Venice

Sunday ~
I arrived at the Marco Polo Airport after a nice flight on Jet 2, a no-frills airline that is actually very comfortable with nice employees, (so unlike Ryanair).  It was only a couple of hours or so across the English Channel and over vast, jagged snow-capped mountain ranges studded with the shiny rooftops of houses nestled in valleys and along snaking rivers. "Where are we right now?" I asked the man sitting next to me.  "We're over the French or German Alps," he responded nonchalantly.  There was nothing nonchalant about this to me.  I stared out my window, awestruck.                                                       


water taxi at airport

  

When we landed we were shuttled to the airport terminal on a bus and I went to see about my arrangement for the water taxi that would take me across the lagoona to Venice.  Once secured, I walked down to the pier, and after finally locating the right taxi service, I boarded my water taxi.  Now, I am very fearful of water (even though I love the sea), plus I'd never been on a speed boat before, and this was one!  It was a private water taxi, so I was the only one aboard.  The driver took off and before I knew it, I was zigzagging through the water at what I can only assume was about 300 miles an hour, and when the boat crossed the wake of another boat, it felt like we were hitting concrete as the boat rose up and came down hard with the driver turning sharp corners that tilted the boat.  I thought I was going to die right there in the lagoon before even getting to see Venice.  I kept telling myself that this guy knew what he was doing and that he does this dozens of times a day.  No big deal.  Except I thought I was gonna die.  Until I got my first glimpse of Venice.  What struck me right off the bat were the brilliant, sun-faded colors of the buildings that seemed to rise straight up from the sea like water colors on canvas.  And that took my breath--and  my fears--away.  I was in beautiful Venice, and it was surreal.



Rialto pier

I docked at the Rialto pier (I don't know why I thought the boat would just take me directly to my hotel, but it didn't).  It was about 6:30 in the evening and though I actually was quite close to where I needed to go, I didn't know it and wound up dragging my heavy suitcase up and then back down the steps of  several bridges and through narrow streets for about an hour and a half trying to find my hotel, looking in wonderment at where I was and uttering "wow" every ten steps or so.  I asked people along the way if they spoke English (no one did) and if they could tell me where South Lio Street was (no one could).  It was dark by now, and finally I found my little bed-and-breakfast tucked away on a narrow little street (among hundreds of narrow little streets) called S. Lio which I soon learned meant SAN (Saint) Lio, not SOUTH Lio.  I felt like that guy in An Idiot Abroad.  But I was relieved to find what would be my home for the next five days.  After dropping off my luggage I wandered back out onto the bustling street, careful not to stray too far away (I wanted to save straying for the light of day), and ducked into a little cafe (called a "bar") for a so-so pasta dinner.  Afterwards I got a gelato (yum) and strolled around a bit before heading back to my hotel room for a good night's sleep.

Monday ~
No need for a wake up call or alarm clock.  I was awakened by the clanging of the church bells in Campo San Lio.  A "campo" is a small square.  There are hundreds of them, and each--as far as I could tell--is named for the church that dominates it.  They are lined with bars, shops, and people's homes.  A "piazza" is a large square of which there is, I think, only one in Venice, and that's Piazza di San Marco.  My agenda was to have no agenda.  I just wanted to see where the day took me--to wander and explore and get lost (the latter of which I am expert at).  I didn't even bother with a map because maps are for people who know where they are going and need to know how to get there.  I had five days to figure that out.  Besides, the map of the city shows it to be just one huge spaghetti maze, and I wanted to be looking around and taking things in rather than focusing on the impossible map.  That's just me.

There are no cars in Venice.  The two modes of transportation are on foot and water.  I could have taken the popular vaporatti (water buses) all over the city, but I wanted to walk, so I didn't even bother getting a Venice transportation pass.
 

