Venice

October 15, 2003-Humble Pie
(photos:Entrance to dungeon and Bridge of Sighs,
Gondolier,Bundled up on Rialto Bridge)


David is suffering from toll avoidance anxiety. We traveled on the autostrade to Venice and chose to pay with a credit card at the automated booth instead of trying currency. It will be interesting to see how EU0.90 will be converted on the Master Card bill.

The terrain became flat and monotonous and leaves were turning yellow and brown as we approached the area known as the Veneto and the Dolomite Mts. Karen said she heard someone on NPR say that the N.E. United States is the only place in the world where there is a varied and riotous display of color in autumn.

We were singing all the songs we could remember as we tooled happily along. We were so into our ability to remember lyrics that we sailed past our exit. It took a traffic jam and almost an hour to get to the next exit and turn around. We were focused on finding lunch and were willing to try a service center/rest area. Our dinner last night of steak marinated in real balsamic vinegar still tickled our palates and we thought lunch would be a comedown.

I will now eat humble pie and rave about the food on the toll roads of Italy. We have nothing like it at home. There’s some fast food at the Italian plazas, but also an array of fresh pastas, vegetables, and sauces. The fresh mushroom lasagna was filled with frothy ricotta, and steaks, hamburgers, and salmon are grilled to order. A salad bar is central with buffalo mozzarella balls thought to be ordinary. Wine and beer are staples. It was like circulating to food stations at a wedding.

Water World

Flood plains and mud flats veined with rivers were our transition to Venice. In the 10th century it was a gateway to the Orient. Looking at a map I was surprised how close it is to Croatia. We crossed over the Gulf of Venice to the port where we were to park the car and meet the waterbus to our hotel. I would swear we were about to board a ride at Disney World. It was a demolition derby on water. Gondolas, water taxis, buses, barges, and private boats careened around bends, passed each other, and darted in and out of water alleys at a hair-raising 5 MPH. It wasn’t the speed but the skill and bravado that were fascinating.

We cruised the Grand Canal past exquisite but crumbling moldy villas built by wealthy merchants of long ago. Even they had wet basements. We were packed in with tourists, locals, and dogs as we made frequent stops. A peculiar odor hung in the air. I am told it’s the smell of decay, sewage, and garbage, Venetian perfume.

We debarked and were happy we’d only taken roll aboards since we had to walk about two blocks down three-foot wide streets to the hotel. We’re at Hotel Torino. It’s a three-star hotel and so is the Best Western nearby. The BW looks a lot nicer but I don’t know the price differential. Our desk clerk, Raimondo, an incurable flirt in his mid-50’s, told us we’re in the new section of the hotel. Perhaps it was new in 1700. Our “annex” was down the street, around the corner, and down a skinny alley. David thinks the rooms are nicer than The three-star King Hotel in Rome although there are issues with the plaster staying on some walls and mold in the shower. As we climbed the two stories in a building with ten-foot ceilings, we were once again glad to have packed light. It’s easy to find the alley where we turn for our annex. It’s by an exclusive children’s clothing store. Karen guessed the price of a six-month sized white leather fur trimmed snowsuit in the window at EU400. She was right. Venice isn’t for thin wallets or the faint of heart. A skein of silk yarn was $280. By the way, dollars are valued at 20% less than Euros.

We walked to the Piazza San Marco of the many pigeons, floating feathers, and tourists vying for a piece of late afternoon sun. Bands playing off-key renditions of “New York, New York” and Neil Diamond selections sat beneath palisades sheltered by, of all things, Venetian shades. The façade of the Basilica looms as the glittering mosaics catch the light. The piazza is as large as I imagined and at night it’s illuminate d by tall electric candlesticks on the balconies surrounding the perimeter.

The Doge, or Ducal, Palace flanks the Basilica. It was built between the 14th and mid-15th century and the designer used every trick he had up his sleeve. I didn’t know there was that much gold in the known world at that time. Every surface that isn’t gold, glistening wood or damask oozes marble. Can marble ooze? Walls and ceilings are bedecked with the sensual and sacred art of those days. Naked bodies cavort with and adore each other and God all over the darn place. We toured at the end of the day and had the entire palace to ourselves.

Not everything on the tour was bright and beautiful. We left the palace’s chamber of judgment and crossed the enclosed Bridge of Sighs, a 16th century addition, to the prison cells. The bridge was named for the prisoner’s sighs of despair as they crossed to trial.

Venice was a rebellious state reluctant to bow to Rome. It did try its hand at a modicum of democracy. There was a court of ten to try all litigation, a court of appeals, and a representative governing body made up of the males of patrician families regardless of wealth. From the torture chambers to the golden staircases, the Doge Palace was the center of the power, the glory, and the horror of the age.

We dined overlooking the Rialto Bridge and took a waterbus back to our hotel. The lights of the villas played on the water and the gentle rocking would have lulled us to sleep except for bumping the docks at each landing and the roar as the engines reversed to maneuver the boat. Gondola rides are out of the question at $100/hour and 50 degree temperatures. We’ll let others buy a bit of romance and freeze. We’ll watch.

Toby