The secret itineraries tour was what I had hoped, intriguing and interesting.

I learned where the word mezzanine came from as we saw the secret floor between the second and third floor of the ducal palace. I learned that Casanova was imprisoned there. I learned of the near destruction of the exquisite painting on the ceiling below his first cell with his first attempt at "escape" and his eventual success. I walked in the attic about the grand council chamber, over 25 meters wide and 55 meters long and marveled that the immense weight of the ceiling was not supported by columns or any other conventional means, but by an architectural design that mirrored the bottom of a boat. I walked between gilded ceilings and amongst small, dank cells. I saw torture chambers and justice benches. I saw family crests that had been around for centuries and those that were made up on the spot for the purpose of display. I could easily imagine the paranoid existence of ancient Venice whilst on this tour and reveled in that glimpse of history.

In the public square outside the palace, I fed the pigeons. I have pictures of birds on my head and arms and chest, all eager to eat before I even opened the packet of food. My friend likens pigeons to rats, but I am a friend of all avian life having had Madison and Fancy join my household.

We walked back from the palace for last minute shopping, weaving our way among narrow streets with far greater ease than that of two days ago.

Of course, we walked sniffling and sneezing and coughing. We are both sick. I did not sleep much last night because of a cold that came over me (perhaps because all that time standing in the rain?) and, as with all things, shared my cold with my friend. We have so little time to sleep tonight before leaving at the wee hours of the morning to trek to the airport, I fear that we will be even more fatigued by the end of the day tomorrow than we were arriving in Rome.

Kleenex anyone?