Feeling of the Day: Old does not mean looking tired or that it has no use, but what is wrong with looking old itself. Things may get worn and parts may become damaged. It simply means a thing that, over time, has a patina-like film that indicates it is old. How it functions and its importance depends on the love and care it receives. Old things can also reflect that love back for those who are open to it.
Full Events of the Day: Today it was time for changing temporary residences. Ensuring the place was tidy, while having my regular oatmeal, I also looked over and under to search for misfit items. Everything was copacetic, so off to Termini station.
I spent a bit more on my train ticket to get the express, only two stops between me and my destination, and it included time in the Freccia club lounge. Normally I abide by Groucho Marx on this topic, “I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member”, but because membership was temporary I took advantage of the privilege. Exploring machine pod generated cappuccino (meh) and one each of the four little dunking cookies (yum), I made notes and read until ~20 minutes before my train left. When that time arrived, I went downstairs to wait for my gate information.
Italy is like other countries in Europe. They wait until 30 to 5 minutes before your train is due to leave before they announce the gate. It is no wonder there are so many pickpockets and scam artists that frequent train stations since there are always mobs of travelers gawking at the departures board waiting for the reveal.
The electronic board opened the curtain for where to go and I boarded my business class coach. Unfortunately the oversize luggage rack was nearly full and I could only put one of my large bags there. Fortunately my assigned cabin of four seats only had two other passengers. Unfortunately they also had two large pieces of luggage, but we made things work between before the train left the station.
Able to reach speeds of up to 250 kph the trains in Europe also provide a smooth ride. After the convenience cart came by we were able to freely choose two packages of snacks - I chose different sandwiches - but I was still hungry. There was a food coach so I walked there and picked up a sandwich made by Stellato. The name must mean stellar so I chose the tuna, tomato, and olive one. Opening it up and putting it into my mouth I realized what the moisture level of the Mojave desert must be at this moment. It was no wonder the expiry date was so far down the calendar. I finished one half, because I was hungry, but could not bring myself to touch the other. I realized later that it was a special sandwich for people with dietary restrictions. I had an idea that these sandwiches could be used by industrial businesses as emergency foods for staff and to absorb HAZMAT spills. Blech. I had one of my Hornby bars instead.
The couple with me in the cabin left at our first stop, in Florence, and nobody who got on was assigned to my cabin. I got my other suitcase from the oversize rack to keep it with me and was more than ready to put it back if folks got on at the next stop. The seats were comfortable enough to nod off, without any trouble, which I started to. I suspected my body was taking advantage of the lack of power walking to recharge. Being solo, I changed from reading to making notes and writing postcards.
With the train giving updates on where we were, and when we were approaching our final destination, I knew when to look out the window and see the land disappear as we continued along a several kilometer bridge.
The train slowed. I grabbed my luggage and stepped onto the platform. I was in Venice! Fourteen years ago I was here for four days and I had lost a day after eating uncleaned fish. The three days were like an amuse bouche taste without getting the rest of the meal. Now, I will be here for 14 nights.
Leaving the station, I made sure my things were close and that I knew what I was doing. Purchasing a nine-euro ticket I got into line for the water taxi. Because the train recently disgorged its occupants I had a one boat wait, which I did not mind whatsoever. It gave me a chance to reabsorb the magic of this series of interconnected islands, and communities, on the water. I also observed the mass of tired tourists, shifty scoundrels, talented touts, and vexed Venetians. Things were going to be fun here, as long as I left the area I would be staying in before the tourists left their dens in the mornings.
The second boat arrived and I began the ride along the Grand canal, past Palazzos. Some buildings were shining and some were tired. Soon we went under the first bridge to cross the Grand canal, the Rialto bridge. There are four bridges that cross the Grand canal and the Rialto was originally a bridge on pontoons. The stone structure that replaced it was completed in 1591, after three years of building. Predicted to collapse, it has defied its critics and is a lovely bridge. Best to visit in the early morning and late evening when few tourists and scoundrels are about.
I got off at the stop just after the Rialto and with my weighty burdens I smiled at the tight throng of visitors to these streets. Trudging forward I made my way to nearby Campo St. Bartolomio where I met Christiano, my liaison for getting into my accommodations. He helped me with my roller luggage bag and with a few turns down some short streets we were at Sotoportego E Corte Zocchi, an almost dead-end alley. I say almost because at the end was a low portal to the rio della Fava canal so boats that provided service for tourists (gondolas or powered), garbage, or delivery could pull up there to disgorge or take in its cargo. At the nearly last doorway on the left, Christiano drew his keys, opened the door to the large common lobby where I would be putting my garbage in a cabinet (more on that later), and brought me upstairs to a common area shared with another apartment, then through my new door to where I would call home for the next two weeks. My place was roomy for me with three rooms: entry/kitchen/dining/laundry room, living/bedroom, and bathroom. It was basic, functional, and near the centre of the water city of Venice. I was happy.
For why folks in Venice live at second level and above, remember that flooding happens everywhere in extreme high tides, in lower elevation areas about a third of the year, and less often everywhere else. In general, the flooding does not last long. It is only with the new dam finished recently, MOSE, that extreme and moderate flooding has been minimized immensely. This is welcome news for a population in the Venetian lagoon that have had the ground floors of their cities and towns soaked often with a fresh/salt water combination.
The bedroom had two IKEA fold down couches that were…IKEA fold down couches. I was glad I brought my micro camping mattress to even things out. I am 55 after all. Christiano showed me things of note and how to use them, we concluded the payment of the tourist tax, and then he left. After very basic unpacking, I went to two grocery stores to pick up essentials for breakfast, lunches, and suppers.
I unpacked some more and, when I felt hungry, I checked my Google Map app for places to eat that were open, nearby, and well reviewed. In Venice, as in other heavily visited by tourists, there are unreputable places normally in the high traffic areas that do not care about the food and only the profit they can receive. I did electronic scouting research, before the trip, to create a Venice guide in the app to reduce searching time while here. Finding one, Fusion Puppa, I saw the route and tested myself by getting there.
Last time in Venice I used a map and compass. It worked out fairly well then. Surely a cell phone with tracking capability could navigate a city with a multitude of bridges, dead ends, tight maze-like streets, canals, and tall buildings that block triangulation from sparse cell towers…nope. It was generally off by a street, sometimes two, unless you stood still or were in a wide street, an open area (campo), or at a bridge in a wide enough canal.
Learning this I managed to get to the restaurant and met the maître d (waiter) at the frount of the establishment, as I was reading the menu. He was from the Philippines and had been here a few years. I liked the menu, his demeanor, and I was ahead of the rush so I entered the establishment. With an order of a local glass of wine, some contorni - of zucchini, yellow peppers, and carrots - and the star of the supper, a squid ink pasta and squid bits, I dug in. I first had squid ink pasta in Venice so I wanted to try it again. The whole meal was just right for my first night.
The evening improved while casually walking back. The quiet presence of the city on the water, away from the touristy areas, is what I missed most about Venice. The beauty of the past is still present, beyond the current rough edges, when Venice was a world powerhouse with wealth beyond reason and now, as I am, in the early evening of life moving forward. Ever forward.
Unpacking some more I went to bed. 5.9 km, three flights, and nine different bridges crossed.
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