Venice

 

"It is the city of mirrors, the city of mirages, at once solid and liquid, at once air and stone."

--Erica Jong

It’s amazing to think that the enormous marble churches, the grand palaces and the magnificent piazzas of Venice sit on what was once just a bunch of muddy islands in a big lagoon. But back around 600 AD the original settlers (fleeing the mainland invaders) were determined to build a city here, so they came up with a “petrified forest” approach to construction: long wood poles were driven straight down into the muddy ground, far enough to hit firm earth, eventually creating rows and rows of closely packed pilings. The wood didn’t rot, but instead (without exposure to air) became stronger and stronger over time, like stone. Wood cross beams were laid on top of the pilings, and then a water-resistant layer of marble. Finally, on top of that layered foundation they could begin to begin to build their city.
Venice actually consists of 117 bodies of land, connected by more than 400 bridges over its 150 canals, and I’m guessing that we’ve walked about half of it since we arrived a few weeks ago.
The Grand Canal is like a busy, bouncy main street, cutting through the center of the city. It’s alive with water buses, water taxis, ferries, gondole, fire/police boats, ambulance boats and boats that haul every kind of cargo.
We’re staying in the area called San Polo, the smallest of the six “sestieri” (districts) of Venice. It’s one of the oldest parts of Venice (9th century) and connects to the right bank of the city by the Rialto Bridge. We’re steps away from the famous Rialto Market, Venice’s main outdoor market since 1097. It’s an almost overwhelming array of fruit, vegetables and fish and it’s open almost every day, so we go there a LOT.
We were lucky enough to find a flat in a beautiful old structure called the Palazzo Albrizzi. Historically, the palazzo served as warehouse and business premises, as well as a family home, and its design evolved to meet the needs of a city without roads.
Palazzo Albrizzi is typical in its position, with one side facing a canal and the other (landward) side facing a small square called the Campo Albrizzi. The canal side of the palazzi are generally more architecturally decorative because most of the action (visitors, business transactions) took place on the canals. The landward side of the palazzo is generally more architecturally subdued.
Most palazzos were built with 3 or 4 levels, with the family housed on the upper levels to keep them clean and safe, away from the canal.
The ground floor of our Palazzo Albrizzi has a high ceiling (20’), rough brick walls, thick tile slab floor, sturdy columns, archways, and two enormous wood doors, one accessing the Campo and the other, the canal. In the center, there is a wide stone staircase rising in a cylindrical space open to the sky. At the base of the staircase is an old well. Originally, the ground floor housed the kitchen (for access to water) as well as storerooms, offices and other rooms relating to trade and business.
The next floor up is called the “piano nobile” (noble floor) and was often lavishly decorated to entertain visitors, while the upper floors were used to house the family. The servants were housed in the attic rooms, which often had a separate, sometimes external staircase access.
Our flat is on the top floor, with big arched windows that look across a canal to a neighboring palazzo, but also straight down to a canal. Also out those windows is our clothes line, which we rarely use since a simple mistake of a misplaced clothespin spells certain death for clothing. The canal is narrow, and without much traffic, but we can look down and see the occasional boat or gondola pass by. Often we hear the gondoliers before we see them, because (no doubt for extra tips) they pass by our windows singing opera at the top of their lungs, the notes echoing off the canyon-like like walls of the two buildings. The gondoliers balance gracefully at the stern of their sleek black boats, with a long paddle slowly cutting through the water and wearing their traditional striped shirts.
Our apartment is spacious, well-equipped and charming. The furniture is “Venetian vintage”—pompous, yet accessible in a cushy, threadbare kind of way. The kitchen is long and narrow, with 2 ancient marble-topped tables and a marble countertop. The high ceilings are decoratively painted on a swirly-patterned plaster relief. The marble floors throughout the flat are so cold that we finally broke down and bought dainty little Venetian slippers.
Of course, we also had to buy tall rubber rain boots, for little did we know that from October through January, Venice experiences something called “Aqua Alta” (high water).
Under normal conditions, the water levels in the canals rise and fall slightly with the tide, acting as a sort of necessary flushing mechanism for the city, because without the constant motion of the incoming and outgoing tide, the water would stagnate. But at this time of year, the tidal waters naturally rise higher, submerging parts of the city. Alarm posts are stationed throughout Venice which project a loud siren followed by a series of beeps (up to 3) indicating how high the water is expected to get. One beep means standard rubber boots; two beeps mean hip waders, and three beeps mean stay put.
We were excited by all this in the same way that we are excited about snowdays in Portland: nature is coming for an exciting visit, and it’s time for an outdoor adventure. Tourists complain the worst (the ones without rubber boots) and go to great lengths to stay dry--sometimes tying plastic bags over their shoes and lower legs, but sometimes throwing caution to the wind and taking off their shoes altogether, rolling up their pants and walking barefoot through the mucky water. Venetians, of course, are accustomed to the acqua alta, and see it as a minor inconvenience. The high water only lasts a few hours, and unless it’s a very high tide, only the lowest areas of the city are under water. One especially low area is Piazza San Marco, where elevated “passarelle” (raised wooden walkways) are set up to help tourists get from one side to the other.
