Venice

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The creation of Venice was born out of various barbarian tribes wanting to kill & the Venetians wanting to live. Between the 5th and 6th centuries, after incessant attacks, the Veneto villagers were forced to seek refuge on the lagoon's islands. Its funny what is born out of desperation. Venice today consists of several largely man made islands in a tidal lagoon backing onto the Adriatic on Italy's northeastern coastline.
Venetians have taken nature's building blocks and fashioned a magnificent, stupendous wonder of a city. Venice couldn't care less about the rest of Italy, it's only nice when it wants something.
Venice wants something from you, namely your Euros. But never mind, you need to see this City.
Just the sheer idea of the place, let alone the intricate web of canals and waterside grand palaces is enough to attract thousands each year and leave you awed.


11pm. Our first night here. Hungry, tired, grumpy and confused we'd wandered into a square full of people streaming out of the movies. Outdoor movies. Movie going is as Italian as pasta. We followed the hordes out of the square and found a small restaurant packed with real, authentic Venetians. The building built in 1473, restaurant since 1964 served good, thin crust pizza.
3 long tables, jutting into the street. The gaps between housing pew like bench seats..
The Maitre d commanded a man on the end of the table to let us in and we slid in on each side between the man & another couple.
Don't eat the bread rolls they shove at you after they take your order. They're normally stale at cheap places and you pay for them if sampled. Michelle's Italian was complimented, mine was largely ignored. But as we ate our meal I had the chance to listen to Italians talk to each other. I smile every time I think about the gentle, chides buried in the rhythm of Italians speaking.
On tipping. If they have billed you a cover or service charge - don't tip on top of this! The wry smile of the girl who brought us the bill (quite reasonable) must have had something to do with the uncalled for tip pressed into her palm.


Venice is a literal and figurative maze. I'd like to sit down and talk with a Venetian at length to find out how they tick here. But the local intellectuals don't solicit on street corners, flashing their insight to eager buyers. Certainly getting lost wouldn't be a problem anymore. It all makes sense on the map, finding your destination and choosing your route you set off. At the first corner, turn left. No was it right? Hang on, just go down here. If you're into eighties nights you'll love it. “Oohh!! It's just like that movie Labrinth”. Although having David Bowie accost you in a dark alley could be a dicey proposition.
It could be worse. Amy Winehouse might come round the corner. A random remark one could say.
However back in Paris we'd discussed going to 'Rock the Seine' a BDO like event featuring Ms Winehouse. I thought she'd be rather good. Michelle said she'd never perform.
We didn't buy the tickets. Lo & behold the beehived chanteuse failed to show for 'health reasons'.
So I say get a compass. I'm no fan of Scouting, but in this city you really need one. Nokia could release a Limited Edition Venice cellphone complete with compass, software by Machiavelli.


In earlier times these darkened alleys would have been perfect for murder. A gang could lay in wait and ambush a wealthy merchant and his bodyguards. Quick work with stilettos would despatch the gentleman and his retinue. Parted from all items of value, their limp bodies quietly rolled into the fetid canal waters. A few blooms of blood would briefly remain on top of the black, filthy water, then the final fleeting trace of murder would slide away on the current.


Today, the water seems to be much cleaner. Our hotel room water in Paris has something in common with the canal water in Venice. It won't kill you but it will make you sick.
How they have managed to clean up things remains unclear. No profound stink wafted, no bloated objects floated down the canals whilst we were there in the height of summer.
The Gondoliers do a brisk trade. Somehow we just couldn't part with the 80 euros demanded for a half hour trip in these elaborately decorated vessels. Usually after careful consultations in hushed voices we'd relent and succumb to the tourist attraction at hand but Venice had frightened us already with it's pricing.
We saw no crime, never felt afraid even when lost and way, way off the tourist map.
The streets were exceptionally clean, and although we saw numerous dogs taking themselves for afternoon walks. There was hardly any dog poo. Venetians seem to prefer the smaller canine varieties. The wandering dogs going god knows where mostly had collars and obviously were someone's pet. So they're kind towards animals.
On the other hand I found the English translation of 'Venetian Current Affairs' in the La Rivista Di Venezia refreshingly candid about who causes the trouble in Venice.
On crime, I quote “crime is kept under control and promptly repressed. It is the case of the gang that for few months has terrorized shop-owners, robbed and beaten at closing time: the Police Squad unit has wiped it out in mid-May: by arresting seven young Albanians”.


