We arrived in Venice Thursday night with a full moon sparkling on the canals and realized we were in a magical place filled with magical pumpkin dumplings and magical €5 carafes of magical wine, where we drifted to sleep enveloped by magical wallpaper so gaudy that we could hear it. And then we woke up.
In the morning, after finding a $2800 accounting error in the budget (Whoops! No more food this month!) we walked outside to find it pouring rain and windy and freezing. When it rains a lot in Venice the streets flood and walking through the narrow lanes becomes a lot like being flushed down a toilet. We hunkered down in our hotel room and, with the forecast the same for the next day, planned on catching a morning train out of town. We plodded to sleep cursing Jupiter, Al Roker, and all of the other Roman weather gods. And then we woke up.
In the morning, the sun was shining, and the sky was blue. We walked outside and saw the pink light of a maze of a city that for centuries has hidden the hands of saints and the hearts of sculptors. Venice had magically turned into… Venice. We crossed an arched bridge, turned a corner and vanished.