Reflections of Venice 1

At breakfast-time on the television we see caribinieri storming crowds with riot shield and guns. We express concern but the man at the hotel just shrugs, ‘campagne, Napoli, Cammorah’, as if to say this happens all the time. Fortunately we aren’t going there; Venice is today’s port of call.

We drive to Treviso and catch a train (delayed) so it is midday by the time we emerge from the Santa Lucia station. We walk over the controversial new bridge of glass, steel and panels of Istria stone which I actually like – I’ve never had a problem with the juxtaposition of ancient and modern architecture, as long as it is tastefully done – á la Louvre pyramid.

We hop on the vaporetto and cruise down the Grand Canal, stopping at every station en route to let folk on and off until we are all disgorged along the waterfront. Geographically and metaphorically, the Grand Canal is the centrepiece of Venice; the chief waterway of art and commerce. I have been reading Jan Morris’ seminal work about the city in preparation for the trip and she puts it best:

“It is at once the Seine and the New Jersey Turnpike of Venice, the mirror of her beauty and the highway by which the cargo barges, horns blaring and engines a-blast, chug towards her markets and hotels. The ordinary Venetian canal feels frankly man-made: but most people have to stifle an impulse, now and again, to call the Grand Canal a river.”

We head to the Arsenale – Dad would be proud. Founded in the 12th century and surrounded by tall walls, it was the biggest shipyard in the world where 16,000 workers toiled with boiling pitch and tar to make weapons, oars and naval equipment.

We thread through the small back streets (calletta and rio tera – filled-in canals) trying to get away from the throngs and find somewhere to eat. Him Outdoors is in a sulk because he doesn’t like crowds and would rather have stayed in the mountains, but I insisted he had to see Venice.

As I am deciding which way to go, I hear a plop in the water and am astonished to think that perhaps fish actually live in these canals. I look down to see a rat swimming away. Of course I know there are pantegane (water rats) here, but I didn’t actually want to see one. I itch for the rest of the day and we find pizza and beer as far away from the water as possible – which obviously isn’t very far.

Fortunately there are a lot of cats in Venice which help with this population. On the island of San Clemente there are whole colonies of cats fed and looked after by Dingo, an association which supplies food, medical care and small shelters for cold winter nights. The Venetians traditionally love animals, which makes me feel kindly disposed towards them.

There are about 450 bridges in Venice (every guide book I read quoted a different number) and I feel as though we walk over at least half of them. Apparently there is a marathon on the second Sunday in March up and down the city bridges (Su e zo per i ponti) – I’m sure we conduct our own as we traipse around for eight hours. In every campo and down every ramo we find someone perusing a map, evidently lost.