It was a dark, misty Venetian evening as we set out to find
a local restaurant. The directions given to us by our friendly Italian hotelier
seemed easy enough: “You go righta, then lefta, crossa the canal, passa the
church and you will find the osteria in the campo.” This being our first night
in Venice, we had no idea that this city has a plethora of campos
(squares) and churches and in the October evening, one just looked like the
other. Finding ourselves at a dead-end beside a canal littered with gondolas
sans gondoliers, we were truly lost.
Locating a readable street sign was an
exercise in futility as most writing had been obliterated on the crumbling
plaster. Finally, we resorted to our map and with my flashlight and my husband’s
compass, we left the narrow alley and headed back to the main street (calle)
where we found the osteria. Packed with locals, we squeezed between tiny wooden
tables and found ourselves seated beside an American couple who also happened to
be from our hotel. Being a language teacher, the wife was fluent in Italian and
was a dab hand at helping us interpret the menu. Our ominous beginning turned
out to be a great evening.
Located at the northern end of the Adriatic Sea, Venice is
connected to mainland Italy by a causeway while bridges and ferries provide
links to the various islands within the city. Cutting through its very core in
the shape of a swan’s neck is the Grand Canal. This 3.5 km watery highway is
lined with more than a hundred mansions (palazzi) dating from the 12th to
the 18th century. Three bridges cross the Canal: Ponte degli Scalzi, the Rialto
and
Accademia bridges, so everywhere you walk is signposted to or from one of
the main bridges. With a total absence of vehicular traffic, absolutely
everything is transported by water. Whether it be people, luggage, groceries,
animals, furniture, coffins, police patrol boats or building materials, the
parade of life is endless and fascinating. I doubt that Venetian men of any age
need to spend much time in the gym as they are constantly loading and unloading
goods and trundling them down alleyways with great alacrity.
To get our first sense of Venice, we took a vaporetto
(boat) from the main train station to the famous Piazza San Marco (St.
Mark’s Square). Even in late October, our boat was jam packed with standing room
only and any idea of taking , never mind locating my camera, went
overboard. Amazingly, everyone was very polite with lots of ‘mi scusis’ as we
tried not to stand on each other’s toes.
Eventually someone relinquished their
seat near the front and I had a great view watching the sleek black gondolas
gliding niftily between the pageant of water traffic. To my right, the door of
the cabin banged to and fro and I got a chance to watch the uniformed captain,
spinning the ship’s wheel with one hand while he chatted with much gesticulation
to other passing craft on his speaker phone. I hadn’t seen any lifejackets.
Thankfully the canal wasn’t too deep but there were lots of bambinos on
board.
After nearly an hour, we reached our destination. The
Piazza San Marco is truly a breathtaking spot and it was fun to walk among
the fluttering pigeons and take in the beauty of the Doge’s Palace with the
Bridge of Sighs, St. Mark’s Basilica, the tall Campanile bell tower and the
Correr Museum. Later, we would visit them all and immerse ourselves in their
history.
Our second day fell on a Sunday so we attended morning Mass
at the Frari Church near our albergo (hotel). Sitting in this Franciscan
Church listening to the talented guitarist and letting our eyes roam over the
great masterpieces by the Renaissance artists Donatello, Titian and Bellini was
indeed an experience to be savored at leisure.
Afterwards, we visited the
adjacent Scuola Grande di San Rocco which features spectacular paintings
by Tintoretto. Each work of art depicting Biblical scenes, is plastered into the
walls and ceilings. To avoid whiplash from looking heavenwards, we took one of
the large hand mirrors and held it horizontally for a painless view of the
masterpieces. On departure, we joined the usual line to pick up our daypacks
from the mandatory check in.
Suffering from a little cultural indigestion, we decided
our next trip should be a more leisurely one to the lagoon islands of Murano and
Burano. After 1291 the island of Murano became home to glassmaking when it was
deemed too dangerous to keep the fiery furnaces on the main island.
Today
visitors can wander round Murano with its many glass factories and shops. With
over 700 years of experience, I was amazed at the creative beauty shown in
colored glass sculptures, Milfiori (‘a thousand flowers’) jewelry and
magnificent chandeliers that looked like posies of exotic flowers.
The nearby island of Burano is a pleasant little fishing
village with its claim to fame being lace making. The quaint houses lining the
canals are painted in a cornucopia of pastel colors. Even though it is only
forty minutes by boat from Venice, the pace of life here is entirely different.
Shops and stalls spill onto the square and there are lace handkerchiefs,
tablecloths and bookmarks galore. In the shade, we saw several old timers
working deftly on their lacey creations. In this part of the world, time had
certainly stood still.
Travel: We flew Lufthansa from North America to Frankfurt, then caught a connecting
flight to Venice:
http://www.lufthansa.com
Where we stayed:
Albergo Marin:
http://www.albergomarin.it Excellent budget hotel in a quiet location
across the canal from the railway station. Clean with friendly, helpful staff.
