I was not just hot in Venice. It was hot, humid, dripping, sweaty, did I mention breath-gulping, energy-sucking HOT! Even the locals were fanning themselves. Our escort arrived, and we dutifully followed him at the risk of being left behind. The apartment was about 10 degrees cooler, but was out of the sun. That was a big plus.
For those of us Yanks not conditioned to cities with waterways as means of travel, we three must look pretty obvious tourist. But then, in a city where just about everyone else is a tourist, we probably don't stand out. I haven't heard so many American accents here since I left the States.
The most amazing thing to me is comparing this to my last trip to Italy, several years ago. What I remember thinking is that I was equally hopeless and helpless in Italian and French. Now, after a few days pittifully struggling along, I realize that I "can" communicate in France.
From buying our vaporetto passes to figuring out which boat to board; reading the city map and negotiating the bridges narrow passageways; asking directions to the only grocery store; and waiting three days to access internet---things are never what we expect. As a sign in one store advertised: "Open Sometime".