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It’s 1:00 in the morning. I’m in Venice and I’m a bit drunk. I feel like talking, but since there’s no one here but me in this room, I’ll blog. Yesterday I was in London. Today I researched the Venetian Lagoon (Murano and Burano) and spent the evening updating a dozen or so of my guidebook’s restaurant listings. In London, I spend my evenings visiting restaurants, then grab a sandwich and go home. In Venice, I spend my evenings visiting restaurants, then return to my favorite for a 10 p.m. dinner. This dining derby is my nightly ritual in Italy. When Pino, who runs the Antica Sacrestia, asked me how I like my wine, I said, “Complicato” — and he served up his house Amarone. I drank it like a monkey climbs a tree. Just when the branches were getting pretty bendy, he capped the meal with a glass of Sgroppino (a local cocktail specialty of squeezed lemon juice, lemon gelato, and vodka). “Sgroppino” comes from the Italian word for “to clean” (as in your palate).
One of my favorite Venetian guides (Michael from Venicescapes) spent the evening with me visiting eateries in two neighborhoods. We found a few to add to my book, and cut out far more. I’ve been cutting lots of places lately, determined to find truly unique eateries for my guidebook. Michael asked me what the standard was. I acknowledged it was a bit arbitrary but, beyond the obvious location and value concerns, I want a place that’s personality-driven, with a staff that will likely be there year after year. The place should have roots in the neighborhood, respect the local cuisine, and be accessible to travelers.
We spent most of the dinner talking about Venetian connections with the Reformation. More than “saved by grace” alone, there was plenty of economics and politics. (According to Michael, before the Reformation, the Vatican States had the lowest tax rates in Europe. After the Reformation — as German tithers could no longer be counted on to subsidize the Papal States — the Pope’s domain became the most highly taxed part of Europe.) It’s the theme of one of his new tours.
Finally, a couple from Austin sitting a few tables away came by to say hello. It turns out they are staying at Hotel Campiello — the place I wanted to stay, but (in part, due to them) was booked out this week. They shared their experience with my guidebook and explained how they were fascinated by our conversation. The result: Michael just got a job. He’ll meet them at 8:45 tomorrow morning at their hotel for a $275, six-hour historic Venice walk.
When you know where to look, there’s so much to see in Venice. An inverted corner of a beautiful church had an ugly iron fence cutting across it. Why? So people won’t pee there. In Gothic times, the architect couldn’t have imagined someone would urinate against the corner of his church. But this is a different age. Later we were walking on an unusually wide street. Oh…a filled-in canal.
Earlier today, on the island of Burano (famous for humble fishermen’s homes and squinting lace-makers), I noticed how the pastel colors of the homes are getting more and more vibrant. The place is just darling (an adjective I’ve never used to describe a town before).
In Burano, the rising sea forced the raising of the canal-side pavement. I could see a strip of fresh bricks above the water line. Some houses had a new step added from the sidewalk down to their door, while others just had a shorter door. Houses that could be made higher just got their ground floors raised — leaving them with shorter ceilings. Those that couldn’t were more susceptible to floods and stayed just as high, but now had a step down. St. Mark’s Square is about to have its pavement raised for the third time in history.
Last night, I flew out of Heathrow Airport. At dinner tonight, I learned Heathrow is closed today with the eruption in Iceland. Travel is like that. I’m giddy here in Venice.
After a sunny week in London, I landed last night here in a thunderstorm. Riding the boat from the airport through the dark lagoon into Venice, I hurriedly typed up the last of my London notes. Stepping ashore at Fondamenta Nuove, I noticed everything seemed particularly vivid in this beautifully decrepit cityscape: Pilings rotten at the waterline. Funeral boats with the iron casket rack on wheels lashed to the center of the hull. Chandeliers lighting top-floor ceiling frescoes of private mansions that would go unseen during the sunlit day. The white marble inlay that made the edge of the stairs over the bridges pop.
Once in my hotel room, my bare feet were greeted by the speckled “Venetian pavement” — that characteristic floor made of a broken hodgepodge of marble fragments, then polished. While some might mistake it for cheap linoleum, it’s far from that — it’s treasured here, and quite expensive. It flexes with the settling of the buildings…so costly to maintain, but so characteristic. My feet connected with the flooring in a way my feet have never before connected with flooring…happily grounding me with Venice.