We travel not to escape life but for life not to escape us.
Venice crept into my affections on a hot summers day over 5 years ago. I had avoided visiting as my impression was that it was just a very expensive, crowded, tourist spot that is sinking and smells badly of sewage. Some of those labels are very true, but surprisingly not the one about it smelling. Yes it is damp and that creates an odour, but to be honest the fetid stink of a slum township ditch overflowing with septic waste on the African continent is much more odious.
La Serenissima
Venice has been referred to as 'the old lady of the lagoon' and she is an audacious woman. No-one in todays politically correct climate would be bold or brave enough to defy all health and safety requirements and build a city suspended in water on tree poles! She is an improbable city of marble, huge hunks of weighty slabs balanced precariously on an upside down forest. A picture of unreasonable extravagance where nations met and mingled, sea faring traders, the wealth of the West meeting the flamboyant spices and riches of the East.
"Only time and neglect can make something as beautiful as this, " Monty Don commenting on an Italian garden. A statement that could equally have been made about this city.
It was a hot Saturday in July when we arrived by train and pulled in at the central station just steps away from the Grand Canal. We came in 'to the palace by the back door' unable to afford the more expensive approach by water taxi from the airport across the water! The only reason we were in Venice was because it was the cheapest flight destination we could find that gave us a break from the dull grey cold English summer we fled from. I had no idea what I had let myself in for.
Thomas Mann put it so well in his book 'Death in Venice.'
' He saw it once more, that landing place that takes the breathe way, that amazing group of incredible structures the Republic set up to meet the awe-struck eye of the approaching seafarer: the airy splendour of the palace and Bridge of Sighs, the columns of lion and saint on the shore, the glory of the projecting flank of the fairy temple, the vista of gateway and clock. Looking, he thought that to come to Venice by the station is like entering a palace by the back door. No-one should approach, save by the high seas as he was doing now, this most improbable of cities. '
I didn't know this was the back entrance. I was just battling the heat and the crowds. It was sweltering hot so I went into the train station restrooms to change out of my trousers into a sundress. So far all I had seen of Venice was a patchwork of buildings approaching through the swamps as I watched through the salted window of the train.
I was prepared for the heat, the damp and the crowds but not the beauty as I walked out of the train station and down the steps onto the Grand Canal.
"The doors are open and I step out into wet rosy light, onto a sweep of wide shallow steps. Shimmering water glints from the canal below. I don't know where to put my eyes. The Venice of myth is real, rolled out before me ..." Marlena de Blasi
Mouth dropped wide open I took it all in ...
"All of Venice is tattered resign, achingly lovely, and like an enchantress, she disarms me, makes off with the very breath of me." Marlena de Blasi
I couldn't help loving her, I had resisted for years but on arrival I finally gave in, she had captured my attention and affection.
So there began my exploration and many years later whenever I return I am still discovering new corners of the city. Restaurants I can't afford. Overpriced tourist food and hidden secret bars 'bacari' - where the locals drink and eat. I have found the affordable solution is to shop at the supermarket alongside the cruise ship terminal and live off cheap bottles of Prosecco and olives. The surrounding area of the Veneto is a rich fertile agricultural land packed with vineyards and orchards. The supermarket is the cheapest, fastest way to access food and drink.
Venice is packed with tourists and avoiding the crowds is difficult but if you explore late at night or early in the morning she is an empty calm place. I find her slightly quieter in the winter but the level of tourists is always high. My visits have been a never ending exploration along the rabbit warren that is Venice. The island of Guidecca has often been the place to retreat from the crowds and look back across to St Marks square. (Where apparently Saint Mark's bones were smuggled in to the city hidden in a cart load of pig heads!)
On that first trip, our first stop was at a little bar down a side street for the obligatory glass of coffee. I had ignored all sound advice about wearing sensible shoes. I needed to enjoy my sundress and so I was wearing wedge heels. Silly vain woman that I was, I paid the heavy price later in the day when a huge blister the size of a pancake covered the base of my foot and I hobbled around in pain. (Take my advice, wear comfortable shoes, the city is made of hard marble and you will feel it in your feet very quickly.)
Also on that first visit, no-one had warned us that we had actually arrived for the biggest party of the year. Not the Carnival which is a slightly over exaggerated tourist extravaganza, but the Feast of the Redeemer. The true festival of Venice that celebrates the end of the plague of cholera.
Having booked us into the cheapest youth hostel I could find and having no idea where it was, we ventured over to the water taxi, stepped aboard and leaving the dock found ourselves in the middle of the lagoon, afloat amidst a sea of boats decked out with flags, balloons, bunting, local families and friends holding parties on every available floating item, from rowing boats, dingies, gondolas, to motor boats and yachts. Instead of the normal sedate journey across the bowl of water, we wove our way through a floating party and were thrown out in the middle of it all on Guidecca island. It was a pleasant surprise to find out that we had chosen the best place to enjoy the feast of the redeemer and not only that, our hostel bedroom was on the third floor with a huge window opening out to overlook the harbour and celebrations unfolding.
The side walk was lined with tables, each weighed down with food, candles and vases of flowers. I noticed the pink street lamps ( no other city I know has pink street lamps!) and yellow lanterns strung along the water front. Music played.
Tired after a long day of travel we realised there was no way anyone was going to sleep that night. The fireworks started at midnight and then the party really started. I fell asleep in the early hours in my youth hostel dormitory bunkbed, the window wide open looking out across the bowl of water to Saint Marcs square on the other side. The clinking of broken glass and brushes sweeping the streets was my lullaby as I fell asleep. The party stops with the rising of the sun. I fell asleep as the city awoke to another day, tidying up and recovering quickly from the biggest party of the year. By mid morning a huge storm had built up and washed the streets clean of all debris.
That was my first night in Venice and I never forgot it.
' Is there anyone but must repress a secret thrill, on arriving in Venice for the first time - or returning thither after a long absence ...' Thomas Mann - Death in Venice
Venice isn't just one island, she is many islands with marsh land and sea dividing and breaking into a multitude of inlets and canals. On my second visit in the winter months I ventured over to the colourful island of Burano where I imagined that the vibrant brightly painted houses helped drunk sailors work their way home through foggy sea mists, following the call of their own perfectly chosen colour.
Another magical place to visit is the Lido, we paid a brief visit during the Venice film festival in September and stood outside the Hotel Excelsoir, imagining another Grand Hotel which is the setting for the aforementioned book. (Death in Venice- Thomas Mann)
Below, shells on the beach - the Lido.
In the depths of January when the BA flights are cheap I have flown over twice. On the most recent trip I discovered a brilliant old bookshop by accident, stumbling across the piles of damp books stacked along the walls under a huge chandelier. There is a small side door opening out onto a canal with the excellent EXIT sign explaining that in event of fire, jump!
Below, a photo of the old cemetery island, another cup of coffee to warm up on a cold January day.
Venice preparing for the Carnival in the build up to Lent and Easter.
Winter sunshine and snow on the surrounding mountains.
Venice was an extravagant dream to dream. A beautiful dream and an unrealistic dream ... she shouldn't have been built on all that sinking marshland and yet she still stands despite the fact everyone loves to tell us that she is sinking fast! She gives me hope that beautiful places can still be created and unrealistic dreams can come true.
I will keep travelling and I hope to see Venice again through many different seasons.
We travel not to escape life but for life not to escape us.
( For those who prefer a little armchair travel and reading a book is the closest you will ever get to this grand old lady of the lagoon, I recommend Polly Coles - 'The Politics of washing, Real life in Venice' or 'A thousand days in Venice ' - Marlena de Blasi. )