Waiter Hierarchy

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I'm down to my last clean shirt, and as was the case the last time this happened it's a pink Hawaiian shirt with white flowers on it, and several missing buttons. Issy only lets me wear it in dire emergencies. We've read that it's illegal for men to walk around Venice bare chested (our source was silent on whether women were similarly constrained) so she tells me that she'll let me constitute this a dire emergency. She did think for several minutes before announcing her decision. We've booked skip the line morning tours to the Doge's Palace and the Basilica of San Marco, and the notes that came with the tickets warn us that the Basilica has a very strict dress code; you're not allowed in with bare shoulders or knees, and this applies to both men and women.

We catch the water bus to Piazza San Marco. There seem to be thousands of people waiting for the same tour. We're allocated to group number 38, there's also at least a group number 39, and there are about thirty people in our group alone. Our guide tells us that the Doge was the Head of State of Venice when it was independent state. He was to some extent only a figurehead, and didn't have absolute power. He was elected by the State Council, and held office for life. He had to live in an apartment in the Palace which he had to furnish at his own expense, and when he died his family had just three days to move all his belongings and furniture out again before anyone could just come in and take it. I hope his family weren't all away on holidays when he died. The last Doge was forced to surrender to Napoleon's army when it invaded Venice in 1806. Construction of the current Palace started in 1340, but there's evidence of previous palaces on the site dating back to the ninth century. The Palace is next to the Basilica and is on three levels around a central courtyard. Apart from the Doge's apartment, other significant rooms include state rooms to receive visiting dignitaries and a room set aside for Council meetings. The rooms are all adorned with artworks, mostly by Venetian painters, with works by Titian being particularly prominent. There are also lots of works by Veronese, although we hear that he came from Verona, hence his name. The Doge was also the chief magistrate, so the Palace also has a prison accessed via the Bridge of Sighs. The cells are ridiculously small and dark. The lady in front of me videos her entire prison walk through on her phone. I'm not sure why. I doubt she'll ever look at it again, and even if she does it'll be too dark for her to be able to see anything.

We queue up to go into the Basilica. We thought we'd bought a skip the line tour, but it seems that even these have queues. There's no shortage of signs about the dress code. Issy says they include a footnote in fine print banning the wearing of Hawaiian shirts. My shirt's far more offensive than any bare shoulder, and if I was one of the guards I wouldn't let me in. The Basilica is spectacular. It looks much older than just about any of the other churches that we've seen in Europe, and we're told that there's been a church on the site since the ninth century. The original church was built to house the relics of St Mark which were stolen from his grave in Alexandria in Egypt by two Venetian merchants, and they're apparently still here. Construction of the present building started in the eleventh century. It was originally the Doge's private chapel, and only became Venice's Basilica in 1807. The highlight is a large golden screen behind the altar. It faces away from the congregation, but can apparently be spun around on special occasions so that the masses can see it. I climb up to the balcony at the front of the Basilica for excellent views over St Mark's Square.

They seem to have a lot of strict rules here. You're not allowed to sit on the ground in St Mark's Square, and eating whilst sitting on the ground is apparently a particularly heinous offence. Issy says this is for your own protection. There seems to be quite a large oversupply of pigeons here, and she says she's sure that if you sat down your clothes would end up covered in bird droppings. You're also not allowed to sit on the steps of any church, and it seems that this rule applies throughout the whole of Italy. I wonder what they do to you if you break any of these laws. Fortunately the cells in the Doge's Palace prison didn't still seem to be in active use.

We're hungry, so we decide that we'll stop at the first restaurant we see. This proves to be a big mistake. It seems that we may have chosen the city's most expensive dining establishment. We wouldn't mind this so much if we could have sat at a table outside next to the canal, but these are all taken so we're forced indoors. Issy's bowl of bean soup costs the equivalent of 33 Australian dollars. Venice's waiters all seem to wear tuxedos, and they also seem to be subject to a strict hierarchy. Garden variety waiters seem to be generally decked out in white tuxedos, with either white bow ties or standard black ties, whereas their more senior counterparts seem to be entitled to wear black tuxedos with black bow ties.

There's no shortage of art galleries here. One of them houses works by the same artist whose paintings we saw in Mykonos, where he's used 3D effects to make the buildings look like they're following you as you walk in front on them. There's no shortage of variety either - one gallery's displays include a marble bust of Batman. We wander through a church that's been converted into a classical music museum, with windows providing views into an adjacent workshop where violins are made.

We cross the heavily trafficked Grand Canal via the Ponte dell'Accademia and make our way into the Peggy Guggenheim Museum. This seems to be predominantly a modern art gallery housing works by a wide range of artists including Picasso and Jackson Pollock. I was standing behind the door when the creative talents were being handed out, so I struggle to appreciate some of the pieces. One of them is "untitled", and comprises a few lines of pencil scribble on a blank sheet of butcher's paper. I wonder who decided that this was a work of art, and why something almost identical done by a three year old at kindergarten is not also considered a work of art by anyone other than their parents. A bronze statue entitled "Woman with her Throat Cut" is fortunately unrecognisable as such, or as anything else for that matter. The terrace next to the canal houses a statue of a man with a large erection sitting on a donkey. For reasons unknown, Issy seems insistent that I take a photo of it, but if she's that desperate I tell her she's going to have to take the photo herself.

We decide to try to eat dinner somewhere that we can walk to from the apartment. Google Maps' directions to Issy's chosen establishment lead us up several dead ends before we stumble across it on the top floor of a building in the middle of a boatyard. It turns out to be very pleasant.

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