Walking on Water

By Eleanor Goodall

Twenty-year-old college student Sarah Watson has just arrived in Venice, Italy, to study for a year. Enthralled with the beautiful city and its inhabitants, Sarah quickly acclimates to the maze of narrow streets and canals. With a week until her fall term begins, Sarah is enthusiastically touring Venice when she encounters the first of many who will influence her experience in more ways than she can ever imagine.
With a live-life-to-the-fullest outlook and a zeal for exploring a new part of the world, Sarah embraces the sights of the city and its islands across the lagoon, quickly immersing herself in the culture and meeting new international friends that include a handsome American, an Italian waiter, a hotel manager, and a fellow student. As Sarah falls in love with a city and its people, she soon realizes that joys, challenges, and potential dangers are the sameno matter where she lives.
Walking on Water is the tale of a college student who embarks on an unforgettable adventure in a magical city.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Jul 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781458209924

Eleanor Goodall

Eleanor Goodall was educated as a scientist, worked for twenty-five years with nonprofit organizations and has published articles in trade journals. She divides her time between her family farm in Minnesota and a home in Guatemala. This is her first novel.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

May I join you?

Sarah had been lost in thought, as she sat with her wine beside a small street in Venice, Italy. She turned her head and looked up into a pair of very blue eyes. Longish, sandy-colored hair framed a guy’s face. A friendly, open, totally non-threatening face. An interesting face.

Not at all. Have a seat. She answered, while she lifted her wine glass. I just arrived in Venice this afternoon and needed a little liquid relaxation.

"I’ve been here a couple of months and I still enjoy this kind of relaxation. In fact, many Italians have a glass of vino at this time of day. By the way, I’m Troy. Troy Harris."

Sarah Watson. She extended her hand to meet his. Nice firm handshake, nice blue eyes, tall, good-looking. Not drop-dead gorgeous, but not hard on the eyes either. The afternoon definitely had potential!

Where’re you from? He asked.

Boston area. How about you?

New York, but not in the city.

You said you’d been in Venice for a couple of months. Here for anything special, or here just to soak in the atmosphere?

Actually, I’ve been in Europe this past year. Travelled to any and every place I could. Bummed around, saw the sights, worked at odd jobs when money got tight. You know, sort of a go-where-the-wind-takes-you kind of year. Venice is my last stop before I head home next week."

Darn, Sarah thought. Why do things that have such great possibilities have to end so fast. So, you’re going back to the states? To do what?

I took a year off after I graduated. Now I start law school in a couple of weeks.

Where?

As luck would have it, Harvard. So, right in your neighborhood. Maybe some time when you’re back home we can get together. How long are you going to be here?

Okay, she thought. They’d just met and he seemed kind of nice. But already he wanted to meet up back in the states? This guy was smooth, and pretty fast. She mentally warned herself to be careful, be smart.

I’m in Venice for the better part of a year, enrolled in an Italian language, history and culture school. It starts next week. I came over a little early to up my comfort level with Italian life in general. My knowledge of the language, and of Italy for that matter, is pretty minimal. I probably should have studied some over the summer, but I’d had a pretty tense year at school and wanted to veg out before I got back into learning mode. I had a relatively easy summer job at a day care center, which was about the extent of my activities.

Well, I suggest we work together on your comfort level as well as your language skills. How about dinner? You can begin learning some Italian words for food—a very useful vocabulary to have tucked away.

Oh, I don’t know. I just got here and I’m starting to feel the effects of travel and jet lag.

Come on. You need to eat, and a short walk will do you good. I know the perfect place for a quick meal.

Dinner sounded great, now that she thought about it. Okay, you’re on. And while we’re walking, give me a head start on school with an informal language lesson.

After a delicious dinner of pasta, with fresh tomatoes for sauce, along with porcini mushrooms that were so tender they felt like clouds in her mouth, Sarah was feeling not only pleasantly full, but also very tired.

