Month: February 2016

Sunday dawned colder and gloomier that Saturday had been, and now  the prospect of heavy rain was moving in as we moved out. We arose at the dark hour of 6 a.m. for our baggage pick-up at 7:30 a.m.

The two uniformed guys from Trasbagagli showed up at our campiello a few minutes before 7:30 a.m., and we did not hesitate to shove off as light rain started to come down. The best aspect about this company’s service is that we could ride the delivery boat with our luggage right to the train station. Our helmsman backed the boat the entire length of our little canal before turning around and moving forward in the Grand Canal, a feat of boat driving that rivals the guys at the Moorings in the BVIs.

The transport boat is not elegant, but neither is the vaporetto, and we saved the 15 euro bus fare for the two of us. That brought down the net cost to 25 euros to haul our three heavy bags out of the campiello, across one bridge, on to the boat, off the boat and into St. Lucia train station. A rare bargain in Venice.

The train ride to Florence takes about two hours and unfortunately is not very scenic. The route travels through U.S. style junk yards, graffiti bedecked crossings, countryside laid barren by winter and long black tunnels as the train rolls through the Apennines instead of over the mountain range that forms the geological backbone of Italy. The rain didn’t help the scenery, but then neither did the dirty windows of the Italo train car.

Instead of the full service bar and food cart that we have enjoyed on other European trains, this one offered only salty or sweet snacks and coffee. Our first class coach filled up quickly once we reached Bologna, and as luck would have it, the occupants of the seats directly in front of us chatted away on a cell phone whose ring tone could shatter glass.

But the ride was smooth and very fast–300 kmh for most of the open route between Bologna and Florence.

Our apartment was only a five-minute 10 euro cab ride from the train station, and truly we could have walked on a nicer day if we knew our way around. The building looks out over a park, and–wonder of wonders–our apartment is on the ground floor of a very substantial and imposing 400-year-old building.

Now that’s a front door.

After a bit of unpacking, we ventured out to the huge central market just a couple of blocks away for lunch. Inside the market on the first (second in the U.S.) floor is a food court, the likes of which we have never seen. It is the size of the food court at Grand Central in New York, but all squeezed into one huge 500-seat area of tables and counters surrounded by food vendors and bars. We couldn’t find a spot to sit on a Sunday (and San Valentino at that), so we retreated to a very fine restaurant across the street, where we enjoyed two different ravioli dishes and a pichet (or whatever the name is in Italian) of house wine.

Our Florence neighborhood is very much different from what we have become accustomed to in Europe. The park across the street is populated by many groups of men in their 20s and 30s, definitely not Western European natives. Any number of tiny restaurants on the side streets advertise their halal and Indian cuisines, and street vendors are everywhere hawking umbrellas and the like. In other words, lots of diversity around here.

 

 

 

Not much to say about get away day Saturday. It was coldest day we have experienced here, cloudy after about 11 a.m. and not much left to do in Venice before we leave for Florence.

First we washed and dried a load of laundry to clear that up before we get to Florence. While Lynn waited, reading her iPad, I wandered around the neighborhood and explained to two different couples how to get to the Rialto from here. We’re getting to be experienced visitors, if never natives.

After depositing the laundry at the apartment, we walked over the Ponte Rialto ourselves one last time to marvel at the markets and the gawking tourists.

Observation from two weeks of Venice: why exactly do people think they have a right to stop dead in the middle of heavy traffic on a bridge to take their selfies?

The visit to the Rialto’s souvenir booths, actors in the square and stifling crowds was plenty enough quickly enough, so we retreated to our campiello for a last bite of lunch and a beer at Deco, the bar on the ground floor of our building.

We ordered four of their tasty tapas (2 euros each) and two big, cold, refreshing beers, then offered our arriverdercis to the friendly staff with whom we have chatted with many times over the last two weeks of music acts and drinks, starting with our very first night here. As we departed and said “caio,” they responded in perfect English, “good bye and come back to see us again.”

We will.

 

 

As beautiful as Thursday was, Friday started gloomy, cold and damp. A perfect day to visit Venice’s cemetery. Knowing that our two-day vaporetto passes would turn into pumpkins at exactly 12:07 p.m., we hustled out of the apartment to the Fondamenta Nova stop, grabbing a croissant on the way.

San Michele Cemetery is an island lying just off Canareggio, about five minutes by boat from the city. Napoleon, pragmatic as he was, wanted to use Venice’s scarce land mass for more practical and commercial uses, so he closed down all the existing cemeteries in town and moved them to the island.