one of hundreds of lovely little canals



Grand Canal

I left my hotel bright and early, picked a direction, and started walking.  Venice is a much bigger city than I had thought it was.  It's a city of a gajillian tiny narrow streets, canals that move commerce and people, lovely bridges, and lots and lots of steps up and over the bridges.  The Grand Canal is the major canal that winds through and around the city and there are, I believe, only three bridges (huge bridges) that cross it so you can get from one district of Venice to another.  Then there are the many, many narrow canals swathing their paths snugly and quietly between pastel buildings with little arched foot bridges  under which gondolas pass.  On day one I crossed all three major bridges and, I'm sure, at least 50 small ones, including ones I crossed over and over again with the recurring refrain in my head of "hmmm...didn't I just cross over this bridge??"  My exploring took me down charming narrow cobblestone streets, each one veined with even smaller, narrower streets, one as intriguing as the next.  Eventually the streets would lead into an inviting little campo (square).  There doesn't seem to be any sort of rhyme or reason or pattern to the way the streets are laid out, and it's very easy to get turned around and just plain lost.  But that's part of the fun, especially when you have the time to do so.  Often I found myself on a deserted little street (what we would classify as alley).  That's where I would see people's laundry hanging outside of shuttered windows or strung up high across one side of the street to the other.  Or I would hear the echoing clang of a big heavy door as a resident exited or entered their home.  I found myself curious to know what those homes looked like inside.  There were just lovely little  surprises on every single street.

And then, of course, there is the shopping.  Venice's streets are filled with shops that pretty much sell the same things: Murano glass, jewelry, Venetian masks, Italian leather goods, fabrics--a shopper's paradise.  I,  however, wasn't in shopping mode on this day (except for a pashmina I bought from a street vendor because I hadn't worn my coat and I was a bit cold).  There is also the shi shi district where you'll find the likes of Prada, Fendi, Dolce and Gabana, etc..  (I made a quick pass through that area.)  Street markets are everywhere along the canals and in the campos selling the obligatory souvenirs, art, and food.  But I wasn't buying; I was having so much fun snapping photos that I wore down my camera's charge on the first day!  In hind sight, I should have taken along a sketch book and tried my hand at drawing what I was seeing.  Quite a few artists were doing just that, and I loved stopping and watching them.  I was still a little chilly so I ducked into a cute little coffee house for a ciocolatte con parma (hot cocoa) before continuing my exploring.  I located (or rather, stumbled into) the Palazzo di San Marco where I marveled at Saint Marc's Basilica and vowed to go and see that another day.  I later stopped for a late lunch al fresco under the stunning Accademia Bridge that crossed the Grand Canal.  As I sat enjoying a pizza and a glass of vino in the chilly damp air, a gondolier passed by singing O Sole Mio in operatic splendor (yes, they really do sing!).  I felt like one big cliche, but it was oh so wondrous!

It was about 10:00 p.m. by the time I got back to my hotel. I had been walking and exploring for about 15 straight hours!!  The last three hours or so of that, I have to admit, were trying to find the hotel because I was totally lost.  Later when I looked at the map, I was astounded at how much ground I had covered (and how much I had traversed repeatedly)!  But even when you think you've seen all of Venice, you discover whole sections you've missed!  As I checked my email on the hotel computer I met and chatted with a retired couple staying there who were from Seattle and, it turned out, used to live in the Old North End of the Springs!  Talk about a small world!  I then walked up the three flights of stairs (yep, more stairs!) to my walk-in-closet of a room, threw open the shutters to let in some fresh air and hit the sack.  The opening of the shutters may not have been the best idea because I was plagued all night by the bzzzzzing of a little fly or mosquito or something, plus the cooing of pigeons roosting right outside my window (I was concerned they might actually fly into my room), not to mention the several languages I detected through paper thin walls.  Venice on a budget.  Never mind . . . it was Venice!

Tuesday ~
Rain.  I decided I wanted to do some Christmas shopping so I headed to the historic Rialto Market district.  Walking around in Venice, as wondrous as it is, is no stroll in the park.  The network of impossibly narrow streets are often congested with pedestrians--hurried Venetians intent on getting to where they're going and harried tourists stopping and studying THE MAP.  Now add to it all trying to negotiate this maze with an umbrella in your hand (you and everyone else).



Rialto Bridge

 

The Rialto Bridge is another one of the three grand arched bridges that cross the Grand Canal.  There are actually stores inside of the bridge, plus many street markets.  As I looked down from the top of the bridge I saw throngs of colorful umbrella tops moving along the streets.  I walked over the bridge and followed umbrellas to the famous fish and produce markets for a taste of daily Venetian life.  The smell of fresh fish told me I was close.  The fish market reminded me of Seattle's Pike Street Market.  I saw strange looking fish I had never heard of before, and the colors of the fresh produce was pure art.  I stopped at another outdoor cafe on the canal.  I chatted with a nice married couple from Greece and two ladies from Scotland, both retired teachers who convinced me that I needed to visit Edinburgh before my return home to Colorado.  These were among the very few people I encountered who spoke English.  That's the fascinating thing about being in Europe, being surrounded by so many people who speak so many different languages.

