Island of Lost Souls (Venice)

And today dear reader I hit the wall. I have had enough of the crowds, the lack of consideration for other people, the endless tour groups stampeding over anyone and anything who get in their way, the pushing and the shoving and dawdlers who block the entire alleyway while they look in shops or chat or just stand there indecisively. It is time for some space and that will happen soon enough. It is Sunday and we begin the long trek home on Tuesday. But let's begin with our last conclusion.

The Biennale is on, expect the unexpected

The fireworks never eventuated. Well they did, but not for us. We lasted until 10:30pm and gave up and went to bed to be awoken by sound of explosions at 11:30pm. The rumoured 45 minute display was just that, rumour. Obviously they commenced at 11:30pm to conclude at midnight. We both acknowledged the show had commenced with a weary sigh and drifted back to sleep. Fireworks are a bit passé for any Sydney-sider.

And I have nothing to say about this

When we emerged in the morning light, the evidence of the previous night's party had pretty well been erased. Except for the occasional smell of urine in the narrower alleys. Very reminiscent of Paris on a Sunday morning at this time of year. We ventured to our local Campo for breakfast - the usual, coffee, brioche and OJ. Not the cheapest but not the most expensive either. I paid and went to pick up my change when I noticed that amount on the counter was more than I had given him. He had given me change for 50€ not the 20€ I gave him. He looked somewhat surprised when I told him he'd given me too much money, but was grateful to put 30€ back in the till.

It was time to make our way to the Church of Santa Maria della Saluté, but before we reached our destination we came across the Gallerie dell'Accademia, San Marco. This was reached via a 'temporary' wooden bridge which has resisted its temporary nature and stands today, much like the temporary demountable classrooms of Australian schools. The Accademia was quite deserted so we detoured and spent a few hours there. I had tried to book tickets online earlier in the week, but that proved as difficult to negotiate as the alleyways of Venice or a ticket machine at an Italian train station. It was a bonus to find this museum so crowd-free. I imagine it was due to the late night festivities and fireworks.

The ancient race of ninjas

Another sign that we are nearing the end of our trip: the Accademia had a sameness about it to many other works of art we have seen over the past few weeks. More works by Tintoretto, Titian and Verenese. All special and spectacular in their right, but also similar to so many others. This is not a criticism, these artists and the many they influenced had a profound impact on the world.

Old or new?

What do you prefer?

There was also an exhibition of the work of Philip Guston, responding to the work of various poets such as Yeats and Eliot. The juxtaposition of his work next to the classics is puzzling. Well it is to me. All it does is to serve to highlight his lack of talent. I'm sure an art critic would tear down my comments, but his child-like renditions of feet, or scratchy depictions of every day objects against the work of Titian? Please. What was most interesting in this particular exhibition was the number of people who managed to repeatedly encroach on the alarmed spaces in front of the exhibits - all very clearly marked on the floor by lines and/or railings. As we moved through the spaces, we continuously heard the alarms being set off and actually observed one woman who set the thing off three times in less than a minute before her friend worked out it was her that was causing the alerts. Mind you, none of the security staff seemed remotely concerned or responded in any discernible way so may be they shared our opinion regarding the artistic merit of the works.

From the Accademia we walked down to the point occupied by the Church of Santa Maria della Saluté. It has views back across the Grand Canal to the San Marco area and down towards the main pier where the big cruise ships berth. It is certainly less crowded on this island and the views in large part are interrupted only by water craft, pylons and pontoons.

Looking back across the water to San Marco

Walking around the other side of the island we went down to Chiesa del Redentore to cross the pontoon bridge that is there for the Festa del Redentore. It is only there for one weekend a year and that is when the festival is on to commemorate the redemption of Venice against the plague through the intervention of the Virgin Mary, the patroness of Venice (in most artworks we have seen, Venice is represented by the blonde Queen of Heaven). The walk across the bridge is meant to be an experience reminiscent of either being on a boat or drunk, whichever best describes the rocking sensation that  is exaggerated by the wash caused by frequent boat traffic in the channel. This reminds Venetians of the precariousness of our earthly existence and the need to be grateful for the intervention of Mary to keep Venice safe. We walked across the bridge to the church just in time for midday mass.

The pontoon bridge

Then it was time to get hopelessly lost again. We staggered back across the bridge - swaying and moving with the waves and mapped our route back to the Accademia where we needed to cross on the other temporary (since the early 1900's) bridge back to the main island. Somewhere, somehow, we missed the Accademia; we think perhaps we walked around the back of it and down the other side and missed the bridge. We wandered happily until we realised we weren't where we were supposed to be. We were geographically embarrassed. We were lost. Hence today's title, Island of Lost Souls by Blondie. We couldn't find any of the nearby streets on a map, we were lost on an island of lost souls. In a moment of dejà vu, I thought it would be a good idea to follow the signs to Piazzale Roma, which we did for a while. Until we decided to locate Piazzale Roma on the map and saw that it was miles away from anywhere we wanted to be and it appeared to be a transit terminal of some sort.

