Today, I left Bellinzona in the early morning and boarded the train for Venice. Europe, as we Americans are always surprised to find, is not that large - it's a mere five hours from Ticino to Venezia via high-speed rail. I hustled my oversized bag onto the train and was quickly speeding down past Lake Como to Milano Central. The train for Venice was already there, and I hopped on and stowed my possessions. The forecast called for rain and misery in Venice, but I hoped very much that the weather gods would be wrong.
A hidden passageway.
The trip to Venice went quickly, through a region of Italy I hadn't really seen before. You can tell you're approaching Venice as the nature of the sky changes (proximity to water) and the vegetation begins to give way to shores of seashell and gravel. The train eventually heads out onto a bridge over choppy and grey water: you can't see the city from the train, approaching, but you know it's there. The train ground to a stop and I hopped off: thankfully, it wasn't raining, just a bit overcast and sticky (as is the nature of seaside towns). Apparantly Venice is afflicted with mosquitos but I did not encounter a single one during my stay - although mosquitos seem to find me really disgusting and don't usually bite me. (YES).
View from the bridge across from the train station. I was not all that keen on going to Venice: I thought it would be tourist hell, full of sunburned jerkoffs from the world over and tourist shills and all that. It is indeed full of sunburned tourists but it is also incredibly beautiful and totally unique - an outpost of Byzantine, nautical Italian culture and very distinct from the rest of the Boot. I am extremely happy I came.
A lovely Byzantineish facade somewhere in the back allies.
My hostel was across the Grand Canal from the train station, which was swell and all, except I had my tremendous suitcase with me and realized I was going to have to lug the damn thing up a very large bridge. Which I set to doing. Thankfully a nice German fellow helped me with it. Something about me seems to activate the chivalry tendencies of nice German fellows. I can roll with it. I checked in at the hostel and was told the place I would actually be staying was a ways away. So I lugged the suitcase back over the bridge (and was assisted by another nice German guy) and waited for the water taxi.
I got off at the Ca' D Oro stop (the Ca' D Oro being a particularly palatial villa) and found myself on a wide open street, full of bakeries selling traditional Venetian wares, fruit-stands, and stop after stop for Murano blown glass. This time I was assisted over the bridges by a complement of three Texans. I finally made it to my hostel, which was located up four flights of stairs - I dutifully lugged my bag all the way up them, making a horrible racket - I like to think that no one was there to be woken up since it was 2 PM anyhow. The hostel was perfectly clean and suitable enough for my needs, and I quickly ditched my stuff and went out to forage for food and explore the city.
The canals do stink a little, but the city is simply drop-dead gorgeous - slightly dilapidated, yes, but full of pastel tones and abandoned back allies, a classic, tacky-ass photograph awaiting at every turn. The tourists seem to mostly ply the routes to St. Mark's square, and I decided to head off the opposite direction towards Santa Croce, the area across from the train station. This turned out to be fairly tourist-free - indeed, almost free of anyone - and a nice introduction to Venice's feel.
An especially narrow Venice alley.
WHY LOOK IT IS AN UNATTENDED GONDOLA. What are the legal penalties for gondola theft, I wonder?
After a nutritious lunch of strawberry and tiramisu gelato, I simply walked up and down the neighborhood, for it is Venice tourism tradition to get lost. (And you cannot get that lost - as Venice is on an island and possesses no areas where you are likely to get murdered - well, the stakes are low).
A rather austere Venice church, compared to others.
Not so popular canals behind Santa Croce.
Some typical Venetian candies. There were tons of these long licorice-y looking things.
Venetians like GIGANTIC MACAROONS. The city is very well known for its old-school bakeries and sweet shops.
I walked until my feet began to ache then found myself a park bench in a quiet square - I purchased a box of cherries and began to devour them, putting my feet up and watching a pack of children attack one another with water guns by the fountain. The weather was perfect: the looming storm clouds of the morning had blown over and left crisp and just-warm enough weather in their wake. I immediately liked Venice: it was nearly impossibly not to.
Sloshing through doubtless PESTILENCE RIDDEN water.
St. Marks complete with flooding. It may have been PESTILENCE RIDDEN but it sure was fun to splash around in.
Another shot of the puddles.