After lunch I did some more shopping and got lost once again trying to find my way back to the hotel--this time in the rain.  I'm sure I crossed over the same four or five bridges about 103 times.  I soon found myself in a square that was flooded with the sounds of a soprano singing opera.  It was coming from the wide open doors of an opera house.  What I excitedly thought may have been a rehearsal going on turned out to be just a recording being played while people were selling tickets for the performance that evening.  I stood in that square for a while, in the rain with pigeons fluttering about, listening to the music.  It was truly another cliche Italiano moment that called for a gelatto on the way back to the hotel.



gleaming store windows



Wednesday ~
More rain.  I awoke to the distinct sound of rain falling into standing water.  It had rained all through the night.  I wasn't going to let a little rain deter me from experiencing more of Venice and decided this would be a good day to do indoor things, like seeing Saint Marc's Basilica and a couple of museums on Saint Marc's Square. 

platform walk ways in St. Marc's Square


I walked out of the hotel to discover that three-foot high platforms had been magically erected during the night in places all over the city because the streets were, for the most part, literally under water!  Apparently this happens every time it rains for an extended amount of time, and Venetians just take it in stride.  Some people in the know were bypassing the congested platform walkways by treading the water in tall rubber boots (Wellies).  Some Venetian men in business suits waded in, wingtips and Italian loafers in hand.  I made my way to Saint Marc's Square, carefully tight roping along the skinny platforms, umbrella raised high over my head, trying not to fall off or knock other oncoming people off.  What I found when I got there amazed me.  What had been a cement square the day before was now a virtual swimming pool!  The water reached right up to the doorways of the shops lining the square.  I stepped off the platform pathway into a fairly water-free area in front of the Basilica and watched as a huge line of people (queue if you live in England) stood on a long stretch of platforms waiting to go into various places in the square.  I stood there for quite a long time thinking about whether or not it was worth it to stand for that long in a line (queue) in pouring rain on top of a shaky platform when I discovered that there was actually a short line to get into the Basilica.  So I did that.  The platforms extended inside because there was standing water there as well.  The beauty of the ninth-century Saint Marc's Basilica is just as glorious on the inside as its facade.  Golden domed frescoed mosaic ceilings caused me to look up in awe as I walked on intricately patterned mosaic marble floors.  I was thankful that I got to see it, but I opted not to wait for the museums and shops on the square.  I hoped I would get to go back to see the Doge's Palace.

Wednesday must have been tourist-group day because the flooded streets were just filled with large groups of people.  Continuing my exploring and shopping I quickly learned that you are to leave your wet umbrella in a box by the front door of the shops before you enter.  As I splashed through ankle-deep puddles in my worn-out Merrells that I'm going to toss out anyway, I was soaked and beginning to feel tired, achy and a little bit cranky, so I went back to the hotel to take a nap.  The rain had won. 

When I woke up a couple of hours later, the rain had stopped so, still a little groggy, I ventured out.  It was dusk, the air was clean, the streets were glistening but there was no standing water.  I felt suddenly energized again as I wandered through now recognizable landmarks.  I was beginning to understand how to read the street signs and neighborhood signs (which you have to look up and see on the sides of buildings) and was pleased with myself that I now knew (sort of) how to get back to my hotel from almost anywhere.  I found myself in a square where there was a beautiful concert hall with someone out in front of it selling tickets to a concert that evening.  It was for Vilvaldi's Four Seasons, so I bought a ticket.  What better way to spend an evening in Venice than to listen to Vilvaldi.  The concert didn't begin until 8:30 so I walked around a bit more, and since the evening was pleasant and warm, I had some dinner outside in the square before going to the concert.  The concert hall was actually a school of some sort called Scuola Grande Di San Teodoro.  The musicians were a seven-piece string/harpsichord ensemble who played in 15th century costume.  The evening was a beautiful ending to a miserable day.


an evening of Vilvadi

 

vaparretto (water bus)

