Oh, for pity's sake: One of my off-the-grid holidays ambushed me again this year. Don't ask me why, but I thought that Carnevale started next Saturday, but it in fact kicks off tomorrow. Which, on the plus side, spares me an extra week of torturing myself with escapist fantasies of donning costume and maschera and desperately trying not to be just another gawping tourist in the living fossil that is La Serenissima. (Which fortunately, IMO, also happens to be the most fascinating, oddball place in all of European history, period-full-stop.)
So tomorrow's "holiday" means a small splurge on a bottle of Prosecco and discovering how well the 70s-era (mustard yellow!) blender will puree canned peaches for the celebratory Bellinis. (Just a few more years, O--dethroned--Queen of the Adriatic, and I will happily brave the nebbia and even acqua alta to stroll your Ca's and ponti and piazze. Just a few more promises to keep, and then...)