No idea where this was, but it's where gondolas go to die.

Back to the drawing board. Then I lucked onto Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, a ginormous church that would have to be on the map. It was. Wow. We were way off course and a long way from where we wanted to be. So, it was time to retrace our steps and find that elusive bridge near the Accademia. This time we were successful and thought it prudent to stop for a drink, a bite to eat and a rest. Semi-accidentally we located one of the cicchetta osteria's that was recommended to us but we couldn't get a seat so went around the corner to a cafe and took up a position people watching and enjoying a birra alla spina with a panini.

And that is Venice.

It was then, dear reader, that the crowds started to get to me. We were following a circumlocutious path home, as one does in Venice and the paths seemed to be narrower and the maddening crowds larger and the mindless tour groups more plentiful. Unusually, we did not pass a shop where you could buy wine so we had to back track and head towards San Marco and the area behind the square. Not good at this time of the day because the day-trippers were all still here. Eventually we found a shop that sold wine, Jayne made a quick purchase and we made directly for the apartment. Time to rest and recuperate before dinner at Da Jonny's at 7pm.

Dinner was beautiful once again. Tonight we shared a bowl of mussels and clams followed by gnocchi with red sauce and prawns and Jayne had rib-eye fillet and I had cuttlefish, finished off with desserts and coffee. Service, atmosphere, food, everything was perfect. We sat outside which meant we got to watch many a confused tourist wander past, not once, in many cases twice and occasionally three times. Not all of them were amused by their geographic dislocation. Sitting eating delicious food with a glass of wine - I was vastly amused. Although the call of the night goes to the older French lady who stopped to ask directions to the station and how long it would take to get there. Our waiter happily pointed to map and showed her the route to take and said it would take about an hour to walk there. Off she went only to return about 10 minutes later, a face like thunder, ignoring the directions she had been given. When we told the waiter, he laughed, shrugged his shoulders and said, "It is Venice".

Then is it was back to the apartment to sit in the altana and listen to the sounds of Venice changing gears into a more relaxed pace once many of the tourists had returned to the mainland. That's a happy thought with which to conclude this post.

Fun fact: The two most common sights in Venice?

1. People walking with a map in hand or sitting at a cafe with a map open, trying to work out where they are or how to get some where else.
2. People walking with the mobile phone in hand, following google maps.

Thunderstruck (Venice)

The view from the Rialto Bridge

Almost 3 weeks into the holiday and I'm thinking, I don't want to write today. It is a beautiful afternoon in Venice and we have had a very relaxing day. Anything is distracting me from this post, including the gondolas trying to make the left corner back towards the grand canal. That turn, as tight as it is, has been made even more difficult today by what we in Australia call a 'dick'. He arrived just after 9am this morning in his power boat, playing AC/DC's Thunderstruck at top volume on his phone. I was impressed by the volume his phone could achieve (assuming he had no bluetooth speakers hidden on the boat), but otherwise, bogan, bogan, bogan. There is a place reserved for you in Australia and, since you obviously have money and little class, I'd suggest The Shire. No dear reader, not where Bilbo Baggins comes from, the other shire, the one that is home to racist bogans.

The other view from the Rialto Bridge

While we had planned today, everything was flexible because there were no time constraints. Our first stop today was the Rialto Markets. We weren't intending to purchase anything because that would mean I had to cook!!! No, no, we were just going to have a look and not take pictures because a dead fish is a dead fish in any country and isn't really that fascinating (are you reading this Asia?).

The pressure was on because I had to navigate us to Campo Bartolomeo as it is adjacent to the Rialto Bridge and then the markets follow. As a bridge it serves its purpose, but I am uncertain as to its fame. It lacks the charm of Ponte Vecchio, although it has similar crowds; people just standing around staring, smiling vacantly, holding selfie-sticks and phones in the air. If I was a pick-pocket ...

Interesting architecture, a mixture of Christian and Muslim.

The bridge crossed (and crossed off the list) we grazed past the tourist stalls and moved slowly towards the markets. They were as described, a produce market and that is what they were, fresh fruit, vegetables, seafood and flowers. There were other shops around where you could also purchase cheeses and meats. If we lived here, this is where we would shop on the weekend, it had a diversity that I wish Eveleigh markets could replicate.

There is an interesting mix of architecture in Venice, due largely to it being a major destination on the trade route. Another interesting fact is the importance of fresh water. As an archipelago, fresh water is life. The closed wells that you see everywhere are actually fresh water storage areas. The space surrounding the well has drainage holes in the stone and when it rains the water is channeled underground into a storage system. Ingenious. Indeed the Basilica of San Marco was considered to be the life blood of the place because its vast floor area acted as a huge catchment for fresh water.