One morning while making coffee, I heard the warning sirens outside. I stopped and listened….was that 2 beeps or 3? Jeff had already rushed out of the house (without his boots) in the same excited way he does before a team bike ride back home. An hour or so later he called to tell us that he was surrounded by water in a nearby campo and asked if we’d please deliver his boots. So Jenna and I went out for a little wade at the peak of acqua alta. At the base of the staircase, we found the entire ground floor of our Palazzo Albrizzi under several inches of water. When we went outside, we saw that the entire campo was under water. After getting Jeff appropriate footwear, we waded through submerged alleys to the Grand Canal, which was lapping at the front doors of adjacent palazzi. During the highest tides, the boats cannot even navigate the canals because they cannot pass under the bridges. We waded past the outdoor tables along the walkway, usually filled with tourists sipping expensive appertivi, but now sitting empty, submerged in a foot of water. Waiters stood ready in their fancy uniforms and tall green rubber boots.
Our days pass in a glorious blur of daily exploration. We meander around this watery environment, exploring the complicated web of “calli” (narrow lanes), arched bridges and lazy canals. We window-shop (the kind without buying) and stroll. We hold hands. We see a narrow crack between two buildings and sometimes see beyond to a beautiful church. We see double-images everywhere, as buildings are reflected in the water of a canal. We stand on one bridge and look down the canal to another bridge and another one beyond that. Every day, I see something new (although this is partially due to the fact that I’m usually lost).
Jeff has given up the bike for a few weeks and has taken up something he calls “power sketching”. He walks rapidly all over the city, every day, passionately channeling his energy into creating original masterpieces. His work is an inspired collection of Venice sights--sometimes the famous ones, and sometimes just the simple arch of a bridge or a gondola’s bow. Some of his sketches are complex and detailed, and others are simple, elegant lines that capture the essence of a scene. Often he throws in some watercolor. With his black cap, charcoal-grey outfits, and experimental facial hair, he looks like quite the artiste here in Venice.
Jenna often walks with us, and loves taking the inexpensive “traghetto” ferries. These are unadorned gondolas that take a boatload of passengers on short no-nonsense trips across the Grand Canal, complete with gondolier in striped shirt. Jenna has also made a new friend, 6-year old Alba next door and once again she has been taken into the loving fold of a warm Italian family. Alba takes English lessons, but prefers to speak to Jenna in her naturally rapid Italian, and Jenna seems to understand just about all of it.
I spend my time mostly getting lost in Venice. With my (poor) sense of direction, walking around the city feels like being blindfolded and drunk and spun around a few times, except there is no blindfold, and I haven’t been drinking (usually) and all I’m doing is walking in what I think is a straight line. Most importantly, though, I have managed to memorize a few key routes--the Rialto market, the Coop grocery store, and to Piazza San Marco.
We like walking to Piazza San Marco (aka Saint Marks Square) so Jeff can sketch and Jenna can fed the pigeons. From our flat, it’s a quick walk down several narrow alleys (alleys not wide enough for an open umbrella) and over one canal before we cross the large Rialto Bridge. Then we thread our way through the pedestrian traffic, past the busy, souvenir stalls and the milling, picture-taking tourists and down several more narrow lanes with shops selling jewelry, art, stationery, gloves and the revered and colorful Murano (Venetian) glass.
Once we reach Piazza San Marco the scene opens up big and bold. The patterned floor of the piazza is thick with pigeons. The arched loggias line the perimeter with staggeringly perfect arches, all serving as a backdrop to the lovely Basilica di San Marco and its magnificent display of lavishly painted arches and handsome mosaics. To the right of the Basilica di San Marco is the grand Palazzo Ducale (Doge’s Palace). Also in the square is the Campanile, a 325-foot guard tower that offers a sweeping view of the city and the lagoon.
Closer to the mouth of the Grand Canal, two large columns symbolize the two patrons of Venice: on the right is a winged creature representing the lion of Saint Mark. On the left is a statue representing Saint Theodore with a dragon. Saint Theodore was the patron saint of Venice before St. Mark.
The columns served as both a ceremonial entrance to the city, and a site for public executions.
The intensity of Venice amazes me--it is ethereal, romantic, passionate and complicated. Venice has been a wonderful city to nestle into, but also an especially heart-breaking place to leave. But leave we must. Next week, we fly home to Portland (and we hope it’s not raining).
In these last days, we’re trying to visually memorize the details so we never forget the cobblestones, balconies, arches, bridges, churches, columns, canals, statues and the soft, musical language that surrounds us.

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Thank you to all of the readers who have followed my blog over the past 6 months. Writing and recording our travel adventures and then sharing them with you has been a wonderful experience. It’s given me the discipline to sit down regularly and actually think and write about what we see and do, and what happens to us. I have had so much fun writing this blog, and reading your comments and words of encouragement, and I am truly truly sad that it has come to an end.
But ending are always beginnings, and I may just have another idea up my sleeve...maybe even a new blog…or a book?

NEXT UP: I’ll keep you posted