The Giant Oat

And I bid fair Venice farewell this morning. The trains were mostly sold out but I managed to find a very slow regional train to bring me back to Rome, where I will be for Easter.

I didn’t leave Venice without buying a pair of Birkenstocks. Score one for the hippie. Easter in Rome is going to be pretty spectacular, and I’m going to try my best to keep up with the writing.

I arrived in Rome tonight and attended a Good Friday service at the oldest Greek Catholic church in Rome. We processed with the shroud outside into the street as local italians and tourists alike took a break from their cafe and restaurant meals to take a look at teh curious sight of candle bearing solemn people singing and marching around the street. Only a few cars honked.

I was feeling crappy on Wednesday as I headed for Venice. I was lonely and sad and blah, so when the train police woman got all crazy on me for not validating my train ticket, i totally lost it. she insisted on the forty euro fine. I told her i didn’t have the money and started to tear up. She insisted, and I gave her my documents. then she said Oh, you are CANADIAN. Meet me between the cars. And in the outside of the train car, I gave her five euro and was on my merry way. Ridiculous.

I was in a bad mood until I stepped off the train in Venice. Immediately, I had salt air in my nostrils and I was filled with a sense of calm and happiness.Also, I realized that work and life at home don’t particularly want or need me there, so there is no point in pining for home.

The water here is a strange green colour. Opaque. I am guessing it is also polluted, though I didnàt see any garbage.

Venice is like nowhere I have ever been before. To continue the metaphor of cities beingh like women, Venice is an old but classy and spritely centenarian who still walks on her own, tells good jokes, drinks and laughs with the youngsters, and has a better memory than those half her age. This is one healthy old dame, Venice. Her lipstick might be a little smudged and her hat may be crooked, but when she throws a party, you want to be there.

The buildings are all very old, the newest ones being built in the eighteenth century. Nobody in their right mind could have ever dreamed up such a place. It has the feeling of having been dropped in from another universe.

Despite a bad start with directions, I found my way to a hotel for the night. On my walk over, which was totally confusing, I knew one night would not be enough in this place.  I walked about, then lay down for a short nap which turned into a thirteen hour sleep. I think I had sunstroke.

Waking on Thursday morning, I was stunned by Venice without the hordes of people. Venice is absolutely stunning. It is terrible to say, but I feel like I am in Disneyland, the original. What a crazy fantastical magical place this is!

St. Mark;s square in the early morning mist is not to be missed.  I lined up early there to get in first thing, when  a woman came around telling us the church is closed for the morning due to a service. So I went around the side, said I was there for a service, and I was let in (for free). Finally! an experience of one of Europe°s great churches while it is alive and in action! This was one of the most beautiful churches i have ever been in. This one dates back a thousand years, though it existed several hundred before but burned down.

The inside of the church is covered in mosaic icons and gold backgrounds. It is a Byzantine style church, and I felt at home.

The liturgy was mostly sung, with a small choir of a dozen or so cantors leading the way. I sang along and loved it. There were no fewer than 365 priests, deacons, servers, and bishops and patriarchs in attendance. Crazy.

St. Mark’s Cathedral has an interesting history which I cannot fully recount here because it is one in the morning and I am tired and I have many days to catch up on. But the best is the story of how St. Mark the Evangelist made his way to this particular spot. His relics were smuggled out of Turkey (I think) in a barrel under a whole lot of salted pork — this story makes one of the most interesting and amusing mosaics I have ever seen on a church wall.