... in Venice

 

The Adventures of the Anonymous Two in Venice

 

 

Having seen adverts in the paper for ridiculously cheap flights to Europe, Boyfriend booked our first holiday together – a long weekend in Venice.

 

After I subjected myself to a gruelling hour long Royal Marine Commando Challenge Training session, Boyfriend and I made the long drive through busy London to his aunt and uncle in Hertfordshire.

As our flight was so early, we would otherwise have had to leave home around 2am. A combination of my already being in London the previous evening training and an offer from Aunt and Uncle of a bed for the night made things a little easier. We now didn’t have to get up until the much more reasonable time of 4am.

When we arrived I was keen to shower and change, aware that I was covered in bits of a cold and muddy Battersea Park. We were then served a wonderful dinner of chicken and vegetables, followed by cake.

Their house was full of amazing pictures they had taken on their many travels. I hoped that one day Boyfriend and I would have a similar treasure trove. They were an incredible couple. Aunt seemed to be the boss, and was enormously excited by the whole prospect of our travel. She arranged to set her alarm early so that she could make sure our car was de-iced before we set off, and they insisted on leading us onto the main road so that we wouldn’t get lost – and hence delayed. We also noticed that we had their bed for the night, while they slept in a bunk.

 

By the time we had dressed and got downstairs they were already both there, looking as though they had been up for hours, with cups of tea and cake at the ready. As planned, we followed them to the main road at which point they turned off and, I hope, returned home to bed. We continued on to Stansted airport.

We parked, and made a note of the bus stop for our return journey. It was cold, and I was tired. After checking in we decided to have a much needed breakfast at Garfunkel’s. As the queue was so long, and and service was slow, once we had eaten there was barely time to check out the duty free shops before we needed to head off to the boarding gate.

The flight was relatively uneventful. Being an economy flight there was no food and no magazines. Fortunately we each had our books.

We landed at Treviso – a very small airport – and joined the queue for bus tickets. As just about everyone on the plane needed the bus to Venice, the queue was fairly long. We also took the opportunity to buy a 3 day river bus ticket at the same time then trooped off to the bus, or rather; coach, where we had to stand for the whole journey to Venice as there were no seats left. However, having been sitting on a plane for a couple of hours, I didn’t particularly mind.

Venice is built on sandbanks and lies in a lagoon. A road/bridge has been built to get onto Venice and a large car park were all vehicles need to be abandoned, but other than that, there are no vehicles in Venice at all. Only boats.

We got out of the coach, collected our luggage and, not having the slightest idea where to go, and wandered vaguely in the direction of calls offering river taxis.
 

According to the taxi man the stop we needed was St Marks. However, as we had river bus tickets there was little point in paying for a taxi. So we made our way to the river bus stop. There are a number of river bus routes round Venice, each of which is numbered. The process is in fact very similar to that operated by any bus service. We also had a map that we had bought in England which detailed the bus routes and numbers. Despite all this, we still managed to find the process a little difficult.

We eventually plumped for a bus which we and our suitcase squeezed onto and, keeping a beady eye on our map, headed off in what turned out the be the right direction along the Grand Canal. We were still uncertain about where the hotel was. Boyfriend thought it was somewhere between the Rialto Bridge and St Marks Square. When the bus stopped at Rialto, we decided to get off and walk the rest of the way.

By this stage I was getting hungry and also needed the loo. Consequently, I was becoming grumpy. 

We wandered through the streets. They were narrow, dark and busy and would then suddenly open out onto slightly smelly canals or small squares. Some streets were dead ends, finishing at a canal. We looked at our map in the hope that it would help us to try and aim for the bridges over the water, rather than these numerous cul de sacs.

 

All the buildings in Venice are numbered. Also, all the streets are named. However, residents only use their house number rather than the street name. They also give directions based on the nearest church. Boyfriend called the hotel to get directions to them, and it was unhelpful to say the least. She told us the name of a church they were near.

We then asked a lady in a newsagent kiosk. She spoke no English at all, but wrote down the street that it was in. We couldn’t find the street name in our very detailed map. We could however find the Church, so headed off for that instead. There was a piazza there and now urgently needing both liquid refreshment and relief we paused at a café.

After some pizza, ice cream and a couple of beers I was feeling decidedly better and less grumpy. I rummaged through the suitcase to dig out my camera and started feeling much more in holiday spirit. While we were sitting there it also passed an o’clock, and the bells of every one of Venice’s many churches rang. It was an incredible sound – probably similar to that once heard in London hundreds of years ago.

I also looked at the street map again, where I found the street that apparently housed the hotel. Feeling thus invigorated, we headed off again.

By now we had got to grips with the way Venice was laid out, and managed to muddle our way through the streets and alleys, and over canals. We were also getting a bit warmer in terms of the house number we were after. The only slightly galling thing is that you can be almost there, then you cross a canal and the numbers have dropped by a thousand.

