April 19th in Venice

We were looking forward to seeing Venice today, but it was with some reluctance that we packed up our bags in preparation for leaving Rome behind us. While we would be back for our last evening in Italy here, we knew that this part of our trip was pretty much over. Words cannot describe how deeply I loved Rome, and I will always treasure this trip especially, as it was my first time in Europe. I will always be grateful to Joe for treating me to such a spectacularly wonderful trip. The churches, especially the Jesuit churches of San’Ignazio and Il Gesu, St. Peter’s basilica, the piazzas and obelisks, the Capitoline Museum and Borghese Gallery, the marvels of the Pantheon, the crazy Roman drivers, the food – Da Ivo’s pizza, suppli, Caprese salads, gelati, the Colosseum – both standing in it and seeing it lit up with an orange glow in the evening – they will be in my memories for many decades to come.


Early in the morning, we rode to the Metro station to board the Eurostar train to Venice. The station was spacious and clean, with souvenir stores in abundance, and a cafeteria and grocery store offering a variety of food. I mistakenly thought the train was a non-stop one, as it was labeled express. As Joe later explained, “express” in Europe means you don’t have to get off the train and board a different one. After about 17 stops (and I may be exaggerating a bit), we finally arrived in Venice in mid-afternoon. As coincidence would have it, we sat across from two Dad’s from Sudbury, who were traveling with their wives and children sitting in a section behind us.

Upon arrival, we collected our bags and walked through the station in search of a water taxi. When I explained to Joe that the water bus would be considerably cheaper, he looked at me as if I was nuts. “Whatever it costs, it will be worth it,” he replied. Venice and the Grand Canal were something to behold, and we greatly enjoyed our ride along it to our hotel, snapping photos along the way and marveling at the water traffic. We were staying at Al Teatro bed and breakfast, located across the water from the famous La Fenice opera house where Maria Callas had sang. The street it was located on was named for her.

Upon arriving, the driver searched for a place to dock his taxi. We pulled up to the B&B, where we saw a young man, an employee of the B&B, with his head out the window, indicating where the driver should go. He came out to help us unload our bags and hop off. We entered the bottom floor and looked up, as a long, steep staircase welcomed us. Joe asked, “Let me guess, there’s no elevator, right?” After checking in and freshening up, we were eager to explore Venice. The young man and I poured over the map as Joe changed, and as we did, he warned me, “Just beware that the streets are weird here. They change names in the middle and along the way, so it’s easy to get lost.” He gave us a suggested route and wrote down a few places to stop for a snack and to eat dinner later.

As we headed out and began to tour Venice, Joe and I quickly came to appreciate one thing in Venice – the lack of cars and Vespa’s. No more looking over our shoulders while walking down a narrow, cobblestone street, no jumping back from street corners in an effort to keep our toes firmly attached to our feet, no honking or sirens. Water, water everywhere in Venice, which meant water taxis and vaporettos. Streets filled only with pedestrians.

Following the advice of the hotel, the employee, we took a left out of our B&B, then another quick left, down a narrow passageway to Piazza del Giglio. In the piazza is the Hotel del Giglio, a restaurant and souvenir stalls, and dominating the area, a bronze bull. Also located here is the Chiesa Santa Maria Zobenigo, a Venetian Baroque church. Upon entering it, I was immediately struck with how different it was compared to the churches in Rome. It was less ornate, darker, rather dreary. I left before Joe got a chance to duck inside.

We left the San Marco region and crossed the Ponte dell’Accademia, pausing to take a photo of the beautiful gold building of the Institute of Art and Letters. Once across the bridge, we entered the Dorsoduro region and found the famous baccaro, Osteria Do Mori suggested by the man at our B&B. It was busy with tourists and natives alike, queuing at the bar or eating outside by the water. We stood at the bar, drinking a glass of wine and savoring cichetti – croquettes, crostini and little sandwiches.