Today San Michelle is still the city’s only cemetery, and from Fondamenta Nova stop, we can watch the gray hearse boats run by on their procession to funerals. The coffins are placed in a gray container strapped to the cockpit of the boat as it makes the short distance from the city to San Michele. No surprise that there are several funerary shops adjacent to Fondamenta Nova, which itself is coincidentally located one stop away from the hospital.

San Michelle is fairly large but not as intrisically interesting as some of the great cemeteries like Pere Lachaize in Paris (or Metairie Cemetery in New Orleans, for that matter). Only a few notable figures, including poet Ezra Pound, are buried in San Michele, and the tombs are not large, ornate or architecturally interesting. But some names do stand out.

Since the weather was threatening rain, we cut our visit short and caught the very next boat out, which happened to be on the route to Murano before returning to the city of Venice. So we toured the inner canal of Murano, all five stops before going back to the main islands.

No day in Venice would be complete without the obligatory visit to San Marco, which was beginning to fill up with weekending visitors. Although the piazza was certainly not crowded, we decided to circumnavigate the arcade of retailers and restaurants surrounding the square, since we had never really done that before.

Our exploration paid off–a six euro Bloody Mary at Cafe Aurora on the shady side of the piazza.

The bartender/barrista was swamped with coffee orders so we told her we would continue our walk and return in ten minutes. Promptly ten minutes later, she was finished her coffee duty and was ready to prepare two delicious Bloody Marys. The cheap price is only available at the bar, no table service, but the waiter motioned us to take a table anyway, because the cafe was nearly deserted in mid-morning. The Bloody Marys were tasty, and for six bucks each, the best bargain we have found in Europe so far. (Remember, they are three times as much at Harry’s a block away.)

By the time we finished our morning beverages, the sun began to break through, and we strolled back to our apartment on the now-familiar route we have taken so many times over the last two weeks. We stopped to buy some really stinky, lusciously creamy gorgonzola at the fromagerie a few doors down the street from the apartment, then picked up four tapas at the bar downstairs and brought the load of victuals up to the apartment for a lunch at home. A lunch fit for a Venetian duke.

 

After the last few days of gloom and excited about discovering the route to by our new-found vaporetto stop at Fondmenta Nove, we decided to take the boat to the beach–Lido, Venice’s barrier island on the Adriatic Sea.

But the first stop was a visit to the little one-table seafood vendor on the way to the vaporetto stop, where we bought a fine looking fillet of white fish whose name we could not recognize in Italian and the seller could not describe in English. It looked good (and would taste great later that evening), sort of firm but very white. No trout here, but the promise of good flavor later.

Lido is a long, thin island to the south of Venice. It is a barrier island to the Adriatic Sea, offering some critical protection from storms that roll in from that direction. The vaporetto ride was only about 10 minutes, but when you land in Lido, you have left Venice. The first thing we saw at the waterbus stop was a wheeled bus, the first land vehicle we had seen in nearly two weeks. Lido sports full size streets, cars, bicycles and buses, just the like the rest of the world. Stay long enough in Venice, you tend to forget the rest of the world.

It was only about a ten-minute walk down the main street, currently under renovation, to cross the island and get to the beach. Along the way, we passed large, ornate buildings, mostly hotels, somewhat reminiscent of Nice in their Beaux Arts splendor and excess. Clearly, this is where the rich and entitled Venetians spend their summers if they can’t get to or afford Nice.

The beach itself was mostly deserted, as it would be in mid-February, populated by only a handful of curious visitors like us. The beach sand is a dark tan, full of shells and actually sandy, something we have not seen in a long time.

An hour of Lido in the middle of winter was plenty. We walked back to the vaporetto stop and caught the bus to San Marco for our daily sighting of Venice’s most famous landmark. It was less crowded than ever, but platforms had been erected everywhere with more stacked on the sides, ready for deployment in case of acqua alta. Did officials suspect something? (Predictions were indeed for fairly high but not extreme tides.)

The risers were already erected leading into San Marco Basilica, and–wonder of wonders–there was no line whatsoever to get into maybe the world’s second most famous Catholic church. We walked right in.

Instead of shuffling through the church with the guided tours on the ground floor, we diverted off to the right and up a very steep stairway to the museum and terraces overlooking the Piazza. Admission to the museum is five euros and worth every penny.