Before we set about enjoying Venice we had a chore. Having travelled on a bus from Treviso airport, which is way out of Venice we decided not to repeat this and face another budget airline trek to next our destination, Rome. The online booking system for Trenitalia Trains wouldn't work with our credit card. Thinking we'd been maxed-out I rang our bank. They told us the Trenitalia website couldn't protect itself from credit card fraud so had been marked as a bad merchant. A trip to the train station got us Eurostar tickets for $116 euros. The Italian transport network is slow. Starting with the young pair of Ticket Women whose qualifying attribute to serve customers seems to be petulance & disdain. Although it's easy to be this way when you're underpaid, overworked and have to work with shitty technology. Labouriously, they cranked-out punchcard tickets. The woman in front of us had 5 minutes to catch her train but no sympathy was shown by the women behind the glass. A flight to Rome would take about an hour, but once you factored in to and from bus travel, check-in & waiting for your plane to take off, plus the crap seats. The 4 & half hour fast train ride in big, comfy seats is far better and it costs about the same.


Everyone at the train station gets a uniform. But if you want to be stylish join the police.
The police uniforms vary according to which sect of crime-fighting hero you belong to.
Some poor unfortunates must wear overalls and berets, whilst others get to strut around in peaked caps, grey trousers with red striping and chic white leather gunbelts. The senior police officers are easy to spot, they have the most bling. Responsibility is generously compensated for with extra wide epaulets & bigger peak on your cap.


Like most of Form 5K at my high school, the economics classes delivered in an embittered Sheffield accent by our Midlands, UK teacher went in one ear and out the other. OK, but this was the eighties. He also told us other rubbish like lawyers organised the pandemic of football hooligan riots across Western Europe at the time.
Nowadays economics tends to fascinate me and bore those nearby me as I waffle on. We discovered 'Gelato economics' right here in Venice. In the Piazza San Marco, the epi-centre of Venetian fund-extraction from tourists; A single scoop of Gelato costs you 2 euros. Roughly 200m away at Ponte di Rialto (a bridge connecting two of the islands) it's 1.50 euros. South of the bridge (OK, no compass but south is universal for downhill. Think Ashburton) a further 500 metres or so, close to were we staying, it was 1 euro.
The city is so intensely compact, that the tourist flow has to squeeze into a very few narrow laneways only to spill out into the Piazza San Marco like the oil at the end of a dipstick.
Venice seemed to have the most extreme price gradient of anywhere we'd been. The Euro really has flattened out Western Europe; but not Venice..
Writing this blog takes a lot of time. Uploading photos & video can be gratingly slow.
The internet cafe I used in Venice for 2 hours of interweb cost me 16 euros! The allure of a 3G card is becoming irresistible. If you've no idea what I've just written. Consult someone born after, say, 1990; Or invite me to speak on the topic at your next dinner party at the end of the night when it's time to start getting rid of guests.


