Oh Solo Mio

I have been completely and utterly lost in Venice. I don’t mean dazzled by the architecture, history and romance of the city, although that happened as well, I mean that I was wandering up and down laneways in the middle of the night with only a few streetlights to show my way and no idea of where I was going or how to get back to the ship. As I walked the only sounds were my footsteps on cobblestones and the constant lapping of water against building foundations. I would walk down streets until they dead ended against brick walls or small piers and have to retrace my steps trying to figure out where I went wrong. My map was vague, only the major palazzos named and was nearly impossible to read in the dark anyway. I began to wonder if I would ever find my way out or if I would have to catch a little sleep in someone’s doorway while I waited for the sun to come up…and I loved every minute of it.

 

I began my days in Venice by sleeping through the sail in. Had I not been cursed with working for a living I may well have been up on deck listening to the port lecturer doing a live commentary describing the city as we made our way around the island to where we were to dock. As it was, my first view of the city was a less than romantic one of a working dockyard as I led a group of passengers to a waiting boat for a tour. Mind you, the fact that we were climbing into an immaculate timber boat for a cruise to St Marks Square made up for everything. We motored out of the port and up the coast of the city/island. Immediately buildings came into view and even though I had only seen Venice in pictures I knew that I was there. The number of boats plying the river was amazing and we wended our way through them, passing the Square and mooring at a pontoon a short distance away. Our guide had explained that we were disembarking “four bridges away” but also explained that to get anywhere in Venice you have to cross bridges. The entire island is a maze of tiny canals branching off the Grand Canal that snakes through the centre of the island and there is no motorised land transportation at all. You either travel by boat or you walk.

 

Gathering the group, with me leading the way holding my numbered sign aloft, we made our way through the hordes of other tourists that were already congregating with their own number carrying guides or with cameras pointed in every conceivable direction. Our walk took us past hawkers selling all of the expected tacky Venetian souvenirs but who improved from a sheet on the ground to robust little movable kiosks as we neared St Marks. A few restaurants and coffee shops had seating outside as well as menus and I snatched a quick look at one, reminding myself that what seemed like a mildly expensive espresso would be mildly bankrupting by the time I converted the euros to Australian dollars.

 

As we crossed the last bridge before the square there was even bigger crowd taking photos up the narrow canal and looking that way over their heads I saw the famous Bridge of Sighs. This was the bridge between the Doges court on one side of the canal and the prison on the other side. Condemned prisoners would be lead across the covered bridge and as they had their last glimpse of the outside world through one of the little windows they would sigh with pain, sorrow and anguish… or at least so the story goes. I managed to snap off one quick photo with my camera by holding it up in the air and pointing it in the general direction but as I write this I am still unsure exactly what I captured.

 

Over the bridge we found a spot to gather our group, my arm already beginning to flag (pun intended) from holding my sign up. Once we had all caught up and a head count had been done we lined up and then entered the Doges Palace. The Palace is amazing. I could fire up the thesaurus and find more superlatives but you may just have to take my word for how amazing it is. Inside we were all given a small radio and an ear piece and the guide had a microphone. I’ve never struck this before but was extremely impressed with the concept because it meant that the guide didn’t have to shout to make herself heard, a great thing given how many other groups were wandering around as well.

 

I’m not even going to attempt to describe the artwork that is on display in the palace but floor after floor and room after room we were presented with pieces by painters who sounded like a who’s who from those coffee table art books. Each room would be wood panelled and marble floored with a high ceiling covered in paintings and more paintings would be hung on the walls. There would be a sign with a list and description of each piece and you would need hours if not days to admire every one. We filed through rooms that had been the seat of power for the Venetian Empire and passed polished and worn wooden seats that had seen decisions made that affected European history. Not many names that the guide mentioned seemed to mean a lot to the group but a ripple of acknowledgment passed through us all as she mentioned Casanova, told his story and said that we were standing in the very spot where he had been tried. Getting that connection to history through something familiar is important and somehow manages to bring it to life in a way that lists of names and dates never will and Casanova was our link.