I really need some sleep, she mumbled. Travel and time change have caught up with me in a big way. Thanks so much for dinner, the good company, and my first language lesson.

I’ll walk you to your hotel. It’s not far, but it’s dark and you don’t know the city.

You don’t have to convince me, she said. I’m happy to put off getting lost till tomorrow.

At the door of her pensionne, he gave her a one-armed hug, and told her, I’ll come by tomorrow morning around ten o’clock, and we’ll go find us a cappuccino.

Too tired to do anything but nod, she agreed to meet him at ten.

CHAPTER 2

P ropped up in bed in her hotel room, Sarah reflected on her first day in this magical city. She had been enthralled from the moment she’d walked out of the Santa Lucia train station and boarded a vaporetto on the Grand Canal.

Enthralled changed to amazed, at the boat traffic on the canal, the main street of this city on water.

And amazed changed to intrigued, as the boatman (a rather young and handsome boatman, she’d thought) had smiled at her as he’d said, "Scusi signorina." Which meant he needed her to stop daydreaming and move so he could tie the lines of the boat to the dock at the next stop.

Then intrigue became action, when she heard the loudspeaker announce, Next stop Rialto.

She’d grabbed her backpack, and with a final smile and wave from the boatman, had found herself on the dock, where she’d just stood for a moment and gazed at the Rialto Bridge, one of the most recognizable of the many beautiful structures in Venice.

She smiled to herself as she remembered her search of the Rialto area for her hotel. The directions she’d been given stated two blocks from the bridge, then turn left into a narrow street. What hadn’t been clear was two blocks from where she was standing, or cross the bridge and then go two blocks.

What the heck, she’d thought. It was a beautiful day and the bridge had beckoned her.

The view of the canal from the arch had been spectacular, and she’d again paused to savor the sight, before a reminder to herself that she was on a hotel quest, had jolted her into motion. With the help of a few friendly people she’d managed to find it with ease.

Once settled in her room, a quick glance at the map showed her a maze of convoluted, narrow streets which flowed into various small plazas, and bridges that crossed a multitude of canals.

Her body, tired from travel, had wanted to relax. Her mind, however, had not agreed. Definitely mind over matter in this case! So, she’d unpacked a little and refreshed herself with a pelting shower. Then dressed in a short denim skirt, a tank top with just enough beading around the nicely low neckline, and her favorite pair of ankle boots, she’d ventured forth. She’d wanted to look good on this first foray into new territory, and from the smiles, nods, and appreciative gazes of passersby, it seemed she’d nailed it. It felt good to look kind of hot, not trashy, but still hot—especially in a wonderland like this.

Never one to have fears, her typical walk was a supremely confident stride. As if she owned the world. When she’d caught sight of that sidewalk café, and realized she was on empty, the decision to stop for a snack and a little wine had been an easy one.

The fall term at the Italian school began in a week and she’d deliberately arrived early to get a feel for the place she would call home for the next several months. She remembered wondering what school would be like? How many other kids were enrolled? Would they be friends? How about guy friends? OMG, she’d thought. This was just like starting kindergarten! But without your mom to walk you to the door.

Then, true to the way the mind functions, her thoughts of kindergarten and mom, brought her full circle to her family, back in the states. Her father would be at work at his company, and the plan was that she would join him there after college. She wasn’t sure if that was the life for her, but she hadn’t dared to voice an opposing thought to this plan, yet! It had been tough enough to convince her dad that she would benefit from taking a year off college to study in Italy. She recalled their discussion when she had broached the subject. She’d pointed out to him how often he’d said that travel had broadened him, made him a better businessman, let him appreciate life more, and so on. Her presence in Italy was proof that it had been a winning argument.

It was in the midst of these reflections that she’d heard, ‘May I join you?’ And had met Troy.

These next few days could prove interesting, she thought. Or, could be a total disaster. Ten o’clock tomorrow morning might be the start of a make or break relationship.

