I was vey excited to be heading to Venice. It's unlike any place on
earth. I don't care how many canals any other city may have (Amsterdam, tip
your hat in recognition), nothing comes close to Venice.
I had been to Venice before, however that had been merely a daytrip from
Tuscany. This time around, I had booked two glorious nights in this fantastic
place (thanks to a reccomendation from a Rick Steves' book). I had always
thought Venice to be incredibly expensive. I was pleasantly surprised, not just
from the price of our room, but from everything else we encountered along the
way.
Chris had never been before. I was secretly thrilled to witness his reaction to
it. Crossing over the lagoon, we could feel we were entering a whole new world—a
world where cars and other motor vehicles did not exist. We stepped out of the
main train station and were immediately hit with the charm that is uniquely
Venice. The Grand Canal was before us; the instant bustle of a place you can
only imagine from the movies.
On our way to the hotel, we noticed the abundance of take-away food,
and were pleased to discover that Venice was well within range of our
backpacker budget. Pizza was readily assessible and cheap. They sold it in big
slices, like the way they do in New York City.
Our hotel was down a back alley, not far from the main sites. Rick Steves' did
well in his recommendation. We were upgraded to a room with its own bathroom. Sure
it was located across the hallway from reception, and the guy out there could
probably hear everything going on in our room (we were listening to music
videos really loud at one point—cheesy 80s videos, the best kind), but it was
more than sufficient.
It's incredibly easy to get lost in Venice. It actually doesn't matter if you
do. Eventually there will be a sign that points in the direction of the Rialto
or San Marco. Those are the biggest attractions of the island. The Rialto is
the main bridge over the Grand Canal. There are shops on both sides, and three
sets of stairs crossing over (take that Ponte Vecchio!) San Marco is the main
square, boosting St. Mark's Cathedral, the Doge's Palace and the oldest digital
clock in the world. The square is packed with tourists and pigeons. Just around
the corner is the Bridge of Sighs (more impressive by name than it is in
appearance). I told Chris after seeing these main sights we could go anywhere
in Venice. Afterall, the real main attraction of Venice is Venice itself, its
backstreets, mulitple bridges and of course, the canals.
You cannot lose with Venice. You will win everytime. Even though it's
ultra-touristy, and smells of sewers, and barely has any real residents left on
it. It's a living piece of history. It's not a themepark; doesn't even come
close to feeling like one. The city is steadily sinking back into the lagoon. If
sea levels rise, Venice will most certainly be gone. Venice Las Vegas doesn't
come close to the experience, not even with the gondola rides. Visit Venice,
that is all I can say.
Chris and I had walked ourselves into nap-mode. We made our way back to the
hotel. On our way, walking past many hawkers and street performers, we rounded
a building and were hit full force with the voice of an opera singer. I
believed it to be someone playing a CD, but there in a tiny square was an
actual man singing. It stopped us dead in our tracks. It had stopped other
people as well, and we all just stood there staring unbelievably. This man was
so good. It's not every day a voice can stop you like that, make you forget
what you were doing.
He was singing “Ave Maria.” He wouldn't make eye contact. He almost looked
bashful. as if he didn't want people looking at him. Occassionally he would
acknowledge someone, if money was dropped into his box. He'd give them a deep
bow, still not making eye contact. He was very humble, even with this amazing
voice. What a wonderful man.
After our nap we headed back out into the streets. It was night now, and most
of the tourists had left (most of them our daytrippers, arriving and leaving by
boat). We had Venice largely to ourselves. Indeed Venice is very different at
night. The backstreets are dark and you can hear water lapping everywhere. You
feel like you're a character in some movie, slinking through the streets,
walking towards or away from something exciting. This may sound dangerous, but
there wasn't that feel to it at all. Venice felt very safe at night. Maybe the
pickpocketers are out during the day, but we found no shady characters in those
alleyways, just mostly venders closing up for the night or resteraunteers.
We sat in San Marco Square, amazed at how deserted it was. The tide was coming
in and bubbling up through manholes throughout the square. There were few
patrons sitting at the restaurants that lined the square, nonetheless, the
bands continued to play. There was a band on one side playing classical movie
pieces such as 'Star Wars' and 'ET'. On the other side was jazz. We got a free
show, considering we didn't eat at these expensive restaurants. Rather we
grabbed some pizza on one of the back alleys; more of those monster slices. It
was a good night.
Killing Time
Our train the next day was to leave at 11:30 p.m. That meant we had a whole day
to kill. I'd like to tell you we filled it doing amazing things, but mostly we
just slept in the park. We hung out at McDonalds for a good portion of the day,
taking advantage of the free wifi. We stayed in one place as long as we could,
just to stretch the time out. I can say with assurance that I have seen Venice.
I think we covered close to every inch of it.
We were fortunate with the weather. It was blue skies the whole day. It was the
perfect kind of day to kill time in. Towards the end of the afternoon, as we
were heading back towards the hotel to reclaim our bags, we spotted the opera
man in the same square we had seen him the day before. It looked like he was setting
up, so Chris and I lingered, hoping he would do another performance. We
lingered a very long time, trying not to make it obvious we were there for him.