 

From inside the Palace we walked down a narrow set of steps and found ourselves crossing the Bridge of Sighs. We had the same glimpse of the outside that those prisoners would have had (sans camera happy tourists) before entering the prison on the other side. Here is was just a warren of tiny stone cells with low rooves and no windows, a miserable place for anyone to spend the rest of their lives. We did a circuit of a few cells; undoubtedly we only got to see a few of them, before crossing back over the bridge to the Palace. Through more rooms laden with history and we eventually made it outside. Being a Sunday the cathedral was closed to tourists so our next stop was the obligatory souvenir shop. In this case it was a glass shop and we were supposed to see a quick demonstration of glass blowing before having an hour and a half of free time in the square before heading back to our boat. Most of the passengers made early beelines for various points and I made my own exit, tucking my numbered sign away so that I could blend in with all the other tourists.

 

I was surprised to find that the Square itself is actually an L shape although I’m not sure if technically the leg leading down to the water is considered part of the square or not. In any case it is a large area surrounded on three sides by large square buildings. Each of the buildings had a plaque outside it describing its history and function. The whole square is a world heritage site and with the dates and names involved in the history and evolution of the space it’s not hard to see why.

 

It may have technically been low season but to me there seemed to be a lot of people. I don’t know if I would like to be there in the middle of summer when there are truly big crowds; it would have to have a slightly claustrophobic feel to it. The number I had to contend with still made it feel like a square for the people as the pigeons flew and every photo seemed to have a hundred heads in it no matter how I framed it. It was then that I decided that I would have to make the effort to get back in the early hours of the morning, in time for the sunrise and in the hope that I would be able to see the square empty and to have it all to myself.

 

Despite what seemed like crowds of people to me the coffee shops that all had outdoor seating seemed to be lacking for customers. The vast majority of the little tables and chairs were empty although it may also have been because of the cold. I was determined to sit and have a coffee though and chose Florian’s. I chose it for a couple of reasons, first because it has a history, being a favoured hangout of Casanova which should give you some idea of just how long its been around and secondly because of the orchestra that was set up outside playing classical music. If I was going to sit in St marks square and enjoy a coffee on my first and possibly only visit to Venice then I was going to do it right. As soon as I sat at one of the tables a white jacketed waiter appeared and offered me a menu. I perused it for a while, bypassed the food and settled for just one of their own liqueur coffees. It arrived on a silver tray along with a small carafe of water and a glass and I sat and sipped slowly, warming my hands on the glass and listening to the music. I drank the water, sat for a little while longer and then paid the bill and made my way to where the boat back to the ship was waiting. The coffee cost me 18 euros, I’ll let you do your own conversion on that but it was probably the single most expensive coffee I have ever had. The price was incidental to the setting though and for the rest of my life it will be one of the things that I have done, savoured and enjoyed.

 

Back at the ship I returned my carefully completed and highly detailed tour escort report, grabbed my own larger backpack and headed out on my own. I knew the general direction from the ship to the city and after negotiating the port area and a large road bridge over a railway line I eventually made it to the bus terminal. With no cars, buses or trucks able to go onto the island this is the terminus for people coming from the airport or simply arriving from the mainland to work in Venice itself and the bus terminal is a hive of activity. From there it’s possible to take a vaporetto into the city. A vaporetto is the Venetian bus service and it operates in the same way as a land based one would with different lines and stops, the only difference being that it is all boats. I bypassed the vaporetto station because I intended to walk as far as I could, exploring the little alleyways and trying to find some cheaper souvenir shops and somewhere cheaper to eat than the area around St Marks. I crossed a bridge and simply started walking.

 

Luckily for me, since the map I had wasn’t very good, there are signs on the corners of buildings with arrows pointing to landmarks such as the Rialto Bridge and St Marks. Once I’d figured that out I just walked and kept an eye out for the ones saying Rialto Bridge, the idea being to just follow them back when I wanted to get back to the ship. All good in theory but I was spending more time marvelling at the buildings around me, standing in the middle of sudden palazzos and exploring the myriad of small shops that lined some streets so that I would get turned around and lose track of where I was and where I was going. Every so often I would stumble on one of the signs on the corner of a building and get back on track but I lost count of how many tiny stone bridges I crossed and how many photos I took of the canals that passed under them. It is just a picturesque place from the rough stone walls of the buildings with ornate brass name plates and door bells to the canals with small piers attached to the sides of the ancient buildings and boats moored as casually as cars are parked in any other place.

