San Marco Basilica

Sunday, August 8, 2004– Florence to Venice

After a last cappuccino at the now familiar coffee bar, we depart for the train station.  We get there early and wander around sampling the scene and enjoying the diversity and cacophony of the hundreds of people there. 

The train ride is uneventful as it’s cloudy and the scenery between Florence and Venice is not that interesting.  On arrival at Stazione Ferroviaria S. Lucia or Venice Train Station in English, we search for our hotel, The Abbazia.  I chose it because it is very near the train station.  As usual we can’t find it even with the help of our “Streetwise Venice” map.  That’s because it isn’t on a street.  It’s down an alley, which sharp-eyed Tom notices has a sign with our hotel’s name on it.  We are delighted to discover the Abbazia is a converted abbey with an astounding lobby, that was, at one time, the monk’s dining room including a raised pulpit, from which scriptures were read during meal time.  We also notice a beautiful garden and breakfast site that we can see from our window. 

After unpacking, we walk to Piazza San Marco via the Rialto Bridge - a long walk.  The crowds are horrendous.  I can now see what I missed in December, that Venice is over-touristed.  At the square we note the long line to visit the Cathedral so we take some pictures of the tourists interacting with the pigeons.  You can find them along with other pictures at my Venice photo site

I remember a really friendly place Pam and I visited in December, Planet Dream, a pizzeria and bar.  We struggle to find it but finally do.  It’s crowded with young people.  I am shocked to discover the place now has a cover charge.  I learn that during the high tourist season most restaurants have such a charge whether you eat there or not.  The pizza is very good and the beer is refreshing but the aftertaste is disappointing.  This is the first disappointment. There will be others.  After eating, we take a Vaparetto to the Train Station and after a quick drink in the lobby, call it a night.

Reception Stairway, Palazzo Ducale

Monday, August 9, 2004 – Venice

This morning the food served at breakfast is mundane but eating it in the garden is terrific.  After breakfast we decide to visit San Marco Basilica so we head for Piazza San Marco.  The crowds along the way are horrific but we enjoy making snide comments about the “other” tourists as we go.  I suspect we garnered a few snide comments ourselves.  Fortunately, we couldn’t hear them. 

We get to the square only to find that it is a two hour wait to get in the Cathedral.  We pass.  Instead we visit the Correr Museum which is opposite the Basilica.  I had been there in December and I enjoyed the visit just as much this time.  It is a superb museum in terms of its artistic treasures, incredibly restored library and archeological exhibits which go back to Roman times, when Venice was just a collection of mud huts in a marsh.  The murals in the library are worth the trip by themselves. 

Next we visit the  Palazzo Ducale, (Doge's Palace) also on the piazza.  This is also a fine museum but more importantly a repository for the history of Venice, architecturally, artistically and historically.    We love wandering around, visiting the dungeons and the Bridge of Sighs, the throne room, the armory, etc., etc, etc.  We realize we could spend the rest of the day here but we are already thirsty, hungry and weary, a common state when one gets caught up in the beauty and history of a place.  I was particularly fascinated with the governing system of Venice.  It was an oligarchy with some democratic features.  For instance, a really incompetent or evil duke would not last very long.  He would just happen to die sooner than he should so the leaders could choose a more suitable candidate.

Piazza Scene: San Marco Basilica and Palazzo Ducale

As we re-enter the real world we comment on the juxtaposition in Venice of beauty and greed.  The square, which is architecturally fascinating, contains many over-priced jewelry stores, souvenir shops, restaurants serving $15.00 cups of espresso, etc.  Musically challenged bands duel for attention while the tourists try to attract pigeons to sit on their arms by buying over-priced bird seed.  The only difference between the tourists and the statues the pigeons usually sit on is that the statues can’t contract any diseases from the pigeons.  We buy a couple panninis and beers at a delicatessen on the way back to the hotel.  We walk for at least 45 minutes to reach our hotel by which time we are tired, thirsty and our feet hurt.  So we do what any over-65 should do in such a situation, take a nap.

