Saturday, May 21, 2005
And so it goes.
[tags: _travel]
A single friend of ours asked whether it was worth going to Venice. My answer, sadly, was "not if you're single". It's true; the conspiracy against singletons is at its peak here in "romantic" venice, where every bridge is made for sighing, the very streets seeming to hold hands across the water. Venice was also made for mystery, and darkness; McEwan's The Comfort of Strangers takes place in an ur-Venice where every shadow is suspect; the Death story of Endless Nights also invokes its strange history. And then, of course, there are the masks.
A sheet of rain greeted us at the entrance; showers came and went and so did we. The weather rewarded us with rainbows (it was almost British in unpredictability) and fantastic shots of the sinking sun against the canals.
After dinner, we roamed round the opposite bank from San Marco and took pictures of the imposing Cathedral there. We then crossed over to the Square again, where people gathered near Florian's cafe and its rival Danieli to listen to the musicians. The crowds had mostly lessened, but the chilly night air didn't dampen our spirits. We finally came home at 1:30am, fully worn out but utterly satisfied.
A single friend of ours asked whether it was worth going to Venice. My answer, sadly, was "not if you're single". It's true; the conspiracy against singletons is at its peak here in "romantic" venice, where every bridge is made for sighing, the very streets seeming to hold hands across the water. Venice was also made for mystery, and darkness; McEwan's The Comfort of Strangers takes place in an ur-Venice where every shadow is suspect; the Death story of Endless Nights also invokes its strange history. And then, of course, there are the masks.
Bridge of Sighs
A sheet of rain greeted us at the entrance; showers came and went and so did we. The weather rewarded us with rainbows (it was almost British in unpredictability) and fantastic shots of the sinking sun against the canals.
Sunset from Ponte Tre Archi
After dinner, we roamed round the opposite bank from San Marco and took pictures of the imposing Cathedral there. We then crossed over to the Square again, where people gathered near Florian's cafe and its rival Danieli to listen to the musicians. The crowds had mostly lessened, but the chilly night air didn't dampen our spirits. We finally came home at 1:30am, fully worn out but utterly satisfied.
San Marco at Night
Venezia, rapidamente
[tags: _travel]
(first part here).
Saturday morning, we were up early to sort out our breakfast (cream croissants and cappuccinos). We wandered up Canareggio district to the Ponte Tre Archi and admired the view of the mainland. Van raved about the flower boxes in every window and the colorful, sea-faded look of the houses.
Sadly, we fell at the first hurdle and bought Venetian carnival masks at the very first souveneir shop we saw. Thankfully, they didn't rip us off too badly and were very friendly as we tried on various configurations of Arlecchino and cat's faces.
On our way to the main attractions (the Rialto and San Marco) we ducked into the Franchetti Gallery in the Ca' d' Oro (the house of gold?) Local favorite Titian (Tiziano) was on display here, as was a stunning portrait of St Bartholomew being pierced by arrows. From the grandly sculpted balconies, we watched the vaporetti cruise along the Canal. In the courtyard of the museum the tiled floors were fantastic in the morning sunshine.
After the Franchetti, we followed the signs to the Rialto like the growing horde of tourists behind us. The wonderful thing about Venice is that you forget you are on a fantasy island, as you wander the shops and get lost in the crowds, then you turn left and a canal winds away into the open lagoon beyond. At the Ponte Rialto we stopped for gelato, then crossed over into the sights and smells of the fish and veg market and sat down for a breather. We watched cheerful gondolieri steer fat American ladies with cameras away from the water; and locals chatting away over bundles of asparagus and sugar beet.
Continuing our slow way to San Marco, I began to appreciate the timelessness of the place, at once endangered and eternal. Everywhere you looked - in the adjustable flood barriers, the takeover of the tourist industry from actual Venetians - you could see the death of a city that should never have been in the first place.
Finally, we arrived at St. Mark's Cathedral and Square. At first I was a bit underwhelmed - sure, the square itself was a fantastic sight; and the Cathedral equally so; but as squares go, it was dwarfed by Tiananmen and out-splendored by Brussels' Grand Plaza. Maybe it was the long walk in preparation for it; or the lack of sun by the time we got there; or the tourists and pigeons, symbiotically dancing with breadcrumbs in every available space. However, inside the Cathedral my spirits lifted. Intricately tiled floors, bronze and beaten gold on the walls and vaults; the Byzantine glory of a place where the eastern and western churches bid for power. The altar screen of the church alone was inlaid with thousands of jewels of every concievable size and variety.
After buying a few more trinkets from the handy trinket shops outside the Doges Palace, we looped round to the Bridge of Sighs (nice, but nothing special - the tourist crush was really getting to me) and took a well-deserved lunch break with sandwiches and wine in a nearby cafe.
(first part here).
Saturday morning, we were up early to sort out our breakfast (cream croissants and cappuccinos). We wandered up Canareggio district to the Ponte Tre Archi and admired the view of the mainland. Van raved about the flower boxes in every window and the colorful, sea-faded look of the houses.
Sadly, we fell at the first hurdle and bought Venetian carnival masks at the very first souveneir shop we saw. Thankfully, they didn't rip us off too badly and were very friendly as we tried on various configurations of Arlecchino and cat's faces.
On our way to the main attractions (the Rialto and San Marco) we ducked into the Franchetti Gallery in the Ca' d' Oro (the house of gold?) Local favorite Titian (Tiziano) was on display here, as was a stunning portrait of St Bartholomew being pierced by arrows. From the grandly sculpted balconies, we watched the vaporetti cruise along the Canal. In the courtyard of the museum the tiled floors were fantastic in the morning sunshine.
from the Ca'd'Oro
After the Franchetti, we followed the signs to the Rialto like the growing horde of tourists behind us. The wonderful thing about Venice is that you forget you are on a fantasy island, as you wander the shops and get lost in the crowds, then you turn left and a canal winds away into the open lagoon beyond. At the Ponte Rialto we stopped for gelato, then crossed over into the sights and smells of the fish and veg market and sat down for a breather. We watched cheerful gondolieri steer fat American ladies with cameras away from the water; and locals chatting away over bundles of asparagus and sugar beet.