 

We walked along a large promenade that opened out onto the lagoon. The promenade was littered with artists work, tourist stuff, postcards and Venetian glass.

I directed us to the alley off the promenade that we needed, then a turn one way and then the next and we should be there. The numbers were right. And then all of a sudden they ran out and we were in a small piazza. Fortunately a waiter outside a restaurant there pointed us in the right direction. We had walked past a tiny alley where our hotel was. We checked in and were shown to our room.

 

It was incredible. The walls were covered with silk drapes. The bathroom was Venetian plastered, kitted out with designer items including a bidet and jacuzzi. They also provided toothbrushes and toothpaste.

 

We had been asked what time we wanted breakfast. Wanting an early start the next day, I said 8am. Boyfriend seemed shocked.

We spent a while in the room, unpacking, freshening up and having a little doze. When we woke up it was dark and we were hungry, so went out to find dinner – a little uncertain about whether we would be able to find our way back to the hotel again.

We walked back along the promenade, which was now clear of artists, and into St Marks’s square. There were lights on all the building around the square, and it looked incredible. We also looked in the shop windows, which primarily sold either glass or very elaborate masque costumes. Aimlessly wandering in the calm relaxed manner of holidaying couple, we passed canals and gondola parks, and meandered through a multitude of narrow alleys. Frequently they opened out onto small, empty piazzas.

 

In one of these we found a restaurant for dinner. It was incredibly fancy, with Venetian plastering everywhere. A table next to us had a bottle of wine which had a conical shaped bottom, and a special copper ring to sit it in so that it didn’t fall over.

We had a wonderful dinner. I had mussels followed by the most delicious liver I have ever eaten. Boyfriend had black cuttlefish spaghetti. The whole meal was completely black, and soon so was his mouth, teeth and lips. It was a very strange sight.

For pudding we had tiramisu – probably the nicest one we had ever tasted, and decided to have a lot more of during our stay. We followed the meal with coffee, or rather espresso. It was tiny and very very strong. Probably enough caffeine to keep us awake all night.

As we left, I wondered how we would find our way back. We had, after all, only found this place by meandering through the streets. I was therefore very surprised when we stumbled across St Mark’s square again. We were both realising that, despite our early difficulties, Venice was in fact quite small and easy to negotiate your way through. The main thing we needed to be careful about was not walking into canal which nestled among the dark, unlit streets.

 

We slept like logs that night after our very long jacuzzi. We had put too much bubble bath in, and every time we turned on the water stream, the bubbles would increase and rise higher and higher to the point of falling out of the tub and covering the floor.

A knock on the door at 8am with our breakfast was most unwelcome. Boyfriend felt vindicated. Breakfast consisted of a couple of cakes, orange juice and coffee that poured more slowly than ketchup. To make it a normal colour, you needed the majority of it to be milk. Even then it was still quite fierce. Boyfriend loves strong coffee, but even he found this a little bit too much.

We watched some TV to find out the latest on the Iraq war. Unfortunately it was all in Italian. But occasionally they used CNN footage that had the English headlines running along the bottom. Rather irritatingly these were often covered up with the name of the Italian reporter.

Having fully recovered from the coffee, we got up and ventured out. We went to St Mark’s square but the queues for the basilica and campanile made us decide to do other exploring first, and come back later. The square was packed with tourists and pigeons. According to our guidebook, the bird seed that is sold to feed the pigeons with contains contraceptives in order to help reduce the pigeon population.

 

We crossed one of the larger canals to go and see L’Academie. There were crowds of people on the bridge as well as large numbers of riot police. A large anti war demonstration was going on. Fortunately we were heading down a side street off the main thoroughfare, and therefore avoided getting swept along with it.

This side of the water it was a lot quieter, and much more residential. We went to see a large church, sat in the sun, and then caught the river bus back, going the other way up the Grand Canal.

 

Getting off at the Rialto bridge we had a much needed beer and sat in the sun by the Grand Canal while we watched the playboy of the western world as he tried to attract trade for his gondola. The gondolas were beaufifully ornate, shiny and well maintained – and about £150 for half an hour.

A wedding also passed us. The bride and groom posed for photos on a gondola but walked through the streets from the church to their reception, further demonstrating that the cost of the gondolas really was ridiculous.

 

Having been organised enough to buy some postcards, I sat and wrote them and then had the fun of finding stamps. We walked over the Rialto bridge which bulged with shops - largely selling tourist tat. However the view down the Grand Canal was wonderful.

On the other side of the bridge we were directed to the post office. This was an old piazza that had had a roof put over it, and consequently the centre was a large indoor cobbled square with a well in the middle while around the edge was a columned walkway, in which were installed the post office counters. It was fabulous, and inspired.

 

We walked from the Rialto bridge back to St Mark’s square. When we got there the queues had reduced considerably, so we joined the one for the basilica. Apparently much of the interior had been stolen over many years from Constantinople. It showed. Very little was actually originally built – but largely cobbled together from various invasion prizes. This included 4 bronze horses on the loggia – although the ones there are replicas with the originals kept inside.

