Ah, Venice
I’m writing this as a train speeds me away from Venice and on to Lake Garda. Venice is kind of like The Godfather. Even if you’ve never seen it, you already know so much about it that a true first impression is impossible. You know all about the gondolas pushed by skinny men in striped shirts and flat straw hats. You know it’s very old, very wet, and of course, the most romantic place in the world.
It’s also hard to have a real first impression of Venice because there are so many people having the same impression at the same time. I cannot say this enough: there were a ton of tourists there. It’s like Disneyland if half of the rides were churches, and the other half were waiting in line to go into churches.
But acknowledging the inherent problems with any discussion of Venice, let’s talk about Venice.
For the first full day we were there, I was convinced that it was a miserable place. It was as if you reenacted the last days of the Roman Empire and the last 10 minutes of the Titanic at once. Lots of old, lots of sinking, lots of money.
It didn’t help that the first day in Venice was the most miserable weather we’ve experienced in Italy. The sky alternated between a mopey Pacific Northwest drizzle, and an angry celestial army of fifth grade bullies spitting at us. And sadly, I was woefully underdressed. Poncho, yes, but I was in shorts and a cotton t-shirt, so when it got wet, it stayed wet. It’s 2 days later and my socks are still smelly and damp (that’s right, I’m blaming the smell on the weather also).
I will say that the Basilica of San Marco, once we waded through the line, was gorgeous and only a little flooded on the inside. Sadly, photos, and bags in general were banned from entering, so I had to pose as a hunch back with my camera bag under my jacket. Miraculously, I was healed within seconds of leaving. All hail the basilisk!
An hour later, Sarah tracked down a cheap poncho for sale and suited up. Across the alleyway where she bought her 2.50 Euro plastic sheet a waiter was screaming at a table of Spanish tourists. Here’s what I got/made up from the exchange:
(Bill comes.)
Tourist: Hey, asshole, you’ve overcharged us.
Waiter: Oh, sorry about that.
Tourist: No problem. Also, your sister’s a prostitute.
Waiter: I know, but she’s happy, so... (Shrugs.)
Tourist: Also, Italians suck at football.
Waiter: Y’know it was a rebuilding year… we were overconfident, and we underestimated our group. I guess we shouldn’t base so much of our national identity on a game, huh? (Smiles.)
Tourist: Also, your wine list is amateurish, and the pasta was slightly overcooked.
Waiter: GET THE HELL OUT OF MY RESTAURANT!
Long story short, when it’s raining, Venice is miserable. It’s like you’re stuck in an emo/goth kid’s wildest dream. I was ready to leave and let the place crumble into the sea without me. But we went back the next day and it was bright and warm and it just made you happy to be seeing something so picturesque. On the downside, the weather report said it was going to rain again, so I was wearing everything I should’ve been wearing the day before. Pants, wool hiking socks, an extra synthetic long-sleeved shirt… on dressing for success, I was 0 for 2.
But Venice was pretty enough that fat globes of sweat on my ankles didn’t ruin a thing. We made ample use of our vaporetti passes, checking out a church used in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, as well as three islands, each less touristy than the last.
The islands turned out to be a pretty great find (I don’t know if you can all a well-traveled area with hundreds of years of history a find, but whatever). Murano was the island of glass-blowing. Pointy horse figurines, for making your friends envious and lacerated, demented clown caricatures in case you have to buy a souvenir for the neighbor that killed your cat, and fragile chandeliers, when you want to have an excuse for yelling at your clumsy kids who will break it within a week of your return.
Burano had lace. Refined lace for doilies, to be stashed in a drawer and eaten by refined moths, dresses for infants too small to understand how stupid they look, and lace parasols, with too many holes to keep out rain or sun with any real efficacy. I imagine there’s a good amount of annoyance among the lacers that the only real use for lace nowadays is in lingerie, whose lusty abandon is the antithesis of the genteel world that lace used to promote.
Last was Torcello. We had only 30 minutes to explore before we missed the boat, but I can confidently say that it’s famous for long walkways and restaurants that we couldn’t afford. On a fun note, there was also a museum that had free admission the one day of the year that we happened to be visiting- what are the odds? (Editor’s note: 1 out of 365) – but it also happened to be closed by the time we arrived. Some luck! (Editor’s note: Hours of Operation/24)
And on the third day, instead of Venice we took an unnecessarily long (but free!) bus ride to Padua (spelled Padova by Italians who suck at English). Padua the famous setting of Taming of the Shrew, but since Shakespeare hasn’t set a play in it for the last 410 years people don’t care that much about it anymore. Plus, the people living in Padua are all on vacation in August, so there’s something of a zombie apocalypse vibe in the streets, but in a good way. It’s also home to some of the finest graffiti in all of Italy. I found one artist whose work was prominently displayed in 3 parts of town. Enjoy.
From what I’ve seen of Venice,
I hold with those who favor water.
But if you want to hook up twice,
Zombies are badass,
And will suffice.
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