 

I bought the first of my Carnival masks in a small shop where the proprietor was sitting in the corner making glass sculptures over a gas flame. He had some lovely stuff for sale and it was obvious that he made all or most of it himself so I made a promise to return later to buy more things. As it turned out I was never able to find his shop again so all those amazing handcrafted glass items simply vanished into the Venetian night.

 

I crossed one bridge shortly after it got dark, turning back to look for photo opportunities and noticed yet another small restaurant nestled into the corner of the bridge and the street. Looking through the window at the brightly lit interior something about the place just called to me and I had a quick look at the menu stuck beside the door before I went in. Inside it was the tiniest restaurant I have ever been in, it looked as if it may have been (and undoubtedly was) someone’s living room hundreds of years ago. Now it was crammed with small tables with diners literally rubbing elbows with the people beside them. I was the only person eating on their own so I was sat precariously at a counter that looked as if it usually just acted as a barrier between the door and the restaurant area but it did give me a good view of the activity at the tables and the bar as well as a chance to watch the passing parade of people outside through the window. I was given a basket of bread and with a glass of merlot I sat in the warmth and soaked up the atmosphere of Italian diners while I waited for my first pasta course to arrive. I had pasta with mushrooms and then a dish of Venetian style lambs livers. Finishing with an espresso I left the restaurant very happy with the experience but I don’t know if I should reveal exactly what it ended up costing me. Like the worlds most expensive coffee it was something that had to be done and was not an experience I’m going to forget in a hurry.

 

Putting my warm clothing back on and walking out of the restaurant I began my aimless wanderings again. Eventually I found myself at the Rialto Bridge. I crossed the bridge, stopping in the middle to stare at the Grand Canal and the traffic that still moved on it. There were restaurants lining the side of the Canal and despite the cold there were large numbers of people sitting outside. It was one of those moments when I seem to find myself in the middle of a movie or staring at a postcard that has suddenly come to life.

 

It was now getting late and since I was still determined to be awake and off the ship at 5am for a dawn visit to St Marks I began to make my way back to the ship to get at least 5 hours sleep. That was assuming I could find my way back because many of the shops I had used as landmarks on my way in were now closed and things looked different coming at them from the opposite angle. This was when I spent a few marvellously frustrating hours in a Venetian night. I did get back, managed to grab a few hours sleep and, much to my roommate’s annoyance, woke up to my alarm at 4.45.

 

Now I knew where I was going and I was able to make my way back through empty streets and over quiet canals until I reached St marks Square just as the sky was beginning to lighten. I had the entire place to myself apart from a handful of people who were sweeping the cobblestones and emptying the rubbish bins. I took photos and wandered around the admiring the buildings without anyone getting in my way. I may have gotten a couple of strange looks from the cleaners but to see everything slowly coming into a golden light as the sun rose in a cloudless sky was magical. I walked through the back streets around the square as they started to fill with people on their way to work and felt out of place among the immaculately stylish Italians. I watched as gondoliers cleaned, wiped and polished their gondolas in preparation for another day. I watched the sun rise over the Venetian lagoon and was glad to be where I was. But I also felt hungry and prowled those back streets until I found a small café that had just opened and had two cappuccinos along with croissants and cheesecake still warm from their own oven. I paid a fraction of what I had paid the day before and sat in the warm fresh baked atmosphere as the proprietor set up his display case, wiped down the outside tables and chairs and listened to Italian opera on the radio.

 

By 9 o’clock the crowds had arrived and the hawkers had set up. I took more photos from the same angles as I had when the Square had been mine alone but now it had a different feel to it. I went back to a few places where I had window shopped while they were still closed and made a couple of purchases. Then, by early afternoon I began to walk back to the ship, deliberately taking a new route in the hope of getting lost yet again and succeeded perfectly. I wandered more alleys and streets and palazzos. I ate pizza in small pizzerias and had gelato while sitting on the railing of a stone bridge overlooking a canal. I tried to soak in as much as I could before I made it back to the ship in time to wash and get ready for work.

 

Venice was one port that I had been truly looking forward to visiting and there was a real danger that it wouldn’t have lived up to expectations. I didn’t need to worry; it really is as magical as is said. I have so much more I will write when I get home but for now this will have to suffice, along with the 890 photos I took.