CHAPTER 3

M orning brought the noisy bustle of merchants, with carts of produce for their stalls in the Rialto Market. A quick look out her open window confirmed this, plus the fact that it was a gorgeous sunny day. She remembered last night, and the thought of Troy brought a little smile to her lips. Time to get a move on, if she was to be ready at ten. Dressed in a pink and lavender floral sundress, a floppy hat, and a pair of comfy, but still very cute sandals, she was waiting in the alley outside the hotel door when he arrived.

Good morning, Miss Sarah. I trust you slept well.

Like the proverbial rock. I really was super tired. Between the hassle of flying, and the intro to this amazing city, my whole body was on overload.

From the look on his face, it didn’t seem like he thought her body looked at all overloaded. In fact, he appeared to think she looked as amazing to him as the city looked to her. Scored again on the outfit, she thought.

Okay, the pasta last night was delish, but I’m definitely up for some breakfast. Where are we going?

We’ll take a vaporetto over to a place I like. Did you buy a multi-day pass?

Yes. It seemed the smart thing to do, at least for this first week of high-speed sightseeing. And, I think a pass is included in the school’s fees. Later on, when I know the streets better, I probably won’t ride the boats as much.

"Maybe, but maybe not. The vaporetti are a great way to get around the city. And with a pass you can ride whenever and wherever you want. For now though, let’s get that cappuccino I promised you."

They rounded the corner of her hotel, and snaked through the busy market stalls out onto the vaporetto dock. Sarah looked ahead to the Rialto Bridge, and saw that she had gone one stop too far yesterday. It was going to be a busy week as she learned where all the canals, the streets, and walkways with their bridges, would take her.

She asked again. Where are we headed?

"We’re going to an alfresco café near Piazza San Marco."

Sounds good. I’m looking forward to that cappuccino.

They boarded the vaporetto quickly, and found a seat in the outdoor back of the boat. Once again, Sarah marveled at the variety of boat traffic on the canal. It made sense when you thought about it. Everything, from restaurant supplies in, to trash out, had to be moved by boat. A whole city without motor vehicles. Nothing like morning traffic back home though.

And, back home made her think about her family again.

A euro for your thoughts.

Hey, they definitely aren’t worth that much. Stick to the original penny for them. I was thinking about my family and wondering what they were doing today. My dad is a given. He’ll be in his office. He’s a pro at what he does, and he absolutely loves his work. It’s a major part of his life. My mom works around his schedule, and they travel together a fair amount. She does lots of different things, like she’s certified as a master gardener, and volunteers at a crisis nursery, where they all love her. She enjoys her life as well.

Is your life going to be part of this scene when you finish college?

Good question. The plan is yes, that I will join my father in his company, and we will all live happily ever after.

That tone doesn’t sound as if your plan is totally in sync with that of your father. Do you have something else in mind?

Not right now. I have two years of college left, after this year in Italy, so I figure I still have time to make some of the big decisions. It’s not that I want to go against my parents, mainly my dad. But neither do I want to have my whole life regimented by them. Hence the dilemma.

It is your life, he told her gently, with another one-armed hug.

I’m starting to like these half-hugs, Sarah thought. Wonder how I go about getting a full one?

The loudspeaker sounded, Next stop San Marco.

Is this where we get off? She asked.

"Yes. There are several stops at San Marco. In addition to the popular piazza, the main square, it’s a departure point for the islands out across the lagoon."

Islands across the lagoon? Sounds like a Hemmingway novel. In fact, I feel like I’m living in a work of fiction right now. This place is so unreal.

Just then they spied a motor boat, coming into the Grand Canal at high speed toward their vaporetto.

Sarah exclaimed. Look at that guy! Is he crazy? This canal is full of all kinds of boats and he’s driving like he’s in the Indy 500 on water!

