Cities: A Different Kind of Venice
It is difficult to write anything about Venice that has not been said before; “Venice is Eternity Itself”, said Joseph Brodsky. To some extent that is true, but on the occasion of my birthday, I thought it would be nice to take my dad there for a bit of bonding time. Travels with your father seem to be all the rage if you are a famous comedian and want to do a TV travelogue. Not being famous, a comedian or doing an all expenses paid documentary, I wondered how we would both fare? Being October, we explored a different kind of Venice to that in the summer crowds. It was a quiet, more reflective Venice – which suited us better.
Arrival by Sea
We arrived by water, which is highly recommended, especially on a foggy night like this one. I would like to say we arrived on a trans-European express train where white-gloved waiters served us lobster and champagne in a vintage carriage. Alas this was not the case, we flew from Bournemouth on a budget airline. It had two advantages over the train, firstly it was only a couple of hours door to door, and secondly the cost of the flight was £20 each way – less in fact than a 15 minute taxi costs from my home to the airport. Thankfully there were also no “white gloves” going through customs and we soon found ourselves in a water taxi.
Arrival in Venice by air still retains some glamour, as you descend some steps and end up on dockside without seemingly leaving the airport – its like the home of a Bond villain, with integrated air and boat connections, but no fluffy cats (as far as I could see)
The full boat set off at high speed into the mist, across the lagoon. Venice always seemed just out of reach, we were sat in the boat below water level, with windows at shoulder height. The glass covered in spray, condensation and fog. Kids kneeled with their noses against the cold panes and made hand patterns to seek some clarity and get some sort of recognisable glimpse, their breath soon filling in the gaps with another layer of opaque. The boat was fast, its bow exiting the water and launching high flumes of water across the windows as it crashed back down into the water. Occasional flashing lights and silhouettes hinted at boats, islands or landing stages.
Our first encounter was with a working Venice, a dockland Venice; fishing boats and cargo rather than gondolas. Finally, recognisable landmarks emerged from the fog; San Marco, and the dome of the Basilica Santa Maria della Salute. We were then deposited in St Marks Square as the rain continued to fall.
Venice is built on water, and is of the water. Built on wooden piles in a lagoon, its eternal struggle is just to keep afloat. Tonight, the water was winning, but then so were we; as it kept all but the most adventurous explorers indoors. The city, for a time, seemed ours alone. The fabulous reflections on wet stone, the almost ghostlike appearance of the Bridge of Sighs – real, imagined or a mirage? We passed along almost deserted, grand-columned walkways to the echo of our own footsteps. Groups of tourists walked together, under a rainbow of umbrellas, feet in synch like long millipedes across the square. Heads down against the weather, their muffled talking only broken by an exclaim, as a fancy shoe found a deep puddle.
Our hotel was a bit of a struggle to find, signals from distant satellites double-bounced off narrow, high stone walled “canyons” and our position on the map jumped around quite randomly. Eventually a bit of old fashioned asking took us to a different hotel, who happen to run the our building as an offshoot. Through a narrow gap in the square of Campo Santi Filippo e Giacomo an inner courtyard took us to our hotel – a beautiful old building, looking like some sort of mill with a wooden staircase bolted into chisselled stone walls.
With no buses, cars or even bicycles allowed on the main island of Venice, street by street exploration is by foot. Amongst the usual tat shops (which there are many) can be found the classy shops and tea rooms which evoke a timeless, bygone era of luxury. Opulent, mirror lined tea rooms invite you in and for a few moments you can imagine yourself a young aristocratic gentleman on the 18th century “Grand Tour”, Venice being a key entry on the itinerary.
Venice has numerous festivals, many requiring fancy dress and intricately detailed masks. Some of these can be found in the windows of old shops where you can buy one for a festival, or (more likely) for above the mantlepiece at home.