Thursday ~

The sun was shining again!  This would be a great day to travel to the islands of Murano (famous for glass treasures) and Burano (famous for their lace).  It was about a twenty-minute walk to the northeast side of Venice to find the pier where I could buy tickets for the vaporatti.  I was so looking forward to this little trip, but--horror of horrors--there was a strike on and the vaporattis weren't running.  I was gutted (a term I've picked up in England).  I went up to the ticket booth and asked the man how long the strike would last (I had heard rumors that it would be over by 1:30) and if the boats would be running later that day, but he was just very dismissive and rude and no help at all.  So I stood around and watched and studied what was going on since no one around me seemed to speak English.  I noticed people standing in the floating waiting room for a while, then getting off.  I saw no water buses.  I witnessed people trying to get information from the rude ticket agent and coming away looking confused.  After standing there for a while and almost leaving disappointed, I noticed that there was now a woman in the ticket booth, so I went up to talk to her.  She was most helpful and told me that the strike was expected to be over by 1:30.  I asked if I could go ahead and buy a ticket to Burano, and she said I could.  I decided that since it would be such a late start I would only go to Burano and not Murano.  I really wanted to see the colorful Burano houses I'd heard about.  Ticket in hand, I happily walked away to explore a part of the city I hadn't yet seen until it was time to go back to the pier.

What I found were little streets filled with workshops whose doors were open to the fresh air, and only a few locals were around--I think I was the only tourist.  There was a frame shop that made those ornate gold frames and a marble shop where an artist was carving statues.  There was a glass maker who was blowing glass into intricate little buttons and insects and animals.  I stood watching a woman making a handbag in a leather shop.  Now when I see "made in Italy" embossed in a leather purse or shoes it will take on a whole new perspective.  However, I had another Idiot Abroad moment.  I had noticed the words, "vera pele" stamped on all the leather goods I'd been seeing in shops, and I wondered if this woman in the leather workshop was in fact Vera Pele!  (I found out later that "vera pele" simply means "handmade leather".  Geez!)  I stopped for an espresso and people-watching in a little square before returning to the pier.



an elderly street beggar in front of a church





colorful Burano

I boarded the vaporetto along with a million other people and stood for the 40-minute crossing of the lagoon to Burano.  Burano is very different from Venice.  Where Venice is intricate and complicated and congested, Burano is simple, coastal, more open.  Like Venice, there are no cars on Burano.  The canals in Burano are crossed by pretty little arched wooden bridges.  You can walk around the whole of Burano and not get lost.  You feel a sense of simplicity of life and that all the locals know one another.  It is just as colorful as Venice, but the colors of the houses in Burano are even more striking, more like the solid colors of crayons in a crayon box as opposed to the watercolors of Venice.  Unless you're looking for lace, the reason to come to Burano is definitely for the colorful architecture and whimsy, made even more colorful with people's laundry drying outside of windows.  I was just so glad I got to spend an afternoon in such a magical place.  Definitely a great way to end my stay in Italy.  When I got back to Venice, I took one more stroll and had one more gelatto before heading up to my room to pack and get to bed.

my favorite Burano pic



Friday ~
My plane left 30 minutes late from Venice.  That made me nervous because I had a tight train connection in Manchester.  Sure enough, when I arrived in Manchester I was already 10 minutes late for my train to Crewe, and I still had to collect my luggage.  I was about to go to the ticket office to see when the next train would be and purchase another ticket when something told me I should just go up to the train platform to see if maybe the train was running late, and it was lucky that I did because indeed, it was running 14 minutes late!  I boarded the train with exactly one minute to spare.  Whew!  Had to be Divine intervention.  But there was another problem.  If my train to Crewe was late, then that meant I would probably be late for my connection to Wolverhampton, my final stop.  I arrived in Crewe just as the train to Wolverhampton was scheduled to leave.  I frantically looked around for the departure schedule thing, and when I finally found it, I discovered it was malfunctioning because it wasn't showing all departures.  So I didn't know which platform to go to, and the information desk was way over on the other side of the tracks, I was told.  But just as I was about to enter the lift to go up and over to the other side, I heard an announcement that the train to Wolverhampton has arrived late and would be leaving from platform 5 in one minute.  I turned around, and there was the platform not ten yards away from where I was standing.  Again, Someone was watching over me.  I arrived in Wolverhampton and caught an expensive taxi home.

Venice was amazing, rain and all.  I tackled my fear of water and challenged my poor sense of direction.

This experience was, once again, an exercise in stepping out of my comfort zone which is what this whole journey is about.  And I couldn't have done it in a more beautiful place.