Venice (19th – 20th July 1997)
Milan en route Venice
20 Jul 1997
Need to change trains at Milan: I killed some hours walking to the YH, but found it had shut for the morning. I did not yet have a reservation for staying the last night on the return trip, but I thought I’d figure something out later – this casual postponing would result in a mini-Milan adventure, but that’s for later. I looked around Piazza Duomo and the shopping arcade, had breakfast at McDonalds, and headed back to Centrale.
Venice
20 Jul 1997
Took the 12:05 to Venezia, arriving by 3pm. Then another 1.5 hours to get to the hostel, using the vaporettos. What they say and what they mean are two different things; if they bother writing anything useful, that’s a third different thing. It takes a while to reconcile all these things and get where one wants to get.
The canals have sea water. I’d been wondering about this. Conveniently a boat passed close enough to the one I was in and sprayed salt water on me.
First evening: loud fireworks going off at San Marco, can’t hear myself think. A veggie pizza at a roadside cafe. Up and down the Grand Canal on various vaporettos, all number 82s. The three bridges: Ponte Accademia, Ponte Rialto, and the one at the station. Despite the sky putting on a good show with a full moon and pretty clouds, the crowds were too in my face. There is no romance in the air in Venice. I couldn’t see the point of a gondola ride – at every bridge there would be a few hundred people leaning over and looking at you with great interest, and there are hundreds of bridges.
Venice is an okay-ish place. I suppose it’s one of those that grows on you. It was not love at first sight. I particularly noticed that most of the postcards are at sunrise or sunset, with the cityscape in silhouette mostly. As if the city was not so photogenic in broad daylight (and knew it!). The crowds of tourists did nothing to improve the city’s vibe.
A side rant on tourism
Yes, I notice the irony, being one of “them”. I wonder if our civilization were to be destroyed and thousands of years later, if some intelligent beings discover earth, what sense they’d make of us: will they ever piece together life as it exists today? Will this tourism craze leave a mark? Different disjointed cultures and objects… it won’t be easy piecing together a coherent story from excavated evidence.
The previous night’s festive atmosphere had been mindless celebration: an army bridge from Giudecca Island to mainland Venice had opened temporarily for the public.
I’d told myself I’d be back before dark. Strolling and vaporettoing and dining and more vaporettoing delayed me; I got home at 11pm, the moon lovely, its reflection silvery on the canal waters.
I was still mostly in my own company. That was good as long as daylight lasted — after dark, a low-grade tension set in: getting home in Venice meant navigating vaporettos with their unpredictable timings. Two exceptions to the solitude: a couple of guys from Gujarat, London, who turned up at the hostel; and a Japanese girl on one of the boats. Brief acquaintances, all of them.
One note about the YH at Venice: it was very spacious, with yellow tiled bathrooms, but without any hooks to hang clothes! This encourages people to walk around without clothes or without embarrassment. Luckily the women’s & men’s quarters were separate. At the risk of sounding like a whinging Brit on holiday (see how easily I identify as an Indian or a Brit!), I do prefer the hostels in UK to the ones here or in Paris. Having said that, let’s see how Rome is …
Next morning: up at 7am, out by 8:30, Venice quiet with a few workers mopping up after the revelry. I walked across the army bridge to get an early start at the Gallerie dell’Accademia. Paintings from the 14th to 18th century, almost all biblical: Madonna & Child in every variation (with St John the Baptist, with St Peter, with St Anne), and Assumption of the Virgin. Tintoretto and Canaletto were the standouts – rich colours, well-rendered faces and proportions and expressions. Veronese could have done with a lighter palette. Some rooms were too dark, making the already dark pictures even gloomier. After about an hour I made my way to Piazza San Marco, with the idea of visiting the Basilica, but a service was in progress and tourists were not allowed in. I had a train to catch. The famous mosaic domes of the Basilica went unseen.
Saw the Palazzo Ducale instead. Not sure it was worth it – a dreary place, huge ill-lit rooms, enormous wall-to-wall paintings that the poor lighting made pointless. After peering around, I gave the armory a cursory look – it was well lit, at least. And then the highlight of the tour: the Ponte dei Sospiri – the Bridge of Sighs – the covered bridge through which prisoners were brought in from the dungeons for inquisition. Done with sight seeing, I picked up my luggage and left for Rome.
On the train south: after Bologna the countryside was uncannily like Maharashtra – green and hilly, the farms and houses more like India than England. Sunflower fields. The whole train journey was about 5.5 hrs, and I didn’t once fall asleep, alternately writing this letter and drinking in the scenery. After Bologna the train passes through so many tunnels, that it’s almost as if it’s an underground route to Rome!
