Am I seriously telling you that I have been putting up content on electric toothbrushes when I was in Venice in October? Yes, yes, I am but I wanted to do it justice. Choice of the date was very challenging and in fact we had booked everything for the weekend before when we discovered that Mr. Waffle couldn’t make it and we had to rebook everything. It was stressful but, you will be pleased to hear, Venice was worth it.
Day 1 – Friday, October 17
Mr. Waffle and I left Dublin at a civilised hour on Friday morning and flew (direct!) to Venice, hopped into a taxi at Marco Polo airport and were at the city in no time.
I’ve been to Venice a couple of times before but only on day trips: once for the carnival when I was an Erasmus student in Modena in 1990 and once with my family in 1980. In fact, because I remember nothing, my brother had to point out to me that we went back on a family holiday in 1987 which I had forgotten. I retained quite a vivid memory of us each being allowed to take home a present from Venice: I got a golden necklace with blue stones; my sister got a rocking gondola and my brother got a… flick knife. I remember being outraged at the time. “What,” I said to him recently “were the parents thinking buying a seven year old a flick knife?” It was then that it emerged we had gone there again when he was 14. I mean, is that better? So, I had been to Venice but I wasn’t super familiar with its ways. Even when I went in the 80s and 90s, it was very busy, hence our decision to go in October when it might be a bit quieter.
Our neighbours have been to Venice a lot and gave us many excellent tips. The first being that we should stay in Dorsoduro which is where I found our Airbnb. The whole city is really compact and everywhere is walkable. In fact walking and boat are what is available, nothing on wheels of any kind is allowed: no bikes, no cars, no scooters, no buses, no trams. It’s even quite tough for people in wheelchairs as there are bridges with steps every couple of metres. Our taxi tossed us out at Piazzale Roma which is where the bridge to the mainland is and the only place on the island with car access. To Mr. Waffle’s intense delight, we got a boat to near our destination. He loves a public transport system and one with boats? Well, as I say, he was delighted.
I quite liked the Airbnb but Mr. Waffle and the Princess were less enthused. Over the weekend though, I found the hosts exceptionally…communicative and when we left they sent me a long questionnaire which was separate from the Airbnb questionnaire so that was a bit tiring.
Herself was joining Mr. Waffle and me as she was in Italy for a friend’s party in Rome the following weekend and had decided to spend the week in Italy travelling down from Venice . I think it’s fair to say that she may not have loved the Airbnb but it represented a luxurious high point in her journey through Italy which was, elsewhere, hostel based.
She was already ensconced when we arrived and we all went out for a drink, a tramezzino or two (basically a sandwich) and a walk. Venice is beautiful from every angle. The weather was perfect. Sunny and 18 degrees. While tourists were very numerous around Piazza San Marco, they were not particularly so elsewhere. It seemed like a perfect time to visit
Same view with tourists:
Everywhere looks like a postcard. It has no bad angles.
We went in to the Piazza San Marco for a look around and a ludicrously expensive cup of tea. I think it was on this first day that we passed a huge demonstration about Giorgia Meloni’s appointees to La Fenice (the opera house – which we never actually saw, next time). Glad to see that the political demonstration is alive and well. Apparently La Fenice is not for sale. By the time we got to Piazza San Marco it was evening and the crowds had thinned and it was beautiful even though there was some scaffolding (into every life some scaffolding must fall).
We went for dinner in a hotel recommended by a colleague of mine. I regret to say that it was not fantastic. Actually, I thought the food generally was only alright especially given the standard of Italian food normally; maybe we didn’t quite find the right places.
I studied Italian in college and lived in Italy for more than a year in my 20s but I haven’t visited Italy in about ten years so it would be fair to say that my Italian is rusty. I was keen to try to revive it but at every turn I was frustrated by Italians who wanted to speak English. The waiters in the hotel were no different. Poor Mr. Waffle drove me crazy by using his very limited Italian quite dexterously (his vocabulary is terrible but his accent is excellent thanks to his francophone background) and actually sometimes getting to speak more Italian than me. He was unwise enough to correct me (correctly damn it) on one occasion. The unkindest cut of all was later in the trip when we went into a tobacconist to get stamps. The Italian word for a stamp is a term of art and I knew Mr. Waffle wouldn’t know it. I was ready to roll out francobollo when the moment arrived. The people in front of us in the queue were French (Venice was full, full, full of French tourists) and like many another Venetian, the tobacconist spoke French (is is always full of French tourists?). When it came to our turn to be served I stepped up smartly only to hear Mr. Waffle say, “Vous parlez Français?” Words alone are insufficient to describe my full ire at being denied this vital chance to show off.