Inside the museum, we looked face-to-face with the spectacular mosaics that glisten golden inside the domes of San Marco. The official museum displays included portions of mosaics that had been salvaged from destruction and removal centuries ago, along with tapestries, carpets, vestments, illuminated manuscripts and carvings from the history of the church that dates back a full millenium.

At one of the displays, I realized why Pope John XXIII is so revered here in Venice–as Cardinal Roncalli, he was the vicar of Venice when he was elected Pope. At least four other vicars of Venice were also elected Pope, including Pius X, for whom our Lake Vista parish church is named.

The entrance to the museum area is highlighted by a 20-foot long diagram of the basilica’s history, showing its growth and expansion over the centuries as successive Venetian doges flaunted their power and glory by building their own contributions to the magnificent structure.

In addition to the artifacts, the four original bronze horses that pranced in the front of the church for centuries since they were stolen from Constantinople (and stolen again by Napoleon) are on display. The horse sculptures currently standing proudly outside above the church’s main entrance  are replicas, placed there in 1981 so the originals would be spared the ravages of weather and pollution.

 

Since we were on a two-day vaporetto pass and essentially working on house money, we boarded the boat at the stop right in front of the Venice Yacht Club for the long trip around the island, past the legendary mega-yacht Carinthia VII on its mooring to the San Basilica stop to visit an obscure church. Chiesa Archangel Raphael plays a central role in a novel that Lynn had brought and read while we were in Venice. (I read the book too, and it is very definitely a chick-book.)

The church is located in what could be most charitably described as a lower middle class neighborhood of Venice, near the industrial and maritime areas. It is small by Venetian standards but no less elaborate and awe inspiring inside than all the others we have seen here. The book was very accurate in its description, and we were glad to visit this little obscure corner of Venice, not something the average visitor would ever encounter.

In one afternoon, we traveled from the ducal splendor of San Marco Basilica to the ordinary Renaissance workmanship of Chiesa Archangel Raphael. Only in Venice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although there is a church on virtually every corner of Venice (for instance, there are at least four within 100 feet of our campiello, one of them quite famous), we saw no one with ashes on their heads for Ash Wednesday. The churches were as deserted as they usually are.

And so was Piazza San Marco.

But first, we were on a quest for Murano to view the glass stores. We found a new vaporetto stop, Fondamenta Nova, very close to our apartment, that has a direct water bus to the islands of Cimiterie St. Michelle, Murano and Burano. The islands are just minutes away from the Fondamenta Nova stop, so we purchased a two-day vaporetto pass for 30 euros each, knowing that we can use that much in fares in just one day.

The canal from the major Murano  vaporetto stop is lined–literally–with glass factories and showrooms on both sides, ranging from small one-room shops to major showrooms and ateliers. We walked pretty much the entire length of the canal, all the way down to the huge glass sculpture honoring Murano’s glassmaking heritage. And, of course, we stopped and looked in many of the stores, seeking the pendant lamp shades we have looked for since our first visit to Venice a few years ago.

We actually found two sets of shades at two different shops. Of course, we purchased the more expensive of the two. I had to admit that the pair we bought displays more artistry and is generally more substantial than any of the others we considered. The owners of  Franco Schiavon Gallery also invited us to tour the rest of their extensive establishment, where we saw some of the most spectacular glass sculptures and chandeliers ever. Many of the chandeliers would rival Chihuly. Of course, we could not photograph them for proprietary reasons, which I can well understand.

After a quick pizza lunch in the Murano mini-mall next door to the Schiavon Gallery, we boarded the vaporetto for a trip back to San Marco, curious to see the post-Carnival crowds.

They were smaller–much, much smaller. The stages and booths were being disassembled, the holiday was over. No one wore masks or costumes anymore. People in San Marco barely outnumbered birds.

For the first time, there was no line at the Campanile, so we took the elevator ride up to view Venice from high above.

Historically, this is the bell tower where Galileo conducted his experiments that eventually rewarded him with condemnation from the Catholic Church. Let us all remember that Galileo’s major–and nearly capital–offense was challenging science that was settled. Heed that, climate change deniers.

 

 

…is dull. Really.

It’s just another business day for Venice shops. They are all open, hoping to lure the “revelers” in for some sales. Problem is, there are not that many revelers. And the ones on the streets don’t really revel the way we in New Orleans know.

The crowds at San Marco were smaller on Tuesday than they were on Monday, and smaller on Monday than they were on Sunday (in the rain, no less). In fact, Saturday was the biggest crowd of all at San Marco.

