Our last full day in Venice was quite laid back. We managed
to avoid most of the crowded areas of the city, circumventing the Rialto by
taking a route leading to the Academia Gallery and bridge, coming into San
Marco from the end of the square opposite, instead of from the side of the
basilica, cutting close to the bell tower on the right, and so out onto the
quay. The day was once again sunny and bright, warm in the sun and cool
sheltered from it. The further along the quay we moved the thinner became the
crowds, until we came to a broad street just past the entrance to the Arsenale
area. There we sat among the marauding pigeons while I enjoyed a mammoth sandwich
on grilled panini and some tea. Billie, out of bed moments before we left, wasn’t
hungry, having enjoyed her late morning collation of sweet bread/cake and milk.
Each of these “neighbourhoods” in Venice has its own special character. Just
being there, surrounded by centuries-old buildings and the pasts that they have
accumulated is a profound experience.
After my lunch we made our promised visit to the Arsenale,
but it was not at all the one that I had visited seven years ago with Theo. A
different entrance was set back close to the two towers that mark the opening
to the broad sea lane within which Venetian ships had been built. The building that
we entered opened out into what looked like a warehouse or barn, housing as it
did about ten or twelve large and very large vessels, representative of ships
of the 16th to the 20th century that had been built and
used in the Venetian lagoon and beyond for both fishing and for trade and war.
After our brief circuit of this exhibit, I approached the ticket seller to
inquire how to reach the rest of the museum. Oh, unfortunately it is closed for
renovations this year, she told me. Quel dommage. But Billie was all right with
the brevity of our visit, though quite interested in the pieces that we did
see.
We took our time strolling back through the paths we had
taken earlier, sitting for a short time on the steps of the colonnades that
form the other three sides of the rectangle fronted by the basilica San Marco.
One has usually a window of about 5-10 minutes to rest there before one of the
friendly guards comes along to remind one that sitting on the steps is not
permitted. The stores and restaurants that line the interiors of the colonnades
undoubtedly pay for this service as clogged steps would deny entry to potential
customers if tourist hordes were left free to block their passage. And so we
obediently moved along and into the lanes and campos leading us back toward the
Academia and the train station. We paused at a place we had noted on our way
out to purchase pasta and sauce for Billie’s late afternoon lunch/supper. The
lovely fellow who served us took our order and our money and then proceeded to
cook the pasta that Billie chose, lace it with the vegetarian sauce that she
wanted, sprinkle it with cheese, and package it up for carrying back to our
place. He was inordinately cheerful and friendly, energetic in a fashion not
necessarily experienced in wait-staff in the busier sectors of the town who
deal with the flow of the masses. He loved Billie’s jade hair and was kindly in
his compliments though not over the top. Her hair has drawn a lot of looks and
commentaries which she has found somewhat self-conscious making, but is
becoming more accustomed to. A little boy asked his granddad about her hair as
they passed close to us at a bridge, the boy and the gentleman both clearly
delighted with what they saw. Billie didn’t mind. She was somewhat flummoxed
though when I translated a young man’s look and comment “que bella” for her.
In one of the lanes we stopped to listen to a man play a
gorgeous classical number on a collection of about 30 crystal glasses. He had
an appreciative audience, delighted to hear the tones that he was able to
elicit from his delicate fingering of the stemware. It was bella. A late
afternoon gelato and soon we were back at our Venetian home, happy enough to
settle in for a relaxed evening after our four hours of almost continuous
walking about. Billie and I are rather alike in our appreciation of getting out
to see things and in our love and need of time just to chill. Lots of time to
read or write and to be within one’s own space. Though we share our little
rooms, we do so quietly with headsets, each in her own location needing or
wanting little in the way of chat.
Billie snoozes on as I write these words. In another couple
of hours I’ll get her up to prepare for our 12:30 train ride to Rome. She’s
excited to be going there and so am I. Rome, the Eternal City, we are
practically on our way.
No comments:
Post a Comment