The Sunday porch: Piazza San Marco

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On Monday. . . running a little late this week.

We spent December 23 to 27 in Venice, Italy. The photos above show the arcades along Piazzetta di San Marco and Piazza San Marco on Christmas and on Boxing Day (in fog).

The current colonnaded buildings enclosing the square on three sides (and the west side of the Piazzetta) were built in the 16th century.  Their arcades front a number of coffee houses, including two of the oldest and most famous in Italy: Florian (1720) and Gran Caffè Quadri (1775).

Of course, we had due caffè espresso at Florian, which was easily possible because tourists are far fewer during Christmas week. The coffees were €6.50 each, but they were very good (and there was a cookie and water).

(The water carafe was adorable, and I now regret that I didn’t buy one and hold it on my lap on the plane.  I’m very tempted to order it from their website. Also, check out the wonderful terrazzo floor at their entrance here; I forgot to take a photo of it.)

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Aftermath, Stuttgart

So much of any year is flammable. . .*

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What we have learned since about 4 p.m. yesterday is that Stuttgarters really like their (self-administered) pyrotechnic devices on New Year’s Eve.

Sitting at home, the noise was terrific, particularly from about 10:30 p.m. to 12:30 a.m. Venturing downtown this foggy afternoon, I was a little surprised to see everything — or anything — still standing.

The ground was littered with fireworks debris and broken Sekt bottles, but only this Konigstrasse shelter showed any real damage.

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We went inside the Alte Schloss (Old Palace) courtyard for the first time during the Christmas season, and I admired the trees on the columns and star lights.

Have a happy 2016!

*From “Burning the Old Year” by Naomi Shihab Nye.

 

The Sunday porch: South Dakota

South Dakota, 1940, J. Vachon, Library of CongressPierre, South Dakota, 1940, by John Vachon, via Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division.

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

— Christina Rossetti, from “In the bleak midwinter