Although many people dress in elaborate 17th and 18th century costumes and parade around town, there is a remarkable lack of revelry and foolishness. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that no one drinks on the streets. But the overall atmosphere is just dull. The main stage in San Marco featured some Russian folk bands and dancers on a secondary stage at ground level where you could not see them except for the video screen. But there was no excitement, no carousing, really no fun to the entire scene.

Sorry to diss Venetian Carnival/Mardi Gras, but we have learned that New Orleans knows how to do this better than Venice.

We retired back to the apartment by mid-afternoon for a bit of a lay day. Of course, Lynn prepared our traditional Mardi Gras steak. Not exactly Crescent City bit a quite tasty entrecote with sauteed mushrooms and wilted garlic spinach, all cooked stovetop.

I should have bought a mask for the occasion, but just couldn’t bear to give in.

Happy Mardi Gras!

 

 

Tops on Michelle’s list of sights in Venice was the world-famed Peggy Guggenheim Museum, the namesake’s home in Venice and one of the great collections of 20th century art in the world.

Monday was dry, though still cloudy and cold, and we chose to take the vaporetto from the Rialto to the Accademia, then walk the bank of the canal as much as possible to the museum. For the first time since we arrived in Venice, the tide was very high, lapping right up to the top steps of the canal landings. The vaporetto held its speed down significantly to avoid throwing a wake.

Peggy’s place is purportedly a house museum displaying her massive collection of 20th century art. Unfortunately, most of the furniture that made her house a home has been removed to create space in the galleries to display all the art. Her bed head, created by Alexander Calder, is mounted to the bedroom wall, hanging by two screws with plastic anchors, just like we do at home. The only room that remains furnished more or less as it was during her life is the dining room that features a 17th century Venetian table and accompanying sideboard. As much as we are fans of house museums, we had hoped the Peggy Guggenheim would have been more house than museum. But it’s quite a museum in its own right.

In fact, the juxtaposition of the Accademia just down the Grand Canal from the Peggy Guggenheim creates an unmatched set of art history bookends featuring the best of the Venetian Renaissance and the best of the  early and mid 20th century.

After our visit to the Peggy Guggenheim, we made the trek back to San Marco to check out Lundi Gras activities. The crowds were large but starting to diminish somewhat, as the weekenders went back home after the wet Sunday. The costuming, however, was increasing. And the security was gone, vanished.

After watching the kids’ costume contest and some gondola craftsmanship for a few minutes, we headed back to Canareggio and the Rialto for a pizza lunch followed by a long walk of exploration before Michelle had to get back to her hotel and leave for the airport.

Even though the masks were about to become worthless in a day, the vendors held more or less firm on their pricing, which was higher than Michelle wanted to pay for a souvenir. She finally settled on a nice little version in pinkish and gold, very Venetian style, to take home as proof of her visit.

 

 

 

Michelle Brennan, our good friend from London and Royal Thames Yacht Club, decided to pop over to visit with us to experience Carnival in Venice. We were thrilled to get together, as we have not seen each other for two years. When you live in England or Europe, you can literally “pop over.” Her flight from London to Venice was less than two hours.

Michelle arrived Saturday evening with only enough time for dinner to catch up. Our first full day Sunday wold turn out to be a march through the rain, intrepid souls inspired by Michelle’s British fortitude. In a steady rain, we walked from our respective digs in Canareggio to San Marco, where for the first time in our experience, security was out on full force.

Something must have been going on, as we had seen bigger crowds the days before with minimal security. On a rainy Sunday, however, the local and national police manned every street into San Marco and forced the entire crowd to a single checkpoint for random inspections and wandings.

I really do not like this approach, as every terrorist in Iraq and Afghanistan knows how to exact maximum death and destruction by setting off suicide bombs at checkpoints where everyone must congregate in one place. And high profile public places are the juiciest targets of all. Nonetheless, we shuffled through the main checkpoint. The police waved me through without even a second glance. I suppose 66-year-old pensioners on the dole are not high on the profile list.

Ironically, the rain reduced the crowds milling about the square in San Marco by at least a third. Many visitors huddled for shelter in the coffee shops, where we found refuge for a proper Sunday Bloody Mary, a veritable bargain at 14 euros, compared to the usurious 18.50 charged at Harry’s Bar a few steps down along the waterfront. Best of all, this restaurant brought bring all the ingredients on a large tray for us to prepare to personal taste.

Fortified by our traditional Sunday beverage, we hiked out again through the rain all the way to the Arsenale and the Venice Maritime Museum. The main part of the museum is closed for renovation, but the warehouse full of old boats and ships was open for free. We don’t need much encouragement to go look at old boats, but the chance to get out of the rain–for free at that–was not to be passed up.