Dad told me the story of a horrific plastic gold gondola which lit up and moved under battery power. Bought in the 1970s, I remembered it, sitting in my grandmother’s house for many years providing disturbing entertainment for us kids. It went out with the arrival of “good taste” in our house, which I think came sometime in the 1980s. My dad saw something quite similar for a bargain price in a shop window. I had to wrestle it from his arms, saving him from certain strangulation when we got home!
Whilst dad rested up, I took a long walk around the southeastern quarter of the island to explore areas off the main tourist trail.
The waterfront is well served by coastline hugging paths. As I walked, a number of other islands could be seen in the lagoon, joined by a linked web of tracks left in the wake of the fast moving “Vaporetto” water bus services. I paused in the Giardini della Marinaressa, a lovely garden, home to a little sculpture park. A number of the exhibits were there for the “Venice Biennale” an art program that take place every other summer. Being October, it was in its final weeks.
Castello
I was deep into the Castello region of the island, home to the “Arsenale of the Republic of Venice”. In the thirteenth century this was the largest naval establishment in Europe, controlling the seas bordering all the Republic’s city-states in the Adriatic and the eastern Mediterranean. Venetian naval defences can still be found in coastal towns all over this part of the world. The mighty brick towers and high battlement walls of this one guard a number of canals and wharfs behind, all overseen by the mythical symbol of Venice – the winged lion. In 1509 the French army under Louis XII defeated the Venetians at Agnadello and their dominant position was never regained, Machiavelli writing in “The Prince” that on that day they “lost what it taken them 800 years’ of exertion to conquer”.
Beyond the Arsenale lay the real residential streets of Venice, so I wandered around them. In today’s society it is unnerving to walk around old streets and find them completely carless, but this is what you find here, a strange, unusual emptiness. These are the authentic houses where broken plaster exposes raw brick, electricity cables run across the streets and manual washing lines with winches were strung from house to house. Here these lines are communal, both households can load their washing and cast it out across the roads. Sadly today, with the wet, the lines were empty, but I bet it’s a spectacle when it’s washing day! With ambient street noise reduced, the sounds of family life drifted out of open windows. As I passed, some homes sounded full of drama, miniature operas that were sadly beyond my command of the Italian language. That same community spirit was also found in a highly decorates wooden box, on a post in a garden. It contained little books and ink stamps, a mini library!
Along the Grand Canal
Whilst for the full experience a gondola tour is probably a must, on a budget the Vaporetto is much more cost effective and gets you a full hour ride up the Grand Canal. We chose the “all stops” service as it makes its way more slowly up the meandering serpentine waterway. At each stop a rush of humanity swept off and another rushed on to replace them, like waves on the beach. We sat on the open deck at the back, so were unaffected by these movements and got the best view. The grand thoroughfare was exactly a road on the waves; fast and slow moving vessels jostled for space and taxis whizzed around in the same way a London cabbie finds that momentary gap in the traffic.
We walked back across the city, it is very compact, so possible in a couple of hours, including window browsing and an ice cream or two (mandatory of course when it Italy!). Whilst the Grand Canal is the main road, the side streets are the smaller, narrow canals. Doorways open to boat moorings instead of garages and drives, but there is still rush hour traffic and congestion. It is a living city, not a museum, so boats take the place of trucks, hauling bricks and tiles, food and drink. These little canals were perhaps more interesting than the large ones, watching the boats and getting a feel for the etiquette between the boat classes.
Dad sat to watch the boats, so I took a little walking detour to the canalside wharf where the gondolas are made and repaired. Fittingly for boats constructed of wood, the buildings themselves are made of the same material, something which is almost unique for Venice. For generations, the same company, called Squero San Trovaso, (Squero means “gondola maker”) has made and serviced these sleek, long boats. It requires a 10 year apprenticeship to become a master builder and by order of the city they must all be black, so the gondoliers express individuality through decoration. Dramatic silver fixings and luxury red fabric continue to be added in a sort of “arms race” between them, and two add further differentiation, some are flamboyant dressers and singers. Their songs, called Barcarolle, were apparently popular in the 18th century, versions of operatic arias, but very few sing today, and it seems a myth that it was ever the majority.
