Like each of my ex-boyfriends, though with far greater longevity, Venice has that certain je ne sais quoi that makes me keep loving it, no matter how crap it is at times.
My first visit was at the height of summer – i.e. 45 degrees centigrade. This was the first unexpected Venice experience. (I’m sorry but show me one Venice postcard where people’s noses are melting off their faces?) Alighting from the train to find myself on summer camp with half the population of America was the second. After getting off the vaporetto a stop too soon and schlepping my suitcase over approximately 473 steps and 378 campers’ toes (including my own, the blood from which, had I become lost, would have made a perfect trail back), I spent the next 3 days seeking 2 square meters of Venice which might be free of complaining, overweight, pizza-eating-as-you-walk aforementioned co-campers. Had it not been for the discovery of the Peggy Guggenheim museum and the $3 glass rings, I may not have fallen in love at all.
I sought an alternate Venice experience on my second visit, having a crack at Venice mid Winter. Oh Patsyfox, your naivety is so cute. The other noses I haven’t seen on postcards are the ones snapping off peoples faces from the extreme fricking cold. Ok, I never listened in geography, but why hasn’t anyone ever told me how close Venice is to places that get seriously cold? I expected the foggy Venice of Don’t Look Now, not the clear-skied ice winds of the north pole! Willing to sell my body for 3 minutes of warmth, I did the equivalent and went to Harry’s Bar for a respite from the wind and the warmth of a red. Unfortunately Harry’s Bar doesn’t sell wine – this would make it too hard to get the shirt off people’s freezing backs. I settled for a thimble of the house classic bellini at 15 euro. Had I wanted to feed my rumbly tumbly, a bowl of minestrone would have set me back 25 euro, and a main course 55 euro. True, I wrote it down.
What no ice winds, $25 lattes, smelly drains or summer campers can take away from Venice however, is its absolute beauty of colour, form and ambience. But she is not to be beaten, this beauty. Sitting on a (free) step in the shade of Piazza San Marco, albeit with my $10 bottle of water, I thought I was the only one smart enough to crack the code. Until with one swift drop, a Venetian seagull, surely with an arse the size of the piazza itself, dropped a load that covered my head like a yarmulke, cascaded down my shoulders, onto and inside my bag. Talk about multi-tasking. Only mildly perturbed, I finished this drawing.
Venice, I still loves ya.
{ 3 comments }
danielle marie 08.10.09 at 1:14 am
This is why I eagerly look forward to your posts. You patsy fox are in my top 3 must check DAILY blogs. You made me late for work, again! x
Patsyfox 08.10.09 at 6:57 am
Ha! I’m just happy you read them at all! A most worthy reason to be late for work. : ) x
Mrs Underhill 08.16.09 at 10:42 pm
Oh Patsy, you do make me laugh.
I too had a dream of dining at Harry’s so once, in Vicenza for work, I hopped on the train – solo – and headed to Venice for a sneaky day trip. I had only been there as a back packer before so was over the moon to be decked out in business atire (read – shoulder pads) and ready to fine dine. Holy Moly, that was one of the most expensive lunches of my life – I too kept the docket – and not one I could pass back onto the boss.
The waiters served me with that definitive Venetian half ignoring you manner they have. Imagine how much more it would cost for eye contact! Still, I adored every minute, from my welcome Bellini to my Insalata Caprese and my arrivederci short black. You see I did make the most of it … and no one shat on me.
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