TM
It was a dark, misty Venetian evening as we set out to find
a local restaurant. The directions given to us by our friendly Italian hotelier
seemed easy enough: “You go righta, then lefta, crossa the canal, passa the
church and you will find the osteria in the campo.” This being our first night
in Venice, we had no idea that this city has a plethora of campos
(squares) and churches and in the October evening, one just looked like the
other. Finding ourselves at a dead-end beside a canal littered with gondolas
sans gondoliers, we were truly lost.
Locating a readable street sign was an
exercise in futility as most writing had been obliterated on the crumbling
plaster. Finally, we resorted to our map and with my flashlight and my husband’s
compass, we left the narrow alley and headed back to the main street (calle)
where we found the osteria. Packed with locals, we squeezed between tiny wooden
tables and found ourselves seated beside an American couple who also happened to
be from our hotel. Being a language teacher, the wife was fluent in Italian and
was a dab hand at helping us interpret the menu. Our ominous beginning turned
out to be a great evening.
Located at the northern end of the Adriatic Sea, Venice is
connected to mainland Italy by a causeway while bridges and ferries provide
links to the various islands within the city. Cutting through its very core in
the shape of a swan’s neck is the Grand Canal. This 3.5 km watery highway is
lined with more than a hundred mansions (palazzi) dating from the 12th to
the 18th century. Three bridges cross the Canal: Ponte degli Scalzi, the Rialto
and
Accademia bridges, so everywhere you walk is signposted to or from one of
the main bridges. With a total absence of vehicular traffic, absolutely
everything is transported by water. Whether it be people, luggage, groceries,
animals, furniture, coffins, police patrol boats or building materials, the
parade of life is endless and fascinating. I doubt that Venetian men of any age
need to spend much time in the gym as they are constantly loading and unloading
goods and trundling them down alleyways with great alacrity.
To get our first sense of Venice, we took a vaporetto
(boat) from the main train station to the famous Piazza San Marco (St.
Mark’s Square). Even in late October, our boat was jam packed with standing room
only and any idea of taking , never mind locating my camera, went
overboard. Amazingly, everyone was very polite with lots of ‘mi scusis’ as we
tried not to stand on each other’s toes.
Eventually someone relinquished their
seat near the front and I had a great view watching the sleek black gondolas
gliding niftily between the pageant of water traffic. To my right, the door of
the cabin banged to and fro and I got a chance to watch the uniformed captain,
spinning the ship’s wheel with one hand while he chatted with much gesticulation
to other passing craft on his speaker phone. I hadn’t seen any lifejackets.
Thankfully the canal wasn’t too deep but there were lots of bambinos on
board.
After nearly an hour, we reached our destination. The
Piazza San Marco is truly a breathtaking spot and it was fun to walk among
the fluttering pigeons and take in the beauty of the Doge’s Palace with the
Bridge of Sighs, St. Mark’s Basilica, the tall Campanile bell tower and the
Correr Museum. Later, we would visit them all and immerse ourselves in their
history.
Our second day fell on a Sunday so we attended morning Mass
at the Frari Church near our albergo (hotel). Sitting in this Franciscan
Church listening to the talented guitarist and letting our eyes roam over the
great masterpieces by the Renaissance artists Donatello, Titian and Bellini was
indeed an experience to be savored at leisure.
Afterwards, we visited the
adjacent Scuola Grande di San Rocco which features spectacular paintings
by Tintoretto. Each work of art depicting Biblical scenes, is plastered into the
walls and ceilings. To avoid whiplash from looking heavenwards, we took one of
the large hand mirrors and held it horizontally for a painless view of the
masterpieces. On departure, we joined the usual line to pick up our daypacks
from the mandatory check in.
Suffering from a little cultural indigestion, we decided
our next trip should be a more leisurely one to the lagoon islands of Murano and
Burano. After 1291 the island of Murano became home to glassmaking when it was
deemed too dangerous to keep the fiery furnaces on the main island.
Today
visitors can wander round Murano with its many glass factories and shops. With
over 700 years of experience, I was amazed at the creative beauty shown in
colored glass sculptures, Milfiori (‘a thousand flowers’) jewelry and
magnificent chandeliers that looked like posies of exotic flowers.
The nearby island of Burano is a pleasant little fishing
village with its claim to fame being lace making. The quaint houses lining the
canals are painted in a cornucopia of pastel colors. Even though it is only
forty minutes by boat from Venice, the pace of life here is entirely different.
Shops and stalls spill onto the square and there are lace handkerchiefs,
tablecloths and bookmarks galore. In the shade, we saw several old timers
working deftly on their lacey creations. In this part of the world, time had
certainly stood still.