Finally he started his music, and started pacing. He looked so nervous. He let
a whole song go by without singing one note. We were wondering if he had stage
fright. We looked away, letting him do his thing without us watching. Finally
it appeared he had built up the courage, and out he came with “Sole Mio.” It
was the same kind of goosebumps we had felt the day before. His voice just
filled the entire square. Again people were stopping in their tracks as they
walked past. I loved watching the reactions on people's faces when his voice
hit them. With all the street performers in Venice, none came close to grabbing
attention like this opera singer.
A few songs later, we moved closer to him, sitting on the base of a fountain. He
had had his eyes downcast in that humble way of his, so it kind of threw us for
him to look in our direction and announce “Andrea Bocelli.” To my utter
delight, the notes to “Time to Say Goodbye” began to play on his iPod. This to
me is the quintessential escape-to-Italy song. He sang it perfectly, building
as the music built, bringing it home at the very end. It was almost as if he
was singing it for us. Maybe it was presumptious to think that, but at the end
he adressed us again, and said “For you, your favourite song” and began to sing
“Ave Maria.” He had remembered us from the day before. That made us feel
special, and we tipped him greatly. We even went up to shake his hand. He
acknowledged that he had seen us yesterday. He was a wonderful man. I hope
anyone who reads this blog and goes to Venice seeks out the opera man. He seems
to sing late in the afternoon, in a tiny square just down the road from the
only McDonalds in town. I hope he might have the same effect on you as he had
on us.
The Overnight Train
We were actually looking forward to our accommodation for the night. In an
attempt to save money, we booked seats on the overnight train from Venice to
Munich. We didn't even bother to book sleepers (if it was a German train, the
seats had to be first-class anyway. That was our thinking). After we had
collected our bags from the hotel, we headed down the street towards the
station. It had started raining, and the street was slick in the darkness. We
had arrived super early at the station, having several hours to wait it out. In
that time Chris made friends with a lame pigeon. The poor pigeon had a club
foot, and was just hobbling about. We tried to gain its trust by holding out
Altoids (we were to find out that pigeons don't care much for Altoids). Then
the poor pigeon fell asleep near our feet, and we were very near wanting to
fall asleep ourselves. I went outside for some fresh air and viewed Venice for
the last time. The view of the Grand Canal, even in the dark, is amazing. Oh I
do love Venice.
The train had pulled in an hour early. We climbed aboard to claim our seats. It
was the dreaded cabin-type train (which means there are six seats put together
in enclosed sections). This was the kind of train we had rode with that
sleeping Italian family, and the intimicy with strangers is too great for my
liking. Plus the train was rickity and smelled. Where was the German
engineering I had been hearing about? As it turned out, we were lucky because
no one joined us in our cabin. There were people around us, but we closed the
curtains to our section, switched off the light, and tried to get some sleep.
We were first visited by a ticket man, who flipped the light on without
apology. We handed our tickets over, and to be honest, we thought that would be
it. We laid out, spreading ourselves across the seats, and planned on sleeping
straight to Munich.
As if. At every stop, a ticket man would go through the carriages. Sure the
stops weren't frequent, maybe every hour or two. But when the train would stop,
it would stop for good. The air in the cabin would shut off and you could
clearly hear the bangings of doors and whatnot as more people boarded the
train. It was a huge commotion every time the train stopped. Some of the stops
were about an hour long, and they would add carriages to the train which meant
lots of noise from the outside; clanking and grinding and thumping. At first we
didn't know what was going on, it was so loud. It sounded like they were
disassembling the train. We met people out in the hallway who said this was
normal, and was going to be happening throughout the night. To me this was
unbelievable. I had thought the night train was for sleeping. Silly me.
Chris and I slept in increments, between stops and between ticket checks. We
also had to deal with passport patrol, the officials having no qualms in waking
us, flipping on the light and staring down at us scarily. This whole overnight
train was a nightmare to me. It was hard to know what was going on, and with
German being spoken on this rickity old train, it very much seemed that the SS
were onboard and ready to find us and torture us in some way. In the wee hours
of the night in an unfamiliar place, such thoughts come easily.
We had managed to sleep a few hours at a time. The ticket man had come, and so
had yet another passport patrol. We thought we were good for awhile. But then
all of a sudden the light comes blaring down at us and a crazy German woman was
thrown in with us, thanks to the ticket man. This woman was ranting in German. She
clearly had been drinking. It didn't take any knowledge of German to understand
that she was raving mad. Thanks ticket man!
We then knew any chances of further sleep were gone. Chris and I sat up and
tried to move as far away from the crazy lady as possible. She was still
talking to herself. At one point she turned to Chris and tried to extend her
rant to him. Chris apologized with his hands and said "English." He
may as well have been telling her he had worms. She looked at him disgustingly
and shook her head. I had to laugh out loud. This was all too funny.
After awhile I squeezed past the crazy lady (who had fallen into some kind of
drunk slump) to visit the bathroom. There I discovered two things: it was
getting light outside, and we were now in the Alps. The combination of the
early morning light and the dramatic scenery cleared my head ever so slightly. When
I got back to our cabin, I pulled the drapes open and tugged down the window. The
air was fresh and the mountains were snow-capped and magnificient. We were in a
whole new world now. Soon we would be
rolling over the German border (we were still in Austria) and into Bavaria. This
section of the trip would be completely new to me. I was now excited for
schnitzel and lederhosen. The overnight train had been shockingly bad, but we
had made it, crazy lady and all.
I will look for the opera man...made me get a little choked up reading about him...a very special memory, for sure!
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