Sundays and Mondays are blighted days on the Via, the portion of the week when Italian eateries in the smaller towns and villages shut down. After a brisk Friday and Saturday, the next two days offer a respite, a weekend for workers in the Italian hospitality industry. In the larger cities, one can always find something open—seven days a week. But pity the ravenous Via walker who has hiked many kilometers and, having reached the end of an arduous day, strolls into a one trattoria town.

That was our position last night. We had reached our overnight lodging, a small farm cottage outside Ospitale di Brenta, but was there anywhere to eat on a Monday night?

Our farmer-landlord was optimistic: “There’s a fabulous trattoria, only 200 meters up the road. They serve wonderful home-cooked meals. You will love it.”

Great! Sign us up! Book a table!

He paused, and then, “This is Saturday. They will probably be serving fish tonight.”

Should we have been alarmed that our host didn't know what day it was?

After the customary post-hike ablutions, we hiked into town, our mouths watering at the prospect of trattoria fish. An elderly couple held court on a deserted veranda, flanked by rows of empty tables.

“Chiuso,” called the woman as we approached.

“Closed,” echoed the man.

So much for the fish. But Mary had an idea: we had seen a bar next to the train station as we had passed through Ospitale di Brenta. It had terrible reviews, but Google claimed it was open. Any port in the proverbial deluge.

Score one for Google. There were no other customers—the place was empty—but a television blared in a corner and the lights were on. The bar was open. It was owned by a Chinese couple, whose Italian was (shockingly) worse than mine. Nevertheless, they offered dry bread sandwiches (a length of bread with two thin slices of prosciutto wedged into the cut) and Mary’s favorite: toast (a grilled cheese sandwich consisting of melted cheese and bread).

A bag of potato chips, a bottle of wine, and we had something to wrap our stomachs around.

We must find a better way of securing nourishment on Sundays and Mondays.

Dawn broke, and we were off to finish our journey to Piazzola. Still needing sustenance, we decided to proceed south to another town, Grantorto, hoping that we might find an open bar for breakfast. As we walked into this agricultural community, its sign proclaimed that it was a “City of Hope.”

We both hoped for food, and Grantorto rewarded our faith. After a brief repast, we made our way back to the Via and continued beside the Brenta river.

It was a long, winding route. I did not take many pictures. I simply trudged in the hot sun, sweating and dreaming of cooked meals.

Ultimately we made it to Piazzola, found our lodging, and then went in search of food. We found a small restaurant in front of the Villa Contarini, where our palates received excellent treatment.

The Villa Contarini is an amazing example of a Venetian estate. Built by the Contarini family in the 1700s, the villa has endured a cycle of use and neglect. It is said to be magnificent inside, the “Versailles of Italy.”

That is why this would be a good point in the post to offer a lengthy description of our exploration of this historic edifice. Unfortunately, when we approached the ticket seller at the front of the villa, he informed us that we could only visit the villa on a guided tour. The next tour didn’t leave for ninety minutes. Standing in the marble entryway, our clothes still soaked with perspiration from the day’s walk, Mary and I had one of those beautiful moments of complete, harmonious agreement.

“No way,” we both thought.

Then we left. I am certain the villa is beautiful, well worth the tour, and would be the highlight of our trip. But sometimes, as one stands reeking of sweat and exhausted from the road, enough is enough.

And it was.

Today's distance: 17.9 KM Total distance: 337 KM

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