Venice

I missed a lot of the scenery as we sped along on the train from Florence to Venice, for I was totally engrossed in the third volume of Ken Follett’s trilogy, ‘Edge of Eternity.’ I relived all the excitement of the fall of the Berlin wall, and I saw on the news last night, that it is the 25^th anniversary of that amazing time. There was a lot of reflection yesterday on BBC, with Remembrance Sunday and the march out of royalty, church and state, then the ever increasing number of veterans. But now I flick through the diary of the more recent past and remember that the day we arrived at St Lucia station in Venice the whole country was on strike and all the river taxis were on NO GO!

Ah well, our hostess from the AirBnB had sent a guide to help us find the only vaporetto working and we were like cattle loaded on to the boat, and crammed in tight, and sailed down the Grand Canal to the Rialto Bridge. Our new home was minutes away, on a watery canal between St Marks and the famous bridge. Inside the mighty door that shut us away from the little piazza, we were in a private paradise. Quiet gardens with sculptures and ancient reliefs on the walls, and the water lapped quietly at the private boat entrance. What a lovely place to escape the throngs that crowd out the squares. Tourist ships disgorge their passengers every day, and we found it impossible to gain entrance to St Marks itself.

Instead we admired the glittering mosaic domes, and decided we would not waste our time in more queues. We got lost in the myriad of streets, drank coffee and spritz aperol in the sunshine, and admired the fashions and the pink palaces.

On one walk we came across a most disconcerting sight. Some Italian artist must have a thing about our Queen! Who on earth would think to buy this on their holiday? Where would they put it when they got home? Would they start a collection?

We crossed bridges, saw fish markets, sat in squares

and was horrified to see an old English couple open a plastic box with their packed lunch, and pull out two triangles of Dairy Lee cheese spread, and gobble it up with a piece of bread. No pecorino, or prosciutto or purple aubergine for them, or sweet roast peppers on focaccia bread. No No…pass the Dairy Lee if you please. It’s like that poem,

To a fat lady seen from the train by Frances Cornford

O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,

Missing so much and so much?

O fat white woman whom nobody loves,

Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,

When the grass is soft as the breast of doves

And shivering sweet to the touch?

O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,

Missing so much and so much?

Anyway, we did have things to see, and we bee lined for the Scuola Grande de San Rocco, where I was once introduced to the most amazing artist, Tintoretto.He painted most of the paintings as well as the ceiling of this building dedicated to the patron saint of the plague stricken.

St Roch is always portrayed holding his dress up a little coquettishly to show off the blemish on his upper thigh!

Tintoretto’s subjects are modelled on Michelangelo’s sculptures, so they are muscular and brawny, and literally just leap out of the canvas. His angels and prophets swoop down out of the sky and his pictures have a different ‘take’ than the ordinary genre. His ‘Last Supper’ and ‘Nativity’ are totally original. Subjects are portrayed on different levels, the holy family on the top, and all the animals in the stall beneath. The paintings seem open as though the viewer could literally walk in and be part of the meal or the gathering. Later we saw more of him in the Academia Gallery. I loved the improbably muscular, long-armed saint rescuing a sailor from a frothing violent sea. All other seas now look so tame, so quiet.

By contrast the work of Giovanni Bellini is gentle and so beautiful. I reckon he is the only painter that has made the baby Jesus look natural.

The painting of Mary holding her infant, with her eyes filling with tears as though she knows what is to come, the child’s arm flopped down in sleep is so evocative, but then you walk into the next room and there is Bellini’s Pieta, and the pose is exactly the same, but this time Mary holds her dead son. The hair on the back of my neck prickled and I could feel the tears.

The other wonderful painting we saw was in the Frari church of Maria Gloriosa. This was Titian’s Assumption, with Mary being taken heavenward, on a cloud wearing a red cloak. Absolutely stunning.

John and I did go out on a very strange Limoncello pub crawl. Very delicious, and it was all so atmospheric. The canals were like black ink, the shadows held the secrets of centuries, and we crossed bridges and stumbled down dark alley ways, and the following morning I had a VERY sore head.

We took a vaporetto to Murano. What a wonderful surprise. I sort of expected a furnace, a display of glass blowing and a factory outlet (which we did see) but the town itself was like a miniature, sunny Venice, and we ate spaghetti vongoli and drank Prosecco and wandered about, and bought some glass balloons. I took a picture of a flower box complete with a glass garden!

On the way back to the boat, we decided to drop in to a church that was there. No real reason, can’t remember its name, but suddenly I said to John, ‘Look! There’s our friend!’ And there was a massive Tintoretto with his dive-bombing angels, and a Bellini. Just there for people to see, no entrance charge, no publicity and no security.

We left Venice on a crisp sunny day, and as we sailed up the Grand Canal, we saw a wedding taking place on the balcony of the state registrars. The bride and groom were in black, and they kissed and waved to us. I imagine that is where George Clooney and bride tied the knot.

So goodbye to Venice, with its churches, glass and gondolas. There is just too much to take in, too much to see and absorb. I loved the story of Casanova (the great corruptor of nuns), who was imprisoned in the famous attic prison but escaped across the Bridge of Sighs, and walked confidently out of the front door, even pausing for a coffee on Piazza San Marco. Nowadays you almost need a bank loan to pay for a coffee complete with small orchestra. Ah well … it’s Venice!

PS Was quite surprised to see some wooden shorts for sale!