I decided it was probably time to go to St. Mark's Square -you know, the world famous legendary place, that all the tourists are supposed to immediately gravitate to? I had not gravitated there yet. Thankfully roughly a zillion signs were up to guide me towards the right place, and I manage to make my way through the corridors and bridges. I actually did gasp when I finally got there and was treated to an open view of the humongous piazza, facing the Adriatic sea directly, flanked by two columns and the Doges Palace and St. Mark's Cathedral. To add another element of interest to things, the square was flooded deeply with water - high water had come up and drenched the square, and packs of tourists were standing around looking distressed about it all. I decided that it would be perfectly logical to kick off my sandals and wade on in. Which I did, attempting not to think about the pigeon shit and millennia's worth of human junk that has doubtlessly accumulated in Venice's waterways and pathways, no, it was worth it to splash around in the water as the sun was going down.
I decided to be profligate and go out for a decent dinner, since, hell, it was Venice. I found this restaurant, Vini di Giogio, which had decent prices and a nice looking menu. So I headed on in.
I ordered these rather fetching traditionally Venetian scallops - the orange bit which I cannot identify was particularly delicious. They were cooked in a lemon butter sauce and were very nice.
Osso bucco with polenta and potatoes. This was quite nice, although I think the stuff we make at home is better - is that some sort of horrible sin? The polenta was interesting: they don't do it creamy squishy style like we're accustomed to, though the block fell apart and was tasty and soft when poked with a fork. I know osso bucco isn't a traditionally Venetian thang but it is one of my favorite Italian dishes and Venice is about as far north as I am getting this trip, don't judge me.
St Marks Square flooded with water, in the evening. A result of the Acqua alta, or high water.
I came back to St. Mark's after my dinner, and waded back into the inland sea again, coming out on the other side to stroll by the lagoon. The water was choppy and warm looking - a storm had blown through the Adriatic the day before, I think - and the sundown was absolutely beautiful.
A view of the island of San Giorgio Maggiore - it contains the Benedictine Monastery of San Giorgio, and is now the location of the Cini Foundation arts centre.
Magnificent evening by the water.
Tourists in fancy clothes promenaded up and down the strip, and I thought I looked pretty decent myself - had taken the trouble of putting on one of my better dresses (Hint: being dressed nicely when traveling also makes it infinitely easier to use the bathroom in fancy hotels, which is of INTEGRAL IMPORTANCE).
Detail from the top of St Mark's cathedral.
I had, you purchased a bottle of profoundly alcoholic but curiously tasty prosecco grappa. As I am a hobo, I poured off about half of it into a bottle of Coke (to escape the morality police, I guess) and had already taken a few hearty hits from it by the time I entered the Square of the evening. With a small quantity of booze on the brain, splorshing around the water became even more fun - although the water came up almost over my knees by the time I hit the middle of the piazza. They had a string band going in one of the cafes, lit up by gas lamps, and I waded over there, parked myself, and proceeded to drink my grappa and eat the rest of my cherries, totally content.
The canals in the evening.
It finally got dark - it gets dark late in Italy - and I decided to wander the streets and see if there was anything approximating a nightlife going on. Which there was not, even on Saturday night, because no one actually lives in Venice but tourists, and I suspect all the young party-happy tourists are either 1. poor due to their ridiculous lodging fees or 2. with their parents on Bonding Experiences which leaves 3. no one out for a partay. The enotecas seemed relatively popular, but at 6 euros for a glass of nasty wine, I wasn't too interested. I ended up simply wandering up and down the alleys and getting a little lost, as is the tradition in Venice - it's a very safe place and I stuck to tourist-frequented routes, so I didn't feel in danger of being tossed into a canal by a psychopath, particularly. These two boys I was inadvertently following however, seemed to think I was a pyschopath, judging by their glancing-behind-themselves and whispering whenever I got fairly close. I finally decided to approach them.
"Hey, I'm from California, not stalking you, just lost like you seem to be, " I said once we hit a nice well lighted place. That broke the ice - "Oh, okay - we're from Pennsylvania!" - and we decided to try to find our way back to the railway station and our lodgings together. It was a pretty fun stint of being lost -we walked by tons of lit up churches and cathedrals, enotecas and fancy restaurants, prowling gondoliers and all the other trappings. We stopped for a late night gelato at Grom - mmm, apricot and strawberry - and finally emerged on the wrong side of the Grand Canal, somehow. Not a problem: we hopped over the lit-up bridge beside the bus parking lot, and emerged smack dab at the train station, close enough to where I was staying. I said my goodbyes to the two guys and ambled happily down the street to my hostel, feet hurting like hell and happy I had come.