We continued walking, trying to stay on the main path, indicated in gold on the map. The reality of trying to find this so-called “main path” was difficult, as it meandered here and there, through narrow passageways and then back out to campo’s or piazza’s. Sometimes it is unmarked. More than once we saw hand painted signs on the side of buildings indicating with an arrow where San Marco or Rialto was. Sometimes we just followed others, hoping they were keeping to the same main walkway and not just heading home for dinner. We found a small shopping area lined with jewelry shops and a bakery, and we stopped in one to buy gifts, jewelry for Kelly and Angela, keychains for all, and then stopping in another, higher priced one for jewelry for my mother.

As to be expected, masks were the most popular item sold in Venice, with glass jewelry a close second. Joe popped in and out of shops, trying to find a harlequin one with red and blue. He finally found what he was looking for and bought it after a hard bargain. Right before we came to another bridge, which led us to the San Polo region, we came upon a produce market, the goods arranged in a boat. The tomatoes looked so plump, juicy and red, along with gorgeous green beans and Joe’s favorite, artichokes, that I said to him, “Gee, too bad we didn’t have a kitchen we could use. I could just whip you up a meal instead of eating out.” When he looked at me a bit skeptically, I said, “Yeah, right, like that would ever happen.”

Next, we stopped in a sweets store and bought a golden box of chocolates. I think Joe had one or two. Guess who had the rest. We then surprised ourselves when we looked up and saw the train station in Santa Croce we had arrived at only hours earlier. We strolled the fondamenta along the water, admiring the glass flowers and searching for a better map of Venice. The one we had was very difficult to read. We crossed over the Ponte degli Scalzi, pausing halfway to try and take it all in. It surely was a city on the water. We crossed back over, amazed at how far we had journeyed on our first day.

We then crossed the Rialto bridge for the first time and made our way to San Marco plaza. While we had an early reservation to tour St. Marks’ basilica in the morning, we didn’t want to wait to see it. We walked through the plaza and again I noted the difference between it and those in Rome. This was very large, bordered by the basilica at one end, the clock tower and shops to the right, the bell tower to the left, and another building opposite the basilica. Basically, it was a rectangular area boxed in by the surrounding buildings. It seemed pretty empty of decoration, free of flowing water fountains and obelisks.

We stopped to eat dinner at a place, naturally, on a narrow canal called Al Ponte del Megio on Calle Larga in San Croce. It offered outdoor seating, but with the sun going down, it began to get cold. We crossed our fingers and hoped for the best. Again, because it is Venice, their specialty was pesce. Joe and I had both ordered the sea bass, but his came out first as a first course. When I looked at the whole bass arranged on his plate, with the head and bones still on it, I said, “Mmmm, I’m not going to be able to eat that, with the head on it.” Wanting to avoid any trouble, Joe asked the waitress if the cook would kindly remove as much of the egregious stuff as possible.

After dinner, we enjoyed a leisurely stroll back to our hotel, stopping occasionally to consult the map when we were in doubt. It felt good to finally round the corner and see B&B Al Teatro, beckoning us upward and to bed. Thus concludes a wonderful, magical, first day in Venice.
Sometime during the night, Joe had got out of bed and turned on the light. I saw him swatting at something with a towel, and figured a moth had stolen in the room. When he didn’t go back to bed right away, I asked him what he was doing. “Killing mosquitoes,” he replied, “they’ve been biting me all night. I didn’t want to wake you, but I can’t take it anymore. They’re all over the room,” he said, as he continued to swat at them. Soon I joined in the quest, putting on my eyeglasses and searching the walls and ceilings in both the room and bathroom. After awhile, Joe said, “I think we got them all.” I peered closely at the green curtain hanging from the window and said, “I don’t think so. There’s two more on the curtain.” Each time Joe would swat at the mosquito, he’d say, “Get ready to meet your maker,” or “Be prepared to see St. Peter.” Afraid of waking up the other guests, I tried my best to keep my fits of laughter to a low decibel level.

Finally, we went back to bed and he said, “You know, I feel so stupid. Venice is surrounded by what? Water! Of course there are going to be mosquitoes. Why did we leave the window open while we were out? And why didn’t the owners warn us about it?” Just as we thought it was safe to go back to sleep, I heard a buzzing in my ear and whispered to Joe, “I just heard another one.” Up again and bloody towel in hand, he searched the room until he found it and killed it.