Inside is a collection of boats dating back to the 17th century, most of them having some connection, however tenuous, to Venetian history. The large, unheated warehouse with several leaky spots in the roof is divided into four major rooms without much thematic or historic coherence. But to us, boats is boats, and we’re happy to gaze at any number of them, ranging from regal and majestic to small and utilitarian.

Having dried out or at least dripped off at the Arsenale, we then trooped back out into the rain for a pizza stop along the Grand Canal, with the Accademia as our chosen destination. If look at a map of Venice, the walk from San Marco to the Accademia is an ambitious hike, but especially so in the rain, despite how really tiny Venice is.

But the Accademia was worth the effort. So many Titians, Tintorettos, Carpaccios, Veroneses and all the other great medieval and Renaissance Venetian masters together in one place create sensory overload.

And admission was free, after waiting in line in the rain for a half an hour. We waited in line, because the Accademia only allows 360 people in the mammoth building at one time. And it was free because it was the first Sunday of the month. Such a deal.

Intrepid as we had been all day, we prudently decided to take the dry way back home and boarded the vaporetto for the Rialto stop. Enough of a forced march is quite enough. Dinner in a nice restaurant on a canal was in our future.

 

 

After our garret efficiency in Paris and our loft in Nice, our apartment in Venice is truly a palace.

Although it is still three flights up and actually two more steps than Paris (Lynn counted), it seems much more easily accessible. The staircase is wider, as in Nice, and the steps are marble, but the progress seems less taxing. Two long flights take us to the first floor, then one short flight reaches our apartment door. It just feels easier.

Inside, we have a full living/dining room furnished in very Venetian style tables, tapestries, chairs and sofas, all accented by a fancy Murano glass chandelier.

The apartment features all the most important kitchen features–a dishwasher, microwave and a gas stove. (The stove is quirky to light in the morning, as the burners seem to have a thermocouple that requires heating up before the fire will stay lit.) A washer/dryer would make it perfect, but the washing machine in the bedroom is disabled and we were told not available to us.

We also have a TV, which unfortunately does not have cable or satellite, so the only watchable channel we have found is 24-hour Italian-language tennis. No CNN, ESPN or BBC, just Italian tennis commentary. Entertaining to watch anyway, because the announcers get very excited and emotional over the most ordinary points in minor league ATP matches.

The bathroom offers a stand-up shower with a full enclosure, our first in Europe. Our garret in Paris had a stand-up shower, but no door, so you had to be conscious of splashing water all over the room. Our efficiency loft in Nice had only a hand-held shower in a tub with a half of a curtain, which was exactly like showering on a boat. For three weeks. In cold weather. Venice is luxury.

And the bedroom. Fit for a queen.

As befits Lynn. We have never slept under a canopy before. We sleep well every night, since the bedroom overlooks the courtyard in the middle of our block, which is unearthly quiet until the church bells wake us at 7:30 a.m. Not a bad way to start any given Venetian morning.

As I mentioned earlier, Carnival in Venice is very different from what we are accustomed to in New Orleans. Very different.

First, its origins. Carnival here, like everywhere else, goes back to at least the Middle Ages as the farewell to flesh leading up to the 40 days of Lent. But Carnival in Venice died out more than 100 years ago and was resurrected (pardon the pun) only in 1979 as–you guessed it–a way to attracts tourists during the low season.

And attract tourists it does, literally by the millions. Venice’s narrow streets and passages are jammed with tourists sporting cheap masks and varying levels of costumes. Hundreds of more elaborately costumed characters wander the major areas like San Marco, posing for photos, offering directions and generally acting as Venetian tourism ambassadors. They are pros.

The major celebration is set up in San Marco, where a huge temporary wooden stage is erected, flanked by rows of booths demonstrating Venetian crafts such as glass blowing, gondola construction and the like. Truth is, Venice doesn’t have much industry at all beyond tourism, and the city’s population dwindles each year.

The main stage is backed by a huge video screen that broadcasts the daily costume contests, which are the highlight of official Carnival activities. No parades, of course–where would they go? The costume contests are staged daily, with the winners moving toward the finals on Mardi Gras.

Venice’s famed masked balls are all private, profit-making affairs, generally held at major hotels. Prices seem to be multi-tiered, with the most expensive tickets for the full dining experience, followed by dancing to a DJ. Deacon John could clean up in this town.