There used to be gondola yards all over Venice, but now there are just a few and a long waiting list for new craft. I sat for a couple of minutes, listening to the saws, hammers and chatting from the workmen for whom this job is both a vocation and prestigious. Maybe there is a great opera to be made set in the yard.
The Island of Lido
With an independent spirit it is possible to find another Venice, a short trip across the lagoon to Lido. The island is 7 miles long but very narrow, only a few hundred metres in places. It forms a barrier between the Venetian lagoon and the sea, and the coast facing the Adriatic is almost one continuous sandy beach. Even better, it is reachable cheaply on a regular Vaporetto service, but most chose to go to the islands more famous for glassmaking, so it the boat was mainly full of Venetians on their way to work.
Whilst dad read and explored the town of Lido, I managed to hire a bike for the day, so cycled down the island.
At its base is one of the finest areas of sand dunes for miles, with some up to 10 metres high. I passed the 19th century villas of the rich and famous who flocked here for the newly fashionable sea bathing. Many are still well maintained and are fabulous studies in Italian “Liberty” style, the local version of Art Nouveau, often surrounding little canals and inlets, which are cut so far inland as to almost slice the island into pieces.
Out of town, the road followed the lagoon coast, with great terrific views across to Venice and smaller islands. Getting to the south of the island, and Alberoni, it’s historical purpose became clear – guarding the lagoon as a defensive barrier to Venice itself.
Originally scarcely populated, in the Middle Ages a rowing race between long boats of up to 40 oarsmen took place between Venice and here, an event which gave the world the word Regatta.
As my legs took me towards the very end of the island, the road narrowed and my progress was blocked by an unusual sight – a big group of peacocks crossing the road. I decided to follow them down a narrow disused track which brought me (unexpectedly) to a big moated fort, the Batteria Rochetta. This was built in the mid 19th century by the Austrians to protect the narrow 400 metre wide sea lane between Lido and the next island, Santa Maria del Mare. Tempting though it was to get the waiting ferry across to the next island, I remembered that dad would be waiting for me so I started back.
After a mile or so, I spotted a large defensive bank with a gated tunnel going through it. Naturally it was time for a further exploration, so I cycled across a wooden bridge over the moat and through the tunnel and out into – a golf course! Another Victorian polygon-shaped defence system, complete with armoury and stable block had been accommodated in the design of the course. In laboured Italian, I asked for permission to look further, and having been given permission I parked my bike at the club house and went off around the grounds. I climbed inside large iron gun turrets and explored the army quarters. A small footbridge took me the other side of the moat system so I could admire the construction from outside. Concentric layers of moat, ditch, steep bank, brick and then iron defences rose up spectacularly, it was quite a feat of engineering for the time. As I was exploring, from time to time golf balls would fly over my head, so I got some sort of idea of receiving enemy fire!
Back at the clubhouse, the smartly dressed, seasoned golfers looked oddly at the man who had arrived in shorts on a green ladies’ bike. I smiled back and took a look at the club’s history, to find out this course, one of the earliest in Italy, was inspired by Henry Ford the car maker. Arriving at one of the Lido’s swish hotels in 1928, he unpacked his clubs and asked where the best course was and found there was none. Later the hotel group owners identified this site because it has the best features of a British links course – sandy soil and a fierce, unpredictable wind. A Scottish designer was hired and the course was built. Soon after it welcomed the rich and famous including the Duke of Windsor, Hitler and Mussolini – not all at the same time I assumed, although they probably all shared the trait of swinging “a little far to the right”.
I returned via the Adriatic coast, along a cycle/walkway raised above the beach. Below me driftwood shacks and decks had been constructed by the locals for evenings out with the BBQ, but the beach was deserted. It was October after all. On a warmer day it would be a great place to chill out and watch the waves as the steaks sizzled over the coals,
All too soon our adventure was over.
We had walked a lot and had some good conversations. We had seen many aspects of Venice, which was your favourite?