Early evening, we go looking for a non-touristy place to drink some wine.  We find such a place but unfortunately the owners don’t want tourists any more than we do so they basically just ignore us and never take our order even when we ask them to.  We get the message and move on down the street to a friendlier venue.  In discussing what has just happened, we come to the conclusion that Venice is so over-touristy that the locals resent the tourists even knowing that without them there would be no Venice to visit.  A British couple overhears us and basically agrees.  They are here for the weekend having taken one of Ryanair’s cut rate flights.  She is a teacher at Dorton College , the only college in England dedicated solely to teaching blind students.  She tells us it is actually funded by the queen.  He works as a mechanic which, given the reputation of English automobiles, most likely provides him with a healthy income.  We manage to polish off a couple bottles of Soave as we talk. 

Feeling no pain, we sort of walk/lurch back to the hotel, stopping on the way to buy salami sandwiches to eat later.  We sit in the magnificent lobby bar to have a beer or two and eat our sandwiches.  The bartender is an expatriate Argentinean, who has worked all over Europe at many different jobs and has some great stories to tell.  Unfortunately, I can’t remember even one of them.  Luckily, he closes fairly early allowing us to get to bed before we make complete fools of ourselves.

Abbazia Hotel Lobby

Tuesday, August 10, 2004 - Venice

This morning I realize my Achilles tendon must be healing.  I have gone from four Celebrex on heavy walking days to only one in the morning. 

I arrive in the breakfast room a little late.  Tom looks terrible.  He tells me his back went out and he had not slept much the previous night.  I commiserate and offer advice.  First, take Ibuprofen.  Second, I quickly explain a few exercises my chiropractor recommended I do when my back goes out.  I know they work.  Third, I suggested ways to use a pillow between or under your knees to minimize back stress when you are in bed.    Personally, I’ve learned the hard way to wear a back brace when visiting museums and galleries.  I used to get horrible back spasms sometimes when I was traveling as a tourist, especially in museums.  I suspect it’s the combination of standing with minimal movement for two or three hours, straining to see the exhibits and, oh yes, carrying 40 or 50 extra pounds around.  Tom is slender but being a tourist is stressful and makes different demands on the body.

Since Tom is out of action for at least the morning, I opt for laundry duty.  I find a nearby launderette.  It has the most complicated self-service system I have ever seen.  It's almost impossible to figure out the connection between the coin insertion device and specific machines.  Fortunately, a bright computer genius from Denmark helps me figure it out.  I get my laundry going and spend my waiting time tutoring others who are as confused as I was.  At first, I think language may be an issue but an Italian couple has a harder time than anyone using the process.  As an additional bonus, I meet a very attractive, delightful Indian-American woman from San Jose.  She’s traveling solo through Italy and assures me that she has had no problems, not even from Italian men.   Another urban legend shot down.

Chiesa Frari

While my clothes are drying, I go next door to an internet place to access my e-mails.  Nothing works!  I get very frustrated and, of course, the attendant knows nothing beyond making change.  Equally frustrating are the people calling home and trying to get the person on the other end to hear them without the complication of telephone lines.  I surrender to the computer Gods and the multi-language cacophony and return to my tutoring duties at the launderette.

When I return to the hotel, I am happy to discover that Tom’s back has improved to the point that he wants to do some sightseeing this afternoon.  We decide on our itinerary.  Aside from the most important decision, where to have lunch, we choose to visit the Chiesa (church) Frari in the San Polo section and the Gallerie dell’Academia in Dorsoduro.

The church is surprisingly beautiful.  I say surprisingly because it isn’t as heavily visited as many other attractions in Venice.  Artworks created for this church; by Giovanni Bellini, Titian and Donatello grace this place.  You can see photos of the church on my Venice photo site.  After the church visit, we find an outdoor café for a late lunch.  We struggle with the waiter to get what we want and finally give up and accept what he brings us. 

After lunch, we wander the lanes and alleys of southeastern Venice and more by accident than design we manage to locate Gallerie dell’Academia.  Even though the building isn’t air-conditioned, we spend a couple hours inspecting the incredible paintings covering ten centuries of Italian history.  It is here that Tom announces he is only interested in looking at masterpieces.  He says he just doesn’t have time for minor works.  I suspect that, if he’s like me, he also doesn’t have enough “ram” in his brain to absorb it all.  After two hours, I go into intellectual overload.  We take a Vaparetto back to our hotel.  I grab a short snooze and do some reading in air-conditioned comfort.

In the early evening, we find a relatively cheap place (this is Venice, after all) where we can drink beer and people watch.  We are particularly fascinated by what appears to be a North African group including children who are truly enjoying themselves.

