“Ah, Venice, the world would wail the loss of thee”, says Lord Byron over 170 years ago…Venice hasn’t changed much since then, and still hasn’t sunk into the Mediterranean.
Spending two glorious weeks in Venice this summer was the much needed respite from our modern America and its hectic pace—and though I have visited Venice as a tourist four times before, I finally learned what life was like as a resident of the island of Venice. My friend and I chose to rent an apartment on one of the residential streets just a couple of blocks from the Vivaldi church—which is on one of the lesser-known piazzas in Venice.
I had always wondered what was behind those double doors we always passed on our ACIS tours, and I had longed to capture a glimpse of what lay behind them. The apartment was the third floor of a former three-story residence behind a set of those double doors. The home was still in the family –the Mother occupied the first landing, the son, Caesar, the second; we had the privilege of climbing 66 stairs to reach our apartment---and it was a privilege because once there, we had a view of the campanile of San Marco, the terra cotta rooftops, of secret gardens that lay behind other homes—all this was for our pleasure on a daily basis. Occasionally one of the cruise ships would sail past and seem to stealth behind the rooftops.
But the most glorious part of my residence remained to be seen. It was only when waking before dawn that I received my biggest thrill. How can one capture in words the mist from the Grand Canal coating the rooftops in reflections of moonlight? How can one describe the complete stillness of the morning—without the sounds of cars whizzing in a maddening rush? God gave me a moment I will never forget…because in that moment of complete mist and stillness, I was able to capture in my memory a sunrise of most glorious proportions. The sunrise was a secret one, serenely rising over the campaniles---cresting over the staggered silhouettes of the buildings—and then making a simple statement: I am the sun: I am here, rest assured—and Venice will be, too—bask in the glory—and from that moment, life awakened.
A seagull began screeching---flying in zigzag patterns to awaken the others---and suddenly the air was alive with countless echoes from other birds, and the bells chime-in the morning—and as the sun began to radiate—the dew dissolved—and the bells continued for minutes. The cacophony continued—and I, too, was alive! -Alive in a way that can only occur in Venice. Each morning was like this—I anticipated sleep so that I might have other joyous awakenings.
Dr. K--- of Georgia State University, a renowned author and historian, lives in Venice each summer. She hosted Dr. E-- and me for a day of Venetian history and touring. The service she provided to us was immeasurable. She took us through the Venetian hospital, which was a former monastery. She narrated the history of several churches, pointing out architecture, historical significance, but also refreshed us with historical anecdotes that only a scholar could know.
Dr. K--- is famous for translating medieval manuscripts. Her colorful depictions of medieval leaders delighted us. We then took a ferry to Torricelli where we received a personal tour of the Etruscan museum. Dr. Kuntz’s knowledge of the civilizations of Venice was matched by her knowledge of the archeological discoveries in the Veneto. From laughter at sitting in Attila’s throne, to sobriety at discussing the frescos within Torcello’s churches, we gained a day of education that will probably never be matched.
Dr. K---’s brilliance did not take away from her generosity. She treated us to the Cipriani Hotel for lunch. There, the manager of the restaurant gave us white-glove treatment befitting a “professori doctori”
of her reputation. From the seafood salad anti-pasta served in shell, to the bronzoni baked and seasoned to perfection, we dined in the best of style. Since we could not decide on which dessert to have, the waiter just gave us each three different desserts---we were stuffed. –All this while looking onto the rose-gardens and grape-trellished pathway to The Church of Santa Maria (?).
Dr. E--- and I selected a favorite café, Cleopatra’s, family-owned and operated. We took at least one of our meals daily there. The result was rewarding. The whole family began to call us by name: Grandma, Grandpa, Mom, Pop, and three children all knew us by the end of our stay. Their smiles were huge when we would approach daily…They knew our favorite treats---pomodoro and mozzarella in oil and basil, vino rosso, and of course, a different flavor of gelatto at every meal. Seeing them daily allowed me to practice my Italian and learn more each time; Dr. E was already a scholar. The familial atmosphere was welcoming.
One morning we decided to take a train to the Friouli region and had another treat along the way. We caught one of the early water-taxis –and sitting in the prow of the boat, we were able to view a silent Grand Canal—the perfect photographic opportunities were around every bend….there I snapped Byron’s villa, the San Giorgio church, the Salute, the Academia, the Rialto Bridge—all illuminated by morning sunlight. Something inspiring exists in the silence of morning and in seeing an image untainted by reminders of modern times. We were almost transported: the taxi might have been a gondola, the century might have been the 19th---not the twenty-first. I thought, “What news on the Rialto?” as I passed under the famous bridge.
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