Continuing our slow way to San Marco, I began to appreciate the timelessness of the place, at once endangered and eternal. Everywhere you looked - in the adjustable flood barriers, the takeover of the tourist industry from actual Venetians - you could see the death of a city that should never have been in the first place.
en route to San Marco
Finally, we arrived at St. Mark's Cathedral and Square. At first I was a bit underwhelmed - sure, the square itself was a fantastic sight; and the Cathedral equally so; but as squares go, it was dwarfed by Tiananmen and out-splendored by Brussels' Grand Plaza. Maybe it was the long walk in preparation for it; or the lack of sun by the time we got there; or the tourists and pigeons, symbiotically dancing with breadcrumbs in every available space. However, inside the Cathedral my spirits lifted. Intricately tiled floors, bronze and beaten gold on the walls and vaults; the Byzantine glory of a place where the eastern and western churches bid for power. The altar screen of the church alone was inlaid with thousands of jewels of every concievable size and variety.
After buying a few more trinkets from the handy trinket shops outside the Doges Palace, we looped round to the Bridge of Sighs (nice, but nothing special - the tourist crush was really getting to me) and took a well-deserved lunch break with sandwiches and wine in a nearby cafe.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
La Serenissima
[tags: _travel]
We came in the dead of night, after a long and tiring trek across London, into Stansted and out again; flying through grey cloud towards Treviso airport. Then a bus ride through suburban streets punctuated by neon signs advertising the "F.A.R.T. Club" and Eastern European hookers winking from gas stations and streetcorners. We came in the dead of night, over the long bridge from Mestre and into Venice.
Instantly as we left the bus station on foot, the air changed, the night became clearer and quieter, and the only sounds we heard were footsteps. The glassy waters of Venice at night are even more serene and beautiful than I had hoped for. Van was just as giddy as I was; the exhaustion seemed to fall away from our shoulders.
We eventually found our (extortionate but conveniently placed) hotel and checked in before heading out again to have a drink and a look round. Other backpackers wandered past, some of them more than once, trying to find a hostel on the island in vain. This was the weekend of the voga longa (one of the largest of 100+ regattas held in Venice each year) - there were simply no rooms to be had for love or money. Silently I thanked the stars that we were able to reserve only a week in advance.
In the chill night air, we made our way to the Grand Canal and took photos of the passing vaporetti. Past midnight, and still an occasional flash of cameras from the water taxis. The locals, sensibly, had all gone to sleep, leaving us tourists to walk with the ghosts of the city.
We came in the dead of night, after a long and tiring trek across London, into Stansted and out again; flying through grey cloud towards Treviso airport. Then a bus ride through suburban streets punctuated by neon signs advertising the "F.A.R.T. Club" and Eastern European hookers winking from gas stations and streetcorners. We came in the dead of night, over the long bridge from Mestre and into Venice.
Instantly as we left the bus station on foot, the air changed, the night became clearer and quieter, and the only sounds we heard were footsteps. The glassy waters of Venice at night are even more serene and beautiful than I had hoped for. Van was just as giddy as I was; the exhaustion seemed to fall away from our shoulders.
We eventually found our (extortionate but conveniently placed) hotel and checked in before heading out again to have a drink and a look round. Other backpackers wandered past, some of them more than once, trying to find a hostel on the island in vain. This was the weekend of the voga longa (one of the largest of 100+ regattas held in Venice each year) - there were simply no rooms to be had for love or money. Silently I thanked the stars that we were able to reserve only a week in advance.
In the chill night air, we made our way to the Grand Canal and took photos of the passing vaporetti. Past midnight, and still an occasional flash of cameras from the water taxis. The locals, sensibly, had all gone to sleep, leaving us tourists to walk with the ghosts of the city.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Sempre Dritto
It is said by J. G. Links, the author of Venice for Pleasure, that the only direction you will get from a Venetian is 'sempre dritto' (dritto being the Venetian contraction for diritto). This is approximately, 'always direct', or even 'straight ahead'. In fact, Links adds, "If he does not answer, 'sempre dritto', he is not a Venetian, and his directions must be treated with caution." This curiously psuedo-precise term is common throughout Italy. I was advised, 'avanti diritto, sempre diritto' (proceed ahead, straight ahead), only to find myself facing a 'Y' in the road within a block.
The orienteer constrained by 'either/or' logic, implicitly expects the single 'best' directions that the offeror can give. However, this poor soul will miss the greater truth in the statement 'sempre dritto' of our fleeting acquaintance. What he is telling us is: "Where you are going does not depend on the particular path you take. In Venice, there are beautiful things on each path. Take one. Do not worry about the path taking you to your destination. Your destination will find you."
And now, to you my friend, I say, sempre dritto.
- Orienteering: Venetian Style .
Guess where we're going this weekend? :)
The orienteer constrained by 'either/or' logic, implicitly expects the single 'best' directions that the offeror can give. However, this poor soul will miss the greater truth in the statement 'sempre dritto' of our fleeting acquaintance. What he is telling us is: "Where you are going does not depend on the particular path you take. In Venice, there are beautiful things on each path. Take one. Do not worry about the path taking you to your destination. Your destination will find you."
And now, to you my friend, I say, sempre dritto.
- Orienteering: Venetian Style .
Guess where we're going this weekend? :)
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