 

The floor of the basilica was very uneven, and apparently St Mark’s remains are inside. We went up the very steep stairs to the loggia from where you can see right across the inside of the basilica, and all the narrow, high level walkways. Photos were not meant to be taken, but we sneaked a couple. Apparently this was alright as it was flash photography that was banned. We then went outside, and looked over St Mark’s square before sitting there in the sun for several minutes.

 After this, we went up the neighbouring Camponile. It was quite cold at the top, but the views all across Venice were stunning. We could see where we had been sitting on the basilica and took a photo of it.

From the top we could also see that the tables laid out in front of the various cafes in the square were totally in line, even and symmetrical. I was impressed by the attention to detail.

 

After coming down from the top of the Camponile we wandered around the shops in St Marks square, again looking at all the incredible glass. We managed to find a glass thimble for Boyfriend’s mother – who collects thimbles. Rather incredibly, there was a jazz band outside one of the posh eating places in the square. It would have been wonderful to be able to dance the tango to it, in St Mark’s Square.

When we went back to the hotel, we booked in a later breakfast. After freshening up, we went for dinner at the little restaurant near the hotel and then staggered home to bed – after having another jacuzzi together, with less bubble bath.

At some ungodly hour during the night I was awoken with terrible stomach cramps. These were so bad that I couldn’t lie down at all. The only way the pain eased was by sitting. I tried to be sick and tried to have a crap, and neither seemed to solve the problem.

I slept little for the rest of the night, and spent most of it sitting on the bathroom floor, leaning against the bidet.

Unsure what the problem was, I ate little breakfast the next day. Once we were up and about I didn’t feel so bad, getting only the occasional twinge. We had a much gentler day of ambling about, and Boyfriend got quite interested in the vast number of decidedly wonky towers.

 

We had lunch at a very nice café next to a canal, and looked through our guide book. It was from this that we discovered that a bridge between two buildings that we had seen several times, and even photographed, was in fact the Bridge of Sighs.

 

We walked along the lagoon front, beyond St Mark’s square. Along there was a restaurant that would take its guests by boat from the Lido to the restaurant and back if you had reservations. One assumed it was an expensive restaurant.

Just for fun, and because we had the river bus tickets, we took a river bus from one of the stops along this part all the way round the outside of Venice and back down the Grand Canal.

As we got out into the wider part of the lagoon, it was quite cold. We had seats at the front of the  river bus, and kept an eye on our map to see where we were. We went passed the harbour and the front of a very large cruise ship, although the thought of these giant vessels towering over the buildings along the Grand Canal seemed criminal - ugly and insensitive.

 

We got off again at the Rialto bridge feeling the need for a beer in the sun - to warm up. As we ambled back toward the hotel we did some further shopping for souvenirs. This included a fridge magnet for us – an obligatory part of any holiday with Boyfriend, and glass animals for Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger, as well as glass figures for us.
 

Fancying pizza for dinner, we tried to find the pizza restaurant that we had walked passed a couple of times over the weekend. Miraculously we did. The pizzas were huge. I couldn’t even finish mine. We didn’t manage pudding.

As we went to bed I was concerned about whether I would be able to sleep that night or not. Initially it was fine – then in the early hours the pain began again. It wasn’t so bad this time, and felt like trapped wind. The next morning we wondered if I had been poisoned by the mussels on our first evening. I managed to eat a bit more breakfast on our final day, knowing now that I wasn’t going to be sick. Eventually we decided that perhaps a lot of air from the jacuzzi had got itself into me.

We had a relaxing morning on the last day, gently ambling around the streets. We even found the statue of some learned person, nicknamed ‘bookshitter’ because of the way his coat and the pile of books behind him were arranged.

 

We also saw newly arrived tourists wandering around with suitcases; looking as lost we had been on our first day. There was a temptation to help them. But we resisted it and just smiled to ourselves instead.

Not wanting to miss the bus back to the airport, we went back to the bus station early where we sat in the sun eating sandwiches which Boyfriend had sought out after a lengthy forage, and reading the previous days Times – which had also taken forever to find a copy of.

We managed to get seats this time for the bus ride back, and I slept most of the way.

When we arrived back in Stansted my stomach was still aching. So I decided not to go to the Commando Challenge training session that evening in Hyde Park. We probably wouldn’t have got there in time anyway.

 

The transfer bus took us back to the airport the car park at which point we realised that we had remembered the letter but not the number of our bus stop. We got off at one that looked vaguely in the right area, and managed to find the car.

We then drove home and did rather miss the shared jacuzzi that night. Having a shower by yourself just wasn’t the same at all.

NOTES

The above is a true story. Some of the information about places visited is sourced from a variety of guide books. The author maintains rights over all other content.