Our problems were not yet over with functioning of our debit cards. While I had learned my new PIN and had been able to withdraw some cash - an extra amount, just in case - Mandy’s card was still deactivated and I suspected mine might soon be, if not already. I later discovered it had been. I remembered that we had mentioned doing some international travel when we were at the bank in early February, but apparently saying this had not sufficed. We tried calling the bank and card company by using the international collect numbers they provided. But there was always something… Mandy had gotten a hold of the international operator who then said that he couldn’t complete the call because he didn’t know who to bill. I had gotten through to the bank but because it is an automated answering system there was also no one to accept charges. And to top it off, my phone cards would not work with the payphones in Italy, all identical and owned by a particular company. Not even the calling card purchased in Rome would work. It was ridiculous. Ri-dic-u-lous!
It was with this albatross upon our shoulders that we proceeded on from Florence to Venice, wishing soon to resolve the issue, the grating weight of the stress following us through the peopled streets of Venice as we trudged hoping to find a room in the first place on our list. It took some work to locate Hotel Bernardi-Semenzato, situated in a passageway no wider than my outstretched arms, but fortune was on our side. The receptionist chuckled when we asked if there were any rooms available. “Oh, yeah,” she said, “We have lots of rooms available.” Quiet it
was in Venice, with only people in the streets, motorized boats limited to larger canals and cars all but banished to the mainland. Our room was light and airy, a large window opening to a view of other houses with laundry swaying in the breeze. While there was a TV, which we more or less ignored for our stay, the most exciting amenity offered was a phone. A veritable, touch-tone, no coins, no-nonsense phone! Fortune was on our side…Because of the time difference involved should we need to call someone at the bank back home (nine hours), we decided to do a bit of sightseeing before utilizing this most welcome appliance, our beloved hotel room phone. So, we set off. Having repeatedly read about how easy it was to grow disoriented in the tight passageways of pedestrian Venice, it was no surprise when we soon were. But we also quickly discovered a strategy not mentioned in our guidebooks: when in doubt, follow the mass of people all walking along the same route. There are only a few choices of pathways one can take by foot to get from one side of the city to the other, and only three bridges cross the Grand Canal. Thus, the city is very much like a maze. Though one you don’t mind being stuck in.
We set a course for the celebrated Piazza San Marco - or rather, followed the course set by the rest of the foot traffic. We veered from the beaten path long enough to pick up paninis from a little shop and eat them by the Grand Canal near Ponte di Rialto, the most famous of the three bridges. Here the picturesque Venice we all imagine unfolded for us: the lavish, white bridge arching high over the water, vaporetti boats puttering beneath, gondolas tied to striped mooring posts and gently rocking in the waves, and above colorful, stately homes standing ornately along the water’s edge. After basking in this scene in a golden late day’s sun, we moved on to one as beautiful when we found the Piazza and ate some of the best gelato ever in the waning pink light
and placid air of Venice’s eventide. The Piazza San Marco was abuzz with people and was ringed by the gorgeous walls of the palace. Near the water musicians played: a violinist drawing his bow across heart-rending arias, a flamenco guitarist adroitly plucking tremolo lines, and a Native American duo playing new age Andean flute music. All contributed to the overall ambience and over-the-top romanticism of this classic city. It was surprising to me to find such tranquility in a city as renowned as Venice. But it brought much needed respite and a restful sleep that night. We were especially relieved when we were finally able to get through to the fraud department and they immediately reactivated our cards with ease - an irony considering the troubles we’d had with them up to this point. Still, sweet dreams followed as our cards would no longer be suspected stolen and would be operable. It turns out we’d stolen our own cards. So, we decided not to press charges… Or rather, we were fine with the charges…The following day was less eventful. And in a good way. After a filling Italian breakfast, which cost us a fair amount, since we ate it sitting down in the restaurant, we happened upon a church with an exhibit on the life and times of Vivaldi, who had spent much of his life in Venice. We were interested to read about the city’s musical history and its strange courting of pagan and Christian traditions. We also saw some strange, old instruments there: a violin with a trumpet-like bell meant for amplification, a piano/guitar, and so forth. Yeah, mandolins too. We then set off by ferry to the neighboring island and town of Lido to visit the site of the European Master’s program in Human Rights and Democratisation to which I had applied a year prior. The sun was bright and golden, a change from the gray morning of the day before, and the water was a deep teal with a strong briny breeze lending a chill to the air. Once on Lido, we walked to the opposite shore and found a wide, sandy public beach, where we sat for some time taking in the vast and unbounded horizon of the Mediterranean. We then wandered about the island in a clockwise manner without any real knowledge of where the program’s building was located, except that it was in an old monastery. Finally, I asked and learned we’d been traveling in the wrong direction. So, leading back to the ferry landing and beyond, we eventually arrived at the place.
