to soggy London, laden with rain and heavy grey clouds.  It is as if the heavens flicked a switch and turned off the sun once I landed at Heathrow.  I wasn’t ready yet.  To add to the deluge, my master bathroom sink exploded, soaking the floor and forcing frustrating interaction with a plumber and my landlord.  I wasn’t ready for that either!

So, Venice was a perfect retreat. I felt like I was literally wearing rose colored glasses the entire time, casting a hue that extended from the blush Bellinis, to the rose tinted glass of the iconic lanterns, to the pink brick mosaics of the Palazzo del Doges, to the rosy glow set off by the bloated moon in the evening twilight.




We did manage to drag ourselves away for two worthwhile outings.  We enjoyed a boat tour of the surrounding islands, disembarking to see the fanciful creations of skilled glass blowers on Murano,


the intricate lace apparel and colorful homes of Burano,


and the ancient cathedral founded in 639 on the nearly deserted Torcello.




A visit to the Peggy Guggenheim museum was followed by aimless wandering over the bridges that haphazardly link the city, leading us via zigs and zags to Piazza San Marco, the magnet that draws everyone to its center.



That was just enough.

What is never enough is the time I spend together with my entire family.  We are too often apart, divided by an ocean, by various commitments, by calendar conflicts.

Doing nothing with the people you love is everything!

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Dolce far niente…how sweet it is.



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