We decide to splurge on dinner at a restaurant overlooking the canal.  We should have known we might be making a mistake eating at a place imaginatively named, Ristorante Roma.  It even has candles at the tables.  Well, the view is great but everything else is, at best, pedestrian: service with a sneer, frozen and canned vegetables, oily roasted potatoes, and fatty veal.  We order off an over-priced wine list and our selection turns out to be more acidic than fruity.  The meal's denouement comes when our waiter, on one of his infrequent appearances, announces that he wants to be sure we understand that the service charge is not a tip.  It is the only time we see him attempt a smile.  Tom and I have problems swallowing our laughter.  Since it is my turn to pay, I deliver an old insult remembered from my days as a traveling executive by leaving him a few small coins and insuring he sees me doing it. 

This encounter is one of the reasons I titled this section, “Venal Venice.”  Both Tom and I agree that we were treated far better in Florence and Rome than here.  No question this place is beautiful, though decaying.  During our time here, we ran into only one waiter who wasn’t disinterested or downright surly.  I still am having trouble accepting the idea of a cover charge just to eat at a restaurant.  The hotel personnel were O.K., albeit a little greedy.  I think the problem is quite simply too many tourists and too few residents.  I can see how the constant crush of tourists would get on people’s nerves but that same situation has not created the same effect in places like Florence, Siena or San Gimignano, all of which are similarly inundated with tourists. 

Tom and I slip back to our hotel for a Sambuca nightcap.  Tom’s feeling good that his back held up.  We have a long day tomorrow including an overnight train trip to Paris.  It’s time to crash.

Hidden Piazza with restored Casa and Lost Tom

Wednesday, August 11 - Venice to Paris

We decide to take a room for the day since we are taking a sleeper to Paris tonight.  The clerks tell us we can have a discount as long as we pay in cash.  Hmmmmm?  We are happy to collude in the arrangement.  We take the opportunity to cut our sightseeing day short, sleep a little later and laze over breakfast in the garden.

We choose to visit the Ca’ Rezzonica, a beautiful Palazzo on the Grand Canal in the Dorsodura District.  As usual we wander the streets until we find it down an unmarked alley.  It contains not only paintings but also murals, furniture, statuary and many other artifacts from opulent 18th Century Venice. 

We have a leisurely lunch on our way back to the hotel via Piazza San Marco and after showering and changing, head for the nearby Sta. Lucia train station.  We stop to buy provender for the overnight trip and stroll into the station with lots of time to board our train.  I glance at the departure board and I don’t see our train number on it.  I begin to feel the first stirrings of panic.  I look again at our tickets and realize they show a Mestre departure.  Mestre is the mainland station for Venice.  Now, we are in full panic mode.  We find a train leaving in two minutes, going to Mestre that will get us there with about five minutes to spare.  We run for it, jump on and with beating hearts congratulate ourselves on recovering so quickly.  We make Mestre with time to spare and gratefully board our Paris bound train thinking how lucky and plucky we are.

When I have time to think about it and after realizing our train actually did leave from Sta. Lucia, I begin to feel more stupid than lucky.  First, I didn’t really look at the tickets until I was in the station.  Second our train was there but since the departure board is organized by hours, I looked under the 8:00 PM to 9:00 PM section whereas our train was in the 7:00 PM to 8:00 PM section.  It obviously left Sta. Lucia earlier than Mestre.  Duhhhhh!  I learned a valuable lesson, which is to pay more attention to the details when buying tickets in advance.

We have the compartment to ourselves until we get to The Lake District when we are joined by an anthropology professor from Montreal and his daughter.  We have an absorbing conversation. He speaks five languages.  He was born in the Lake District and has lived in four different countries.  I am always in awe of people who are multi-lingual.  I struggle just to learn simple phrases and here is someone who not only speaks English as well as I do but is evidently fluent in Italian and French and also speaks Spanish and Portuguese.  His daughter, interestingly, only speaks French fluently. 

We finally set up the sleeping arrangements around 11:30 and I crawl into my berth and sleep very soundly.  Tom does not, unfortunately.  He blames it on claustrophobia brought on by being in the upper berth.  Makes sense to me.  We arrive in Paris about 6:30 AM at Bercy Station, which is basically a Metro hub rather than a train station.  It is near the relatively famous Gare De Lyon, gateway to the Cote d'Azure.  We are both excited to be in Paris.  Lafayette, we have arrived.