A well, of sorts

The drainage point to capture water for storage

After the markets, I thought it would be a good idea to follow the signs to Piazzale Roma. No dear reader, I had not the slightest concept of what we would find there. Off we went, following the signs down this alley and out of that one, emptying into a Campo and looking for the sign and setting off again. After maybe three days (ok, 30 minutes) I deferred to my map reader. We were close, but the Piazzale Roma appeared to be little more than a hop off point for the mainland. I should have researched that one.

We still hadn't had breakfast and decided the nearest cafe that served pastries and coffee where you could sit down would be a winner. And it was a winner. Fresh orange juice, pastries and great coffees -  we sat down to enjoy breakfast and the company of pigeons. You are never without the company of pigeons in Italy. While we were contemplating the day, Jayne consulted her map and noted we were not far from one of the restaurants that had been recommended by Anna. The two we had already visited were great so we thought we should check out Osteria Ca' Mocenigo. A quick discussion with one of the staff and a lunch booking was made.

There was a bit of time to fill before lunch but we intended to head home for a domestic chore - hanging out the washing - and on the way we looked for some presents to ensure our spoiled family remain spoiled. This task consumed more time than we had anticipated and we didn't arrive back at the apartment until almost 11:30 which created a tight timeline in which to hang the washing out of the window and battle the crowds, navigating back to wherever it was we had our lunch booking.

I should have photographed our washing. It's too late now, we've brought it in, but it was on a line that is fixed to the outside wall of the apartment. Yes, it's 3 floors above ground and you have to lean out of the window to peg the clothes on the line. Not easy for a short person, but fascinating.

Lunch. A long lunch. So long in fact the planned museum visit was postponed. We arrived back at the restaurant at 12pm, the first customers for the day. Not so crowded we thought. That didn't last and when we left after 2pm it was packed, but I am getting ahead of myself. We were greeted warmly and had our choice of tables. We were offered menus in both Italian and English and settled in to select our dishes. Not so easy. Too many wonderful choices. After some negotiation we managed a shared caprese salad and then house lasagne and black spaghetti with prawns and tomatoes. The lasagne would take at least 30 minutes ... that's OK, we weren't in a rush.

The bread arrived with the water and the wine. We sat and nibbled on the beautifully fresh bread, drank the wine and watched the restaurant fill up. The head waiter/owner was most adept at selecting the nationality of his customers and offering menus in an appropriate language, we were one of the few who were offered a choice. Interesting. The salad was, as you would expect, colourful and tasty. Jayne loved her lasagne and I thought my black spaghetti was superb, especially the prawns, very sweet.

Post lunch we had the shopping to do as planned, but the museum just seemed like a bridge too far (did you see what I did there? Bridge? Like it's Venice, there are bridges everywhere). Back home to ... well, rest and then head out for an afternoon beer when we thought it was going to storm. Curious? I wanted to be in the local Campo to watch everyone run for cover and close their stalls. OK, maybe not nice, but a really cool spectator sport.

Once we had safely ensconced ourselves under the awning, we ordered drinks and waited. Nothing happened. We watched a group of four people crowd a woman sitting on her own until she left and gave them the table. Truly fascinating to watch. I wanted her to stay and at least make it awkward for them to communicate with each other, but she seemed unperturbed and stood and gave them the table, not that she moved far. She stood nearby, intently texting on her phone.

The awnings around us started to be raised, the table clothes were placed on the tables and the umbrellas were put away, the stalls began packing up and the rain drops arrived. Large raindrops that sent staff scurrying. Our awning was extended (nice), some tables were unmade, a few people re-located to the inside ... but not much else happened. Whatever storm there was slipped to the west of us despite the promise of what we saw yesterday.

We walked down to the Grand Canal where they are placing barriers along the water's edge in preparation for the fireworks tonight. If you have been to the New Year's Eve fireworks in Sydney, my well travelled reader, you would understand the level of paranoia that goes into the planning of the evening. The barricades they are using here would not stop pre-schoolers pushing them over and falling into the water. Perhaps in Italy the expectation is that children are the responsibility of their parents and drunken adults (insert own national prejudice, although there has been some consistency of nationality in drowned drunks in Australia) who slip beneath the surface and don't return are contributing to Darwin's theory of evolution.

Then back home to tap on the keys a little and the prepare for the climb to the terrace (known locally as the altana) to eat cheese and drink wine and watch the fireworks that reputedly will last 45 minutes. I know we come from the land of crackers but really, 45 minutes? I doubt it will hold my interest for 15, but we shall see.

It is bed time (after 10:30 pm), dear reader, and the fire works have not eventuated...

fino a domani