Four Days in Venice, Italy

Early afternoon on Wednesday, we exited the Autostrada, paid the hefty €20 toll, and dropped off the rental car at Venice Marco Polo Airport.

After a ten minute walk on a pedestrian path, we made it to the boat terminal and purchased one-way tickets on the Alilaguna orange line (€15 each).

The first boat seemed too small for the amount of people waiting, and sure enough, we had to wait for the next.

The padded seating areas were in two long and low rooms at the waterline. Most of the windows of the boat were closed and crusted with salt, so the hour and half journey into the Grand Canal was moody and mysterious. Lovers snuggled closer together. Children stood on the seats and cheered when the boat hit waves.

The son of the woman who manages the AirBnB met us at our stop and briskly led us around streets and across scenic canal bridges to the narrow and unassuming alley of our apartment. The scenery flooded over me and I tried to take it all in. It felt a bit like the frantic scene in Amelie when she describes the little moments on the street to the blind man.

Our guide had no keys.

We waited under a vine of fragrant flowers for his mother to arrive. Thirty minutes later, she hustled up to us, opened the door, and explained every detail of the apartment in a combination of Italian and hand gestures. It’s a tiny place, dense with rooms, and well stocked with food and supplies.

Freed from our bags, we quickly started wandering.

image
We’re on a boat.
image
Waiting for the keys.
image
J under the fragrant vines.
image
Low tide.
image
lazy wiener.
image
Nun on a bridge.
image
Boat exercise belt.
image
Graffito.
image
Old man and the sea.
image
Building a temporary storage bin for a construction site.
image
Burglar bars.
image
Fixing a gondola.
image
Crustini and wine on the canal.
image
Little shoe’s big aventure.
image
The Dude a’boats.
image
Hull failure.
image
Awning.
image
Curious addresses.
image
Nonplussed by eye pokes.
image
Boat artichokes.
image
Heroic dog.
image
The tough guy and his beast.
image
Everything is old.
image
Bridge of the lost children.
image
Architecture student.
image
Little plant.
image
Outlined by light.
image
Markus.
image
Complementary infrastructure.
image
Wine warehouse.
image
Loading docks.
image
Boat garage.
image
Another heroic dog.
image
Mosaic lady.
image
Bendy.
image
No entry.
image
Feels good to be a tourist with graffiti like this.
image
Proboscis.
image
Hardware store.
image
Dusk lights.

On our first night, we ate dinner at an average restaurant overlooking the water. I think people are willing to cut restaurants a lot of slack in this town, as they all are surrounded by beauty. We did the same.

In the dark, we strolled down the The Fondamenta delle Zattere and listened to the boat horns and water lapping up against the marble path.

On Thursday, we bought 24-hour boat passes and took long rides to Lido, Burano, and Murano islands. We subsisted on tasty and cheap bar sandwiches, coffee, and a bag of digestive cookies.

As the sun set, we explored the tourist epicenter of St. Marks Square.

We walked home and made pasta and broccoli to eat with beer and spritz.

image
My little bridge.
image
Chimney.
image
Garbage man.
image
Rope growth.
image
Delivery man.
image
SCALO.
image
Bond villain spotted delivering helium by boat.
image
David Beckham as gondolier?
image
Pylons.
image
Swirls to Lido views.
image
Lido beach.
image
Hotel Maximus.
image
The happening.
image
It happens.
image
Old building.
image
Bar snacks.
image
Spritz is a popular drink here, two pre-made versions were provided in our room.
image
My kind of bar: empty and cheap and by a canal.
image
Decorative windows.
image
Blue’s views.
image
Greek cemetery island.
image
Burano gas pump.
image
Colorful Burano.
image
Easter tree.
image
Colorful back street, boy!
image
Woman bends over to examine her plant.
image
Love birds, bashful.
image
Garage.
image
God’s laundry.
image
Waterfront homes.
image
So many colors.
image
Colorful clothes.
image
Murano.
image
All hail our new aquatic overlords.
image
Something about this view feels like the wild west.
image
Tile name card.
image
Stairs of books.
image
Overgrown balcony.
image
An unusually empty view.
image
Ornate cafe.

Friday morning, we woke early and took a boat to the Rialto Market before the crowds arrived. At 7:30, most of the vendors still hadn’t finished setting up. We walked around their incomplete displays of seafood and perfect vegetables. On the nearby canal, produce on pallets was unloaded by the boat-mounted crane.

At a friendly cafe, we drank cappuccinos and watched the hung-over son of a spice vendor learn how to arrange the goods.

image
Early morning on the Grand Canal.
image
Horse meat.
image
Fish meat.
image
Pussy meat.
image
Inky meat.
image
Still setting up.
image
Produce.
image
We are waiting for something.
image
Stairs of reflected light.
image
Flower store.
image
Hidden hallway.
image
Swatches of wetness.
image
Mark and Donny wall bags.
image
PT shadow.
image
Orthodox.
image
The man in sea foam green.
image
Me.
image
Our last turn approaching the apartment.

Saturday was overcast, and we slept in as an army of ants found crumbs on the living room floor.

Around noon, we crossed the Grand Canal and walked eastward to explore the Castello neighborhood.

Tourist crowds had increased with the tides to almost dangerous levels. But the number of people dwindled to nearly none the farther east we walked.

It felt like the quiet before a zombie apocalypse. The streets were empty, the grass overgrown. Our only company was cats.

We felt tired walking back, but stopped in an even more crowded St. Marks Square. A fluttering army of pigeons were getting up close and personal with tourists, landing on their arms and heads in hopes of getting fed. One pigeon landed on my hat, but J wasn’t quick enough to get a photo.

image
Legs out to here.
image
Grand Canal.
image
Taxi stand.
image
Lockers.
image
Colors.
image
The gondola is stalking me.
image
Face.
image
Debris.
image
He went this way.
image
Swedish navy?
image
Water treatment?
image
Naturalistic.
image
Ain’t nobody in east Venice.
image
Someone caught a church.
image
?
image
Weird bench, normal man.
image
Emptiness.
image
The cat park.
image
Promenade on home.
image
Bird boy.
image
We have a Code 4.

We ate dinner at bar near the apartment that overlooked a canal. The food was decently cheap and tasty (€9 per dish), but I was more happy with our isolated table and kick-ass view.

On Sunday, we decided to spend the day researching our trip, saving photos, and using up our remaining groceries.

Easter bells rang throughout the morning, and we cracked open the top of our Italian tilt-o-matic doors and windows to let in fresh air.

I made a quick trip, with headphones on, through the even thicker crowds to buy bus tickets and panini. Due to my annoyed haste, people thought I was a local.

I’ve always wanted to see Venice, and even after the first afternoon I knew there was no place like it. This city is such an interesting mix of water, crumbling buildings, bridges, boat activity, and history. The views are interesting in almost every direction, in every street and from every small bridge.

But this city has also rolled over and allowed everything real about it to get trampled over by tourists (myself included). It doesn’t feel like a place where people live, but rather an ancient amusement park staffed with Italians and toured by people just as annoying as you’d find in Disneyland.

The history is there, hidden in plain sight but only felt at unusual moments of quiet.

In the evening, we took one last walk to enjoy the views and enjoy the solitude brought by the cold wind.

image
Goodnight little bridge.
image
Goodnight little canal.
image
Goodnight Grand Canal.

On Monday, we wake early to leave for our next destination. The hardest part will be getting to the airport from the charming island of islands.

Archives for April, 2015
April 5th, 2015. Categories / Italy

News Menu

About Categories Archives