When we got back to the airbnb to plug in our exhausted phones, I found that I had packed an Argentinian adapter instead of a European one and herself had forgotten to pack one at all. So the poor old ant accompanied by his two grasshoppers let us use his.
Day 2 Saturday, October 18
We were staying quite near the Accademia. Fortified by a delicious – though pricey – outdoor breakfast we went to tackle it.
My memory from my art history diploma (1999 or 2000 but how much does history of art change?) was that the big arty draw in Venice is the Scuola di San Rocco but I was very glad we went to the Accademia. It has a beautiful Venetian collection and it is quite small and manageable, I would really recommend. On the steps on the way in, the security guard asked where we were from. “Irlanda” said I. “Viva la regina!” he said cheerfully. Consternation in our camp. When I was a child this kind of thing was commonplace but I really thought Ireland had been put on the map by our cultural exports. Apparently not. The guard took in our dismay and thought he knew the problem, “Viva il re!” he said triumphantly.
The gallery had lots of the big hitters – Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese and even Giorgione. None of these illustrated below just to keep you on your toes: we’ve got a love sick young man by Lorenzo Lotto; a truly fantastic rococo family group by someone called Alessandro Longhi, previously unknown to me; and a lovely genre painting by the reliably wonderful Pietro Longhi (some relation, we wonder?).
Afterwards we had lunch by a canal
and this guy just powered by.
Looking out on the water, I did wonder how the plumbing arrangements in Venice worked and found this rather fascinating article. I was surprised to see that the article began: Sewage treatment is one of those subjects that visitors in Venice inquire most about. I mean, really?
Anyway turning our minds from the gatoli, everywhere you look is just picture perfect. No artifice is required to get a nice shot, everything is nice.
Our neighbours had recommended that we go up the tower of San Giorgio on a small island across the bay from Piazza San Marco. That was excellent advice (side note to say how much fun Mr. Waffle was getting from his Venezia Unica public transport card – he bought one for everyone in the family – going by boat is so much more fun than by bus even if it is just public transport).
The view from San Giorgio is spectacular and also there is a lift to the top. Did I like that? Oh yes, I did.
After the strain of travelling up and down by lift we had a restorative cup of tea on the tiny island and decided on our next move. Our neighbour had recommended the cemetery island (San Michele) so we decided that would be next. It was a bit of a trek on the vaporetto (hark at me) but, as I say, it’s a boat.
I had to buy new sunglasses in Venice as I hadn’t brought my own, who knew it would be so sunny in October. Not me or my firstborn. Our ant had his sunglasses alright. And I sent herself off on her trip to Rome with the €8 pair I got but I enjoyed my Iris Apfel weekend.
Disaster: when we got to San Michele, it was closed so we stayed on the boat and went on to Murano. It was evening and most things were closing but it was not unpleasant. It’s very different from the main island where there are many tourists and “every prospect pleases”. I’m sure there are tourists earlier in the day but in early evening in October it seemed to be all working class Venetians and it felt perhaps more real than Venice proper. We also got an ice cream in a workman’s cafe which was full of Halloween decorations – several cultures collide. We didn’t buy any glass though; somehow nothing really appealed.
And then we got the boat home ducking under the Rialto bridge on the way.
We had dinner in a small restaurant near the flat which was grand. Herself was a bit mortified as she had had lunch there on Friday before we arrived (cheapest item on the menu) and spent a couple of hours there on her laptop and she was greeted by cries of “Carissima” from the staff on her return but I thought it was rather endearing.
Day 3 – Sunday, October 19
Our neighbours had recommended 10 o’clock mass at San Marco. Off we went at speed in the morning.