The motor boat slowed a little as it hit the congested area, but not enough to find clear passage through the traffic. And sure enough, the driver veered around a large cargo boat and headed straight at them. As the smaller vessel scraped along the side of the vaporetto, Sarah could see the look of panic on the driver’s face. There were loud shouts in Italian of what she assumed were various uncomplimentary expressions. Then it was over, in seconds and with no damage to the sturdy vaporetto. She could no longer see the motor boat but figured he was still afloat and probably in need of some major repair work.

Does this kind of thing happen often? She wondered aloud.

A well-dressed gentleman seated beside them in the back of the boat, where they’d had a bird’s eye view of the accident replied, No, not often. And never with Italian boatmen. In summer, the busy traffic conditions on the Grand Canal are made worse by amateurs who decide to rent boats and go for a spin, which is an irritant to our gondoliers and also the cause of minor accidents such as the one we just witnessed. You see, the canal has complex traffic codes, with imaginary lines that mark lanes you are not supposed to cross. The lagoon is even more dangerous with people treating it like a high speed freeway. I imagine the boater we just encountered had come into the canal from the lagoon without realizing how heavy the traffic would be. And once in the canal, he panicked. He continued, a little sadly, In addition to dangerous, it is also a shame, because the waves from these speeding boats contribute to the erosion of Venice’s monuments and buildings.

Sarah just looked at the gentleman, who appeared to be lost in thought, perhaps about the glory days of his beloved city.

As the vaporetto touched the landing, Troy said, "Let’s move it. You’ve probably noticed that they don’t stop for any length of time. From here, this boat will turn around and go back the way we came. A nice ride, but not when we have due cappuccini waiting for us!"

Okay, I’m hustling, but am I getting my second language lesson? Plural of cappuccino is cappuccini? Plural of vaporetto is vaporetti? And due means two?

You got it, fast learner. Troy took her elbow to help keep their place together in the push of people moving through the inside seating area to the central open area and off onto the dock.

CHAPTER 4

S ettled into a cozy corner of the café terrace, Sarah gave a blissful sigh as she sipped what truly was an outstanding cappuccino. Accompanied by a sweet cinnamon roll, it was a delicious breakfast. As she spooned the last of the crema from the bottom of her cup, she remarked, You were absolutely right. This coffee is fabulous.

He smiled at her. I have a proposition. At the startled look on her face, he laughed out loud. Not that kind of proposition!

He continued. I’m pretty familiar with Venice, and I’m going back to the states in a week. You’re unfamiliar with the city and going to school in a week. I propose we see the sights together for the next few days, with me as quasi tour guide. No strings. I’ll just introduce you so some of my favorite places, some that are a little out-of-the-way, such that you might not get to them till you’ve been here a while. Then after I’ve left, you can explore with confidence.

It’s a deal. It’s almost always more fun to do stuff with someone rather than alone. Now, here’s my counter proposition, my terms. He raised an eyebrow as she continued, I get to pay for half of what we eat and do. Not like we’ll keep a chart of expenses or anything, but let’s try to make it kind of even, okay?

It’s a deal, he answered, repeating her phrase.

So, Mr. Quasi Tour Guide, where are we off to today?

"Well, since we’re at San Marco, let’s pay a visit to the basilica. You know, say buon giorno to the various saints, maybe drop a euro in the box and light a candle. I’m not at all religious, but the cathedral is also a piece of history and the candle-lighting a tradition."

Sounds good to me. I call it hedging my bets with a one euro investment.

"Do you want to go up the campanile afterward? You’ll get a great view of Venice from the top of the bell tower."

You bet. Views of cities from the tops of towers are one of my travel specialties.

As they entered the basilica, Sarah noted the signage concerning dress code, and pulled a light wrap from her bag to cover her shoulders. With bags checked, they walked into a golden glow from the rich mosaics and colored marble. It was stunning. Everything was decorated and filled with ancient treasures which, according to Troy, were looted from Constantinople by the Venetians hundreds of years ago. The piece de resistance was the high altar, beneath which lay the body of Saint Mark. Covered with religious scenes and a huge gold frame, studded with big rubies, emeralds, pearls and smaller amethysts, sapphires and other gems, it was an impressive trophy chest.

