Days 306-308 - Venice

City of street lamps

La Dominante, Serenissima, Queen of the Adriatic, City of Water, City of Masks, City of Bridges, The Floating City, City of Canals… To me Venice will always be the City of Street Lamps. The moment I arrived, I fell irreversibly in love with the street lamps here. Slender, filigreed, tastefully tinted in a delicate rosé, the street lamps of Venice are what is romantic about this city. In the morning their obscure pink wakes up the misty beauty of Venice sunrise, during the day they rest, calmly watching over the endless crowds of tourists, so that later on they can accentuate the color of the night with their bright gorgeous blush. I admit, I am fond of street lamps in general, but never have any of them evoked such profound feelings in me before.

Eat, eat, eat

I now understand why Elizabeth Gilbert’s Italy part of “Eat, pray, love” is dedicated solely to food. Italy is the eternal food paradise on earth. The food is here heavenly and eating is perpetual. If you want to succeed at reaching this nirvana of never-ending food coma, the only thing you have to do is figure out the very strict opening hours of restaurants: breakfast – until 11AM, lunch – from noon till 2PM (rarely 3PM in some lax places), dinner – 8PM onward. And that’s it, you are all set. Now just move slowly but surely from breakfast through all the beauty and history of Italian land- and cityscapes onto lunch, drink, dinner (if you are really ambitious, you can try to fit a massage or a concert in between). Pasta, lobster, pizza, oysters, lamb, tiramisu! What else will you ever need in life? Eating here is happiness. Eating here is religion. Eating here is... well, is there really anything else but eating?

I weighed myself upon arriving to Italy. I was 135 pounds. We shall see.

Gondola Ride

There is no map it seems,
no drawn way. Above me,
the ceiling is murky gray.
Soft moonlight filters through

and open window. A pattern begins.
I recognize it from other nights.
A quarter moon, and I get into
a gondola with a man I've never seen.

The man becomes the moon,
the ocean the sky. The gondola
floats among cirrus clouds,
in and out of soft rain.

Then the rain becomes hard, hits
window glass. The man is gone,
and I am not in the boat. There is
only the ceiling above me, familiar
like the sky.

Helen Losse

In quest of the oldest chiesa

Fed and entertained by the goldolieri’s songs, now I needed some mission to continue walking around Venice (having a real or imaginary goal does make wandering around a city more interesting). A friend told me once about the oldest church of Venice, built in the 5^th century, the name of which he couldn’t remember. This was a fine task, given that I set out to perform it without any usual helpful resources such as internet or call-a-friend line.

There are 117 churches in Venice, plus 23 on the Lagoon Islands (Murano, Burano, Torcello, etc.). I don’t know Italian. Do the math. Yet, determined to fulfill my goal, I popped into every little kiosk and stopped every other person in the street to figure out in half English, half broken Italo-Spanish where the church might be. Opinions differed, the two most popular answers were: San Marco (1063) and Angelo Raffaele (640). But I wasn’t satisfied; I remembered the church in point had to have been constructed in the 5^th century. Having realized that people were not going to help me, I combed the streets time after time without asking any questions, obsessively staring at plaques on all churches I saw on my way. I could care less about the name of the architect or legend associated with the place, I just greedily picked out construction dates only. Still no luck.

In the meantime, it was getting very dark and I started to get hungry again. Reluctantly (I don’t like to surrender), I gave up my quest and decided to go back to the hotel for some evening meal and reading. On my way to the boat I saw an ad for a Vivaldi concert that was to take place later on that night. I got in, bought a ticket, and was given a little brochure about the event. It read, “Vivaldi. Four Seasons. Chiesa San Giacometto (5^th century).” Mission accomplished.

Piazza di linguistica

This tiny shabby old church of my mission is located on a little square that is believed to be the birthplace of the word “bankrupt”. Bankrupt – 1530s, from It. banca rotta, lit. “a broken bench”, from banca “moneylender’s shop”, lit. “bench” + rotta “broken, defeated, interrupted”. “[S]o called from the habit of breaking the bench of bankrupts” [Klein].

As a linguist, I certainly appreciate being physically surrounded by the etymological roots of a word. I’m guessing, it’s something like being in Egypt (or Rome) for an archaeologist.

Venetian Glass

Little did I know about the Murano glass! In my artistic illiteracy, I honestly believed that all the colors and designs in the Venetian glass patterns are actually drawn. Not at all! Each color dot, each line is born from a complicated series of glass manipulation in different ovens, at different temperatures, with different minerals. There are no molds. Everything is hand-made. A vase may take several months to make, depending on the complexity of its color pattern. Now I understand why all Murano items are so incredibly expensive! In fact, after seeing how it’s made, I think it should cost even more.

The title and skills of Murano glass makers are handed from father to son. True masters are born into the factory and they die making their beautifully colored art. This guy on the picture below started working here when he was 11. He is now 68. This is 57 years of glass-making. 57! To show-case the process, he took the incandescent glass mass out of the oven. As if it were play-dough, the glass resignedly succumbed to his skillful moves and turned into a little precious vase, in less than a minute. I have rarely been that impressed in my life.

I stayed at: Hilton Molino Stucky (3 out of 5, a really gloomy huge space with tiny rooms and sub-par service)

I dined way too well at: Al Conte Pescaor (lunch hours: noon - 3PM), Trattoria do Forni (one of those rare places that are open all day long)