We rang a buzzer and were let inside where I explained at reception that I had applied the year before and was interested in seeing the school it at all possible. The woman there said that it was impossible for us to see the monastery, though she did show us the central courtyard with its monkish cloisters. It was a strange interaction, though, because she seemed to think we were simply tourists, even though she had clearly heard me state that I was a prospective student. I had expected a more enthusiastic reception. Nonetheless, it was interesting enough to see the place and to have that picture in mind of what it would be like to attend, though it was presently devoid of students in the off-semester.
It was with self-doubt that I left and we returned to the public beach. I wondered if there was some way I might have better explained myself. Why had she seemed so dismissive and disinterested that I was a prospective scholar? Was it usual for one to visit a campus in Europe? Gradually my reeling mind was calmed by the steady sound of the waves as we plodded along the beach in search of the most interesting seashells. When we grew tired of this, realizing the day was slipping like the sand through our fingers, we reboarded the ferry and returned to Venice, where we went promptly to the Guggenheim Museum. The collection of modern art there was incredible: Magritte, Dali, Picasso, Kandinsky, Ernst, Mondrian, all quite impressive for such a small gallery. We followed this artistic experience with an equally artistic dining experience and, most stimulating of all, our nightly promenade. All in all, a fine way to wrap up the evening…
With little left to do the next day except await a night train into Germany (where we would visit a good friend of mine), we chose to spend the morning wandering through a section of Venice
which we had not yet seen. It proved much the same - quiet, old, waterlogged but beautiful - though there was a large, ugly modern building that housed the university and served as a reminder that the city was more than a simple tourist attraction, an ancient city locked in time. Mandy had wanted to paint at some point, so I looked for a suitable spot where we could sit and drink coffee and she could paint while I read or wrote. I thought I had found such a place at the Ponte di Rialto, where we were able to sit at café tables on mossy stairs right at the edge of the water. The waiter explained what drinks he had and I was surprised when Mandy ordered a spritzer. So, I did likewise. When the drinks came, she seemed surprised to learn it was alcoholic; I was not. But we were both strongly affected on our empty stomachs and we set about to find some food right away. Ever after we had eaten Mandy felt lightheaded. What a day for her: a lingering sore throat from a cold she’d been fighting since Madrid , a light head from an unexpected wine spritzer, and a spot that turned out not to be what she wanted to paint - too many people and too complicated a scene, she said.We filled a few more hours whiling away in an internet café, updating the blog a little bit more, doing a bit more laundry and buying some food for the train, especially fruit which is not often offered in restaurant dishes. As darkness fell on Venice and the hour of our departure neared, we found a self-service cafeteria-style eatery in which we were able to eat pretty well on the cheap. I had my first wine from a tap: a zinfandel, not too shabby either. The last thing we did was to pass on the map we had purchased and the transportation passes, still good for another two days, to a Japanese couple who had just arrived that night. It was great to see their thankful and surprised smiles and to imagine their experience in Venice. Our little way of passing on the charm and good fortune of the city to another.
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