Okay, whispered Sarah. I’m full to the brim with gilded history everywhere I glance. Let’s find that little hedge my bets box, drop in a coin, and collect our bags.

Back outside on the piazza they joined the line for the elevator to the top of the bell tower. As they exited, 300 feet above the piazza, she gasped at the view. There was so much water in and around this city.

Down from the bell tower they emerged into the now-crowded Piazza San Marco, where throngs of tourists pressed in on them.

Let’s get out of here. Troy said.

I totally agree.

Okay, I suggest we walk some of the less travelled side streets as we scout out the lay of the land. Troy said. "At least there should be fewer tourists and we can detour wherever it looks interesting. I’ve done some exploring around here and if we walk past the Royal Gardens we’ll come to the edge of the fondamenta, where the docks end. We’ll have to go around the back of the Gardens and take a small bridge over a side canal."

All right, you lost me at the end of the docks, so you lead and I’ll follow.

Troy pointed, up. It’s not as hard as it seems. Look up there on the wall of that building. She followed his gesture and saw a yellow sign reading ‘All’ Accademia.’

And that means what exactly?

It means that the Accademia Bridge and Museum are in that direction, Troy answered. "Watch for these signs as you walk around. They’ll help guide you.

Now, what do you think about lunch, in a little while? I happen to know a wonderful pizzeria tucked almost under the Accademia Bridge, right beside the canal. The restaurant has big umbrellas overhead so we can eat outside and still be comfortable. Want to try it out?

You don’t have to ask me again. It sounds divine. Remember our deal though. This lunch is mine. Just so there’s no macho posturing when it comes time to pay the bill.

Deal. And I never macho posture. Well, hardly ever, he said smiling at her.

They walked for an hour or so, in simple enjoyment of the day and the scenery. Before long, the street opened onto a square, beyond which was the Accademia Bridge. As they crossed over the arch, Sarah could see the outdoor restaurant, almost dwarfed by the bridge on one side and the steps of the bridge approach on the other.

At the small station near the entrance to the outdoor dining area, the maître d’ gave them a welcoming smile, and led them to a table beside the canal. Sarah’s return smile and sparkling eyes mirrored the sunlight dancing on the water beside them. Something both men noticed!

While the menu included some pasta and fish dishes, it was clear that pizza was the specialty of the house.

Troy recommended, "You can’t go wrong with a margherita. Thin, crispy crust, fresh tomatoes as sauce, with cheese all over the top. You could even add some porcini mushrooms. I think you liked those on your pasta last night."

I’m not usually undecided about something as simple as what kind of pizza to order. She said. My head is telling me to pick something adventuresome. But my stomach is telling me to go with something I’m going to love.

"Go with your gut feeling. And pun intended! You’ll be here all year so you’ll have ample time to try octopus with capers, or whatever strikes your fancy. Tell you what. You order margherita, and I’ll order quattro formaggi and we can share."

That sounds perfect. But let’s get the porcini on mine. You’re right. I do love those mushrooms.

The maître d’ approached with another smile, to ask if they’d like anything to drink.

Want some wine with lunch? Troy asked.

I don’t think so. Let’s wait till later. This place is so fabulous I don’t need anything to lift my spirits any higher. How about sharing a large bottle of sparkling water?

Sounds good. San Pellegrino, please? And the maître d’, or waiter, as he seemed to work both roles, left the outdoor dining area, crossed a small street and entered the door of the restaurant.

As Sarah sat back and lazily glanced at the canal, she noticed three sleek gondolas, tied to mooring poles beside a nearby dock. They were absolutely beautiful in design, painted glossy black with gold trim, and an interior decor that featured fancy red velvet cushions with gold tassels. These boats were unique to Venice, and she promised herself that sometime this year, she was going to ride in one.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw their lunch approaching, carried by the same guy. In fact, he seemed to be the only one working at the restaurant. As she tuned to watch him, he looked her in the eye, and smiled that incredible smile again. What was it about these Italian men? Were they all so friendly, or should she be wary of wolves in waiter’s clothing? But he certainly was attractive!

