Remarkable how much can be jammed into eight short days! Still… I did not manage to do the little personal things that meant the most to me while I was there. It would seem I have lost my anonymity in La Serenissima, and therefore my beloved solitude. I love the friends I have made in Venice, certainly, and I was delighted to be with them again. But I was neither a resident (although I kept turning to go “home” to my old apartment instead of my hotel) nor a tourist while I was there. It was difficult to be between these roles.
The particulars of the trip…
Having studied weather predictions, I was prepared for a full week of showers. Instead I got a string of hot, sunny summer days. I had also shortchanged myself on clothing to avoid Delta’s overweight charges. Two big mistakes for someone who likes to dress up three times a day while in Venice.
Everyone at Hotel Bel Sito gave me the usual principessa treatment, particularly on my birthday. I even had my own reserved breakfast table on the terrace every morning!
My birthday partying included lunch at al Prosecco (as usual) and supper at Enoteca San Marco (as usual). As a pre-birthday blow-out, my friend "E" took me to a new place we had never visited - Cantinone Storico. What a pleasure to spend time with her again! I really gilded the lily by having supper at Bancogiro on my last night in town, thereby stretching my celebration to the financial limit.
If you have followed this blog, you know an important Venice task for me is snatching old posters for use in my work. Curiously, there was a dearth of paper loot for me to filch this time. I cannot explain it, but it seemed there were fewer current ones posted, and the outdated ones had been rather efficiently stripped away. Thus I came back almost empty-handed this time. (Above you can see one rain-mottled beauty I coveted but could not manage to carve away with my little Exacto knife.)
Many shops and restaurants have closed or changed hands since I left. The presence of Chinese immigrants grows daily. Venice already had far too many of their glutted handbag shops back in spring. Now this situation has become something of a bad racial joke in town. Sadly, this is happening at the expense of those everyday services that the local folks really need – a hardware store, a cobbler, a fine little bakery, and the like.
But the Tuesday morning mercato in Lido was exactly the same, thank Heaven. I happily rooted through the rummage sale and I brought home a bagful of those magnificent greasy walnuts they sell there. My gal pal “D” accompanied me, and she showed me where in that neighborhood one can buy the best fishing worms. (I might need to know that someday!)
There is another tango night now. It’s in Campo Santa Margherita on Saturday evenings. So far it hasn’t exploded in popularity the way the original did. Probably due to the loud, annoying student crowd milling around between the bars there.
This year’s Biennale was as foolish and time-wasting as ever. There were only a handful of truly captivating artists represented. Mostly it was stupid things like a single sheet of pink paper creased once and framed in Plexiglas or a few primary-colored Tinker Toys stacked on a stick. (Snore!) There was entirely too much self-important, amateurish, boring video nonsense, although there were two elaborate and terribly moving video installations that relied on sophisticated technology along with poignant history for effect, most notably the Hungarian entry, Col Tempo.
I mourned my lack of a kitchen because the fish market was full of gorgeous, glittery creatures and the late summer produce was looking like something from a movie set. I had to settle for just a taste of my favorite mozzarella bread and a few pieces of perfect fruit. In particular it broke my heart that the season for chiodini (clumps of tiny, tasty mushrooms called “little nails”) began just as I was departing. I remember well how good they are roasted briefly with garlic, shallots, and butter…
It was an absolute delight to eat and drink in my favorite places again. The summery weather made the gelati irresistible. I had my second coffee at Marchini Time almost every morning. And of course, the daily giro hour – the thing I miss most about living in Venice – was the very best part of my stay. Here in New York a glass of prosecco runs about $15 plus tax and tip. But in Venice this quaff runs like water – cheap and cheerful. It’s nothing at all to bump into a friend on the street and pop into the nearest bar for a bubbly pick-me-up. Now that’s living!