Most nights we ate Pizza. Uncomplicated; Tomato paste, cheese & herbs on a thin, woody crust.
A good late night meal was costing us around 22.00 euros. At lunchtime in the more touristy streets as you near Ponte di Rialto Bridge, the waiters hawking for business become steadily more aggressive. As one commanded us to sit after we barely glanced at his menu, out of the corner of my eye I spotted an old couple eating in a small place down an alley. This old, old dignified looking couple signify something. If you're elderly and frail-looking then chances are you're not a tourist.
Venice isn't a place for the uncomfortably poor to retire. So the food in there might be rather good I imagined. It was. For starters the bread that arrived was fresh and springy as you buttered it.
Michelle's Seafood Linguine arrived fresh & aromatic, with a subtle taste rather than an in your face fishiness. My Gnocchi Formaggi of tender potato dumplings and rich, textured cheese was good but I'm not a big cheese fan and would've been a better starter than a main.
All through our meal I watched the old man and his wife. He sat with bolt upright dignity in his sunday best with tie & waistcoat, chewing slowly on his food & speaking in hushed tones to his wife.. We had mains only, they went the whole hog and after watching Tiramisu & Custard arrive on their table we had to restrain ourselves & leave.


The stereotypical Italian who is brash & forthright, wears tight Prada pants, real or fake and wants to pick up your sister doesn't apply in Venice. Emotions, kept in check, stay inside. The same could be said of their buildings. Hints of grandiosity adorn only the largest, most important structures. Stepping inside the Basilica San Marco the true glory* of Venice's past shone back at us.
High above, gold leaf encompassed the walls. From the ceilings, huge paintings held there by the domes & arches stretched the length of the Basilica. The sun flowing through the stained glass cast back the shadows in the shrines to various Saints spaced around the church. The tiled floor, dimpled by subsidence gives warning of things to come.
The Piazza San Marco regularly floods in winter. So as the tiles in the church sink unevenly into the lagoon, water all to often can reach into buildings and attack them from the inside.
Building has been a precarious business here. Numerous towers have toppled, includng the current tower in the Piazza. Wandering along the canals we spotted tilting towers & warped buildings.
They awkwardly sit there between houses, like a badly hung door which cannot become flush with the door frame.


Efforts to save the city from rising sea levels are well under way. We saw this first hand on the ferry trip we took around the vast lagoon. A massive state-funded tidal barrier due for completion in 2011 plugs gaps between the islands. The city itself consists of about 4 major islands. Wider Venice cupped by the mainland, holds dozens of islands. Most have people living on them. The prize for best building about to fall down must go to the Burano clocktower. Before the form of the island became visible we could clearly see they'd had an architectural setback. An ominous silhouette hung over the middle of the town. The leaning tower of Pisa has a far worse cousin. Bags not own property on the shadowy side. Our aim was to travel from Burano and take another ferry to Torcello. Torcello, population 80 & declining drew us. We wanted to know why in the middle of such splendid surroundings people were leaving. At some point in time, the scourge of malaria had driven the people off this island never to return in significant numbers. Unfortunately the ferry map didn't tell us it would take hours to get there. Instead, we had a quick walk around Burano, ate some gelato and headed back.


The artisans of Murano & Burano have their wares on sale back in Venice.
We passed countless Carnevale mask shops. It seemed a tacit acknowledgment of people's duality. One can decouple the interior self from the public eye and wear a happy painted face. Starting at $5.99.
Also on offer is blown glass from Murano and lace from Burano.
Michelle was most upset, we couldn't find a shop selling Venetian blinds, I guess she'll have to settle for the next sale at Briscoes.
I had come to love the Panama hat I'd bought in New York. Tiredness makes me forgetful, I'd left my hat on the bus from the airport. So we went hat shopping. We found a place, it was closed. We were told that the shop opened after 5pm, so we had to find our way back which proved somewhat difficult as you can imagine. It seemed that the best things Venice had to offer are brought to you by old people. The shop had the perfect replacement for my lost hat. A genuine Equadorean panama in the right size for my large head. Try saying “I have a big head” to a shopkeeper. Unlike Gina, the old man running the shop shuffled and wheezed his way around. Cost a lot, must not lose!