"Grazie," said in her best Italian accent.

"Prego, enjoy your meal. And I’ll be right over there if you need anything." All said in perfect English.

Dig in while it’s hot Troy advised, cutting his pizza in half to share.

Yum! Sarah said, over a mouth-watering bite. This is so good. It may just be the best pizza I’ve eaten, anywhere.

Apparently, this last statement was loud enough to be overheard by their waiter, since he flashed them another smile along with a little bow, and then walked over to their table. He placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder, and said, I am so pleased you like our restaurant and the food. We try to be outstanding hosts.

Well, yes, the pizza was wonderful, but so was the waiter! Hang on a minute, she told herself. Here she was with one guy, who seemed to be pretty darn nice, and she was busy ogling another. Get a grip! And a glance at the guy she was with told her that he wasn’t at all pleased about the smile, the bow, and especially the special attention of the hand on her shoulder.

Stuffed and satisfied, Sarah paid the bill. With final eye contact with the waiter, they left the restaurant. Where to now, tour maestro?

Thoughtfully, Troy said, Let’s take a little break and meet for dinner. Many places close after lunch because Italians like an afternoon siesta. You know how to get back to your hotel, right? Take the vaporetto, marked S. Lucia, which goes toward the train station. The Rialto Mercato stop is about five or six along the canal. I’ll meet you at your hotel at 7:30 for dinner, okay? And he took off across the Academia Bridge, leaving her on the street.

Did she smell a whiff of the green monster, jealousy, here? This was really too funny. She’d met this guy. Well, actually he’d met her, when he asked if he could join her yesterday. They’d had dinner, coffee this morning, done some sightseeing, followed by lunch. Which seemed to make him think he owned her! Yes, she’d smiled a few times at another guy. Was that any reason to take off? Ah well, it was only for a week. He was a good tourist guide, and fun to be with. But there were no apologies coming from her simply for smiling at someone. So, she guessed she’d see how dinner went. She might be sight-seeing by herself tomorrow!

Perhaps the Italians had it right with their siesta idea, she thought, and decided to chill for a few hours at her hotel. The afternoon would also give her time and space to think things over and decide how she wanted to play out this current situation with Troy. After all, she’d known him less than 24 hours. What did he mean to her? What did she want him to mean to her? Should she wait for him at her hotel tonight, or not? What if she left for the evening alone, without him? Or, on the flip side, what if she waited outside the hotel and he didn’t show up? There were a lot of scenarios to play out. This was one of those times when it would be great to have a big sister to talk to, she considered.

Still in an mood to explore, she skipped the vaporetto and walked back to her hotel, with little difficulty. You just had to keep straight in your mind the direction you wanted to go and not get turned around by the small side canals and little bridges. And, there was always someone to ask when you weren’t exactly sure where you were.

She continued to analyze her potential relationships and where, if anywhere, they might lead, as she walked up the stairs to her hotel room. Stretched out on the bed, she thought maybe a snooze, one with a good dream, would bring forth some answers. And, boy did she need some help in the answer department right now!

CHAPTER 5

S arah awoke refreshed, decided that she was being a drama queen, and was reading way more into Troy’s departure after lunch than the situation merited. After all, he was a nice, stable guy and pretty unlikely to go off the deep end over a few smiles. Wasn’t he?

Still, she wasn’t quite sure what the evening would hold. Would she be dining with, or without Troy? Regardless, she wanted to look good! These thoughts got her moving, and she chose skinny jeans, a deep blue long-sleeved cotton sweater, a muted pattern scarf, and sandals. Hair up in a messy knot, she added a little makeup and some serious eye treatment. A glance in the mirror, confirmed that she did indeed look pretty good. Then her sensible side kicked in, and she chided herself about vanity.

