The Invisible Traveler: Venezia

I have been in love with Venice for so long. Long before I actually went there on Pete's Trip. Eleven years ago, when Jamie and I arrived in Venice I just sobbed. I vowed not to do that this time. I welled up but the rude officials at the Vaporetto (the ferries) helped me to hold back. My first impressions after so many years: huge crowds for March; graffitti, litter, artisan shops replaced by big names -- Guess, Timberlane, Disney, Gucci, Burger King, etc. etc. But I am here -- older; a bit worse for wear. And so is Venice. The power of place: places that we belong to, recognize; that touch something in us -- awake something in us. Well. My hotel was lovely; the room was charming (the TV is behind the mirror on the dressing table-- you turn on the TV and see it through the mirror); and dear Jamie had a bouquet of yellow roses waiting for me. I lost it. Had one helluva good cry.
I walked out looking for the familiar. I found the hotel where Jamie and I stayed on our 1998 trip. Not remembering the name
of the hotel or the street, I walked right there. I found that amazing, since I can't remember yesterday's breakfast. Also found my way to the "Crazy bar" which was our favorite lunch spot. I looked for the Trattoria alla Madonna, but though the signs for it were there in the Rialto, I couldn't find the restaurant. I walked and walked the rest of the day. Venice is a
great place for getting lost. I did quite a bit of that my first afternoon.
All the eateries looked like tourist traps to me, so I wound up with an espresso and pastry for supper. I hope I live long enough to visit Venice again in like November or late October. To see it when mostly residents are there and not visitors. On Thursday I walked to Teatro La Fenice -- La Fenice means the phoenix; and like the phoenix this theatre has risen from its ashes three times -- having burned to the ground three times. There wasn't a production while I was there, but one could tour the theatre with an audio tour. So I did. Spectacular theatre. I sat in the Royal Box and watched the stage hands working on the flies. Then I walked to the Ghetto Nuovo, through a part of Venice that had few tourists roaming about. People shopping in a mini- super- market (is that an oxy- moron?) Kids coming from schools; women shouting to each other across the courtyards. An intimacy. The Ghetto is stark and filled with ghosts. This hasn't changed. I crossed the Accademia Bridge to visit the Peggy Guggenheim Museum. I love the sculpture garden there. One passes lots of unwelcome art along the way, as you can see from the photo to your right.
For supper I found a Venetian style Bar (their word for cafe) where I had some lovely soup and red wine and a salad. Then I treated me to an espresso and strudel at a pasteriere in Campo San Luca. I strolled through San Marco. Orchestras were playing albeit the very chilly night.
It was Friday too quickly. The week went too quickly. I took the Vaporetta to the station where I had seen an "Italian Barbie;" well not really a Barbie but like that, dressed for an opera! I got it for Keira. Then I took the boat to the Rialto and did the rest of my shopping. Not too much buying going on from me -- didn't budget it in. Dropped off the loot and walked again across the Accademia Bridge to visit Campo San Barnabas, where all of this romance with Venice began for me back in the 1950's with Kate Hepburn and Rossano Brazzi in Summertime. Kate falls into the canal at Campo Barnabas attempting to photograph Brazzi's glass/antique shop. On our trip in 1998, Jamie and I would spend each evening strolling Venice with Gelato in hand searching for the Campo. We found it our last night. The shops boarded up; the old church holding only Sunday mass; a few elderly gents hanging out in the courtyard; the old coffee shop the only place open there. Deserted; quiet; clean. No more. Campo Barnabas has been turned into a destination by the Venice tourist office which toted out Kate and Rossano for additional revenue. The church has exhibits; gelato shops are there; tacky tourist shops; tables and chairs in the courtyard. Litter. Something lost. Change can't be stopped.
On my way back from San Barnabas I saw a toy shop with a little rag doll in the window. It's an Italian made favorite called "My Doll," and can be purchased with a full wardrobe. I have a small collection of rag dolls so went in to see it I bought myself a red-headed reminiscence of Raggedy Ann. As I walked away with my treasure, I remembered an early family trip when I was perhaps 8 or 9; I felt lonely on the trip and my dad bought me a little red headed rag doll at a souvenir shop. I called it Mopsy. I still have Mopsy. Had I just had a little-girl-moment? And another Mopsy? We don't ever really grow up. I walked through San Marco; went to the little bar for pasta and wine. And another turn around my favorite places. Then I went back to the hotel to pack up. In the morning, I took the boat to the airport where everything went very smoothly and easily. The flight to Paris was fine. I still had to walk the 3/4 mile trek to
I
the next terminal in Paris, but no flights were missed. And the seats were more comfortable and a young man of 13 from the Brookwood School charmed me all the way to Boston.
You know what was best about being away? Just being away. Seeing new things; relying on me. Not having to deal with the daily creaking of my daily world. Yes, it's hard to come back. But I was so glad to hold little Keira again and to see her face when she opened the box with the Italian Barbie and said -- "She's GORGEOUS!" I hope, I pray, I invite the universe to be good to me and allow me another trip next year, perhaps to Provence. I've never been to Provence. In the meantime, color me happy!