When we got to the front of the church, people were being turned away but fortified by my neighbour’s advice and in my best Italian I asked where to go for mass at 10 and was respectfully sent around the corner. What a church. What a mass. The singing was incredible, the church was incredible and I really felt “Well now, this our faith and we are proud to profess it.” Mass lasted an hour and a half – and you know how I feel about a long mass – but I didn’t care. It was by some distance the best mass I have ever attended. I dutifully paid particular attention to the sermon in Italian so that I could explain it to herself and Mr. Waffle afterwards and, honestly, great was my ire when the priest proceeded to give the exact same sermon in English when he had finished in Italian. The church was full but the congregation were clearly all Catholic and knew the drill and mostly didn’t use their phones. In some ways it was a surprisingly normal congregation given the context but the second mass was over everyone (including, I regret to say your correspondent) got up and started taking pictures.
It was a truly extraordinary experience.
Immediately afterwards, unwisely perhaps, we forked out €30 a head to go into the Palazzo Ducale. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the Palazzo Ducale is huge and spectacular but it was perhaps the former element that we hadn’t entirely banked on. Just when we thought it was over we would turn into another even more extraordinary audience room with more gigantic paintings by Titian or Tintoretto. Even looking over the photos now makes me feel faintly exhausted. Our mistake may have been not having a cup of tea beforehand.
You go over the Bridge of Sighs towards the end. I definitely sighed.
But it was all spectacularly beautiful.
Even the views from the odd opened window as you go around.
We had lunch in the museum cafe afterwards and I have never been more grateful to sit down to a museum cafe lunch.
Reinvigorated by our lunch we decided to try to get to San Michele – the cemetery island – again. We walked across Venice. Delightful.
We passed the hospital. I enjoyed the ambulances.
This time we were successful in getting to San Michele and it was well worth the trip. It’s very peaceful and quite beautiful out there. Our neighbour said try to get to a funeral (apparently he has attended a few – he’s a dapper older gent in a suit, I guess he just blends in seamlessly) but we did not succeed. Still there were many graves of the famous to admire.
I had not previously been familiar with Princess Catherine Bagration but quite the character; that wikipedia link is well worth a read.
And it’s a beautiful cemetery.
It might perhaps have been wiser after our successful cemetery outing to have had a little rest but I was keen to take the vaporetto that basically does a tour of Venice via the Grand Canal (either the one or the two, come back to me if you need to know). So we did. The spirit was willing but the flesh was pretty weak at that point. Still I was sitting down and it was so spectacular to look at.
We got off at Santa Maria della Salute which I was really keen to see inside. It was closed and I was surprised how unsorry I was by this development. Next time.
We were on the wrong side of the canal to get home and we tried and failed to get a little traghetto across so back on the big vaporetto.
Herself was on a mission to get these Venetian slippers. She had got a pair about a year ago and I thought they were quite stupid and I mocked them. But we went to the home of the Venetian slipper and, despite myself, I was tempted so here we are, we both got a pair and I am wearing them as I type (pause to photograph). I feel quite fashion forward but also, how the mighty are fallen etc.
Herself chose a restaurant for dinner and it was our biggest dining success so a note for next time.
Day 4 – Monday, October 20
We rose with the lark (about 9.30) and the three of us went for breakfast together in a bar around the corner from the flat. Breakfast was definitely the best meal of the day in Venice – I found it uniformly good in the little bars and cafes and they always, always had freshly squeezed orange juice.
After breakfast, Mr. Waffle and I said goodbye to herself and began our long trip home. I love that she loves London and things are going her way but I wish I could see more of her and I am always so sad to say goodbye.
In an uncharacteristic burst of economising, I suggested to Mr. Waffle that we might get the bus from Piazzale Roma to the airport which we did and it was just fine – perhaps a note for me to reflect on. The trip home was uneventful although the airport was slow and the flight a little delayed so we only took off a lunchtime. It was supposed to be an earlier flight so perhaps they weren’t particularly set up for a lunchtime crowd. I was pleased to secure the last sandwich on the plane and the man beside me looked chagrined. Mr. Waffle asked him had he hoped to get the sandwich. He had. I did wonder what Mr. Waffle’s plan was there but he just said vaguely, “Oh right” and carried on happily while I ate my sandwich like a (hungry) criminal.
I must say there is a great deal to be said for a four day trip which allows you two full days in the middle. And I will certainly be back to Venice.