With, sensibility in gear, she headed down the stairs to the entrance of her hotel. Just as she reached for the door, it opened—and there was Troy.

He looked a little sheepish, as he said I owe you an apology for running off like that. I’m sorry.

Hey, you don’t owe me anything, but it’s still nice to hear. She replied with a smile. But, you know, so far this is a one day friendship, although a pretty intense one day. And I’d like to stay friends with you. Friends with no holds, no strings. Just friends. Okay? Maybe we’ll meet up back home, or maybe by then we’ll have each gone our separate ways.

Your terms. But I agree.

Great. So, let’s have dinner someplace busy and fun. Then I’m proposing that we separate for a while and explore on our own tomorrow. I should go over to the school, check in, find out where I’m staying, if my luggage has arrived safely, all that kind of stuff.

Again, your terms. But I agree. So, given busy and fun is on the agenda for dinner, I suggest we head back over to San Marco. The restaurants have classical music trios during the day but in the evening some of them have small bands. And there’s often people dancing to the music out in the square. Sound like fun?

Sounds perfect. A little food and wine, some music, dancing, and interesting people-watching.

This time, instead of taking a vaporetto, let’s walk through the city. The Grand Canal loops around, so what seems like a long vaporetto ride from the Rialto Bridge to San Marco, is actually a fairly short walk. We’ll cross over the Bridge here and pick up the main street through the city. It’s called Mercerie. See, there’s another one of those street signs up on that building.

Sarah looked up, and saw the sign, ‘Per S. Marco’ with a big arrow below it.

Hey, I’ve got it! This way to San Marco! And I have to tell you that this afternoon I decided to navigate my way from the Accademia Bridge back to my hotel on foot. At the surprised look on his face, she added, I accomplished it with an eye out for these signs, and with directions from the odd helpful person, of course.

I can see that you’ll do just fine here. Troy said with a certain amount of admiration. You’ll find yourself navigating by landmarks, instead of streets, because the street signs aren’t that reliable. And remember not to miss the back streets.

As they strolled along, she noted again, that there were indeed landmarks. Specialty shops with a certain kind of jewelry, a gelato store, which reminded her that she had not yet had one of those treats. Then the street opened into a small piazza with a quite large and fancy, American hotel. Nothing like her quaint little pensione, which didn’t even start till you’d walked up a flight of stairs. She was becoming fond of that place, run by two friends she’d found out. Although she knew it was silly, she felt more local, and less touristy, over there near the bustle of the market.

Lots of shops on this street," she commented, as she noted the variety of wares for sale, often partially out into the street. There were masks everywhere, like the kind you’d wear to an old-fashioned masked ball. Some were gorgeous, made of fine ceramic, hand-painted, with small jewels and beads tastefully attached. Others were definitely in the trinket category. Many of these stores also sold jewelry, again some nice looking, some not so much.

Mercerie is the main street connecting the Rialto Bridge and Piazza San Marco. Troy told her. So, it’s also the main tourist route. You can get from one place to the other without paying for a vaporetto ride. And, the signage is good, so tourists feel comfortable. Now, remember that it’s also great fun to move off the main streets and lose yourself in the city. It’s not that big, but the streets are confusing and there are lots of smaller back alleys and canals. Just let yourself go and see where you end up. Chances are you’ll look up and see a sign for Rialto, San Marco, Accademia, or some other landmark you’ll recall.

As they got closer to San Marco, there was a distinct change in the shops. They became real stores, with closed doors, elaborate display windows, and the names of famous fashion houses.

They stopped for a minute so Sarah could take a picture of a particularly spectacular window display of jewelry. She had her camera pointed at the store when the door burst open and two men, dressed in black and wearing white carnival masks, rushed out, almost knocking her over. One of them shook a fist at her as she snapped the photo, but they took off on a run down the street.

Troy asked. What the heck do you think that was all about?

A little shaken, Sarah said, "I don’t know, but my bet is they were up to no good.