We passed billboards starring George Clooney and his Hollywood mates instructing you to buy watches, perfumes and cars adorn 14th century buildings under renovation. As the afternoon quietens into siesta time around 3pm, gangs of African men clutching genuine fake Gucci & Louis Vuitton step out. Unlike France, the Venetian Hawkers have Mr Berlusconi & the Northern League# ramping-up anti immigrant sentiment. I saw them a couple of times. Birdlike, their heads dart left and right watching for the Police. It was a small wonder they could sell anything being under this constant pressure.


The most special place we've stayed at so far must be 'Happy Venice'. This B & B was a little gem.
We'd been given clear, detailed instructions in English on how to get there from the website we booked through. Upon arrival, late at night we were greeted by a small, old lady speaking non-stop, rapid Italian. So we nodded and said 'Si' a lot and eventually got the gist of what she had to say.
Gina, her face wrinkled from smiling rather than age it seemed, showed us our room. Bursting with charm, it overlooked a canal. We were on the 1st floor, sharing a kitchen, bathroom and sitting room with 3 rooms, all empty! Bad for Gina, good for us. She really enjoyed being host, as evidenced by the well-deserved praise left in the guest book.
Getting up in the morning, making coffee and sitting at a proper dining room table with the hushed lapping waters of the canal outside the window was so relaxing.


The open-air cinema we'd discovered had us both excited. I found out that most of the movies were being sub-titled in English. So, one night we queued up and filed past the ushers into the cinema.
Most of the best seats were already taken, but we managed to find some good ones. An older couple draped their jumpers over seats next to us and implored us to watch over them. They disappeared and magically reappeared half an hour later having gone and had dinner. No doggy-bag for us was forthcoming. The sky above was clear and the faint pin-pricks of stars fought with the city lights to be visible. By now us and hundreds of locals were eager for the movie to start. Down went the lights....
'Giovanna's Father' was a tale of a Father's unconditional love for his wayward daughter. Italian cinema seems to deliver strongly compassionate stories to the audience. This movie was no exception. So yes, we enjoyed it very much and clapped at the screen with everyone else when the credits rolled.


After 3 days it was time to leave. We bade farewell to Gina and her 1st floor B & B. Wheeling our packs bumpety, bump over the marble flagstones we caught the water ferry. Going the other way was a floating menagerie of pets, mostly cats, who were coming home from holiday. Chauffeured in cages by their owners. We'd arrived an hour early at the train station.
Like most of Venice it was without air-conditioning. We sat sweltering inside next to a couple from Sydney & the States. With a sigh of relief they told us how glad they were to get off the boat they were crewing for a few days. The owners it seemed, never left the boat. Giving the crew no down time. They had the far-off stares of nautical hospo workers desperate for some quiet time away from the Bossman oppressor. Their train was called and we wished them good luck. They sighed a thank you and slunk-off for Florence and some rest.
Sometime later we found our platform and got aboard the Eurostar to Rome. The 3 days in Venice had been enough. It's not a big city, the time we had was just right.
Of course you'd need a 2nd mortgage to stay here any longer. But it was worth every inflated Euro we spent.
No other city captures the imagination like Venice.

* Glory is unfortunately a word appropriated by pompous, nationalistic twits to justify nations conquering nations. Murdering, looting & subjugating people for 'Glory'. For this instance I merely use it to refer to bling.

#http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northern_League_(Italy) read under the 'Policies' subheading.

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Photos

Canal
A typical Venetian canal scene

The Glow
Inside a church

Our Room
The one with the light on

The Cemetery
An impressive place to go and get buried.

Bad Flipper
The most sinister looking dolphin we've ever seen.

Sinking
The water should be in the background by the canal.

Gondolas
Dozens are moored every day, never used. Scarcity is managed well in Venice so everyone makes a buck.

The Bronze Horses
I believe these are the four horses Napolean stole from Venice? Somehow they got them back.

Venice Hospital
On the left.

Yuk!
Mens loo on the water ferry

Razors
Another gondola shot

Happy Venice
Our sitting room in the Happy Venice B&B