“Venice is like eating an entire box of chocolate liqueurs in one go.”

My first look at Venice.

On a bridge in Murano.

I have to start by saying that this quote makes me want a big box of truffles, and I just ate an amazing homemade brownie from my mom- oh the power of food writing. This quote by Truman Capote captures the truly sweet essence of Venice, not to mention its over-the-top ways.

New pictures of Venice are posted online at https://picasaweb.google.com/100853123413362137278/LaDolceVita?authkey=Gv1sRgCI6NoeLsqoHy_QE#

I spent this past weekend on the charming island of Venezia. We departed from the apartment at 6:15 am Friday, catching a 7:45 speed train to Venice. The train was comfortable, though I could not sleep despite my tired state. We arrived in Venice at 11:30 that morning, and my first steps on the island took my breath away. When you exit the train station, you come face-to-face with the Grand Canal, Venice’s main waterway. It is absolutely stunning and unlike anything in the world. There is literally nowhere that can compare because Venice is one-of-a-kind. We purchased a 12-hour waterbus pass and boarded one towards our hotel. The hotel was in a quiet residential side of Venice, about a 15-minute walk to San Marco. It was run by a sweet, little old man who spoke some basic English. The room was just the bare minimums, but very clean and all that we really needed. After a few minutes to freshen up, we set out in search of a Venetian adventure! We made it to San Marco, got some lunch, and then got a boat to Murano, a small island off the coast of Venice that is famous for its glass. While we arrived to the island too late to see any glass-blowing demonstrations, we went down a long street entering virtually every shop to see the glass, everything from large chandelier masterpieces to the smallest figurines I’ve ever seen. I took a particular liking to the millefiori necklace pendants and watches, showcasing that even the smallest pieces of glass can make magnificent pieces of art.

We made it back to Venice in time for a slow cruise on a water bus down the Grand Canal and then dinner. The main food goal of the night was to enjoy some seafood, so I was interested in the unique opportunity to try Cuttlefish alla Venezia- Venetian-style cuttlefish (for those of you who are as clueless about a cuttlefish as I was, it is kind of like squid). “What makes it Venetian style?” I asked the waiter. “It’s cooked in a sauce of its ink so it is black.” Hmm, sounded interesting, certainly unlike anything I’d ever eaten before. Oh well, when in Rome (or in this case, When in Venice!). I went for it and I’m so glad I did. The plate arrived with white squares of polenta perfectly framing the black sauce and fish on my plate. While my mind momentarily said, “You’d have to be insane to put that in your mouth,” I bent down and was intrigued by the savory seafood smell. I took a bite without giving myself enough time to hesitate, and I didn’t stop eating it until the plate was white again and there were no traces of the jet-black ink sauce. After dinner we walked to San Marco, but there was not much going on and the city basically shut down around 9 pm, leading us to go back to our hotel and crash early (not to mention our exhaustion that helped me to fall asleep almost instantly). As we wandered back I was quickly intrigued by the quiet and stillness of the island, having lived in a bustling city for the past five weeks. While I have never identified myself as a “city person,” the silence became almost eerie and I found myself craving the activity of Rome. The eternal city has definitely made a lasting impression on me. 

Murano Glass

The Rialto Bridge at night.

Cuttlefish alla Venezia

The next day started bright and early with a small breakfast from our hotel. A little plumcake and a roll with jam were brought out as we all went, “Aww, this is adorable.” I later passed the office and saw the rolls being heated up on top of the radiator. Efficient and clever, yet one of those things that you see and kind of wish you hadn’t. Oh well, as I said, this was a clever way to improvise for no oven. Sadly a roll won’t fill me up in the morning, so we returned to our room, broke into our stash of dried fruit and granola, and then departed for Saint Mark’s. The square was more crowded that morning, as Carnival officially began that day. We went into the ground floor of Saint Mark’s and up into the museum and balcony. The ceilings of this basilica were absolutely stunning. I have entered my fair share of basilicas in Rome and the frescoes that adorn the ceilings never cease to amaze me. But these works of art brought about a new appreciation for the uniqueness of every church, as this one was done almost entirely in mosaics. I snuck a few pictures but if you feel the urge to see more, please Google “Saint Mark’s Basilica” and look at the pictures of the inside, I promise you will be blown away. There must be billions of the small pieces of glass that create colorful masterpieces and look like the most gorgeous paintings. Not to mention the view of the square when you enter the top of the church: looking out over San Marco, the masses of people, the costumed locals beginning to arrive, and the sea, it is pure bliss. 

Just one of the beautiful mosaics at St. Mark's.

After the church we wandered around more, finding cute shops and alleyways. We decided on a bigger lunch, searching for a fun place mentioned in a guidebook. This meal was a little less adventurous than my last- pizza shared for an appetizer (that in no way, shape, or form can compare to the pizza in Rome), then taglioni pasta with mussels. Some of the mussels were normal size, while some blew me away with their impressive greatness. I have never seen a mussel that large. What was the most charming about this trattoria, however, was not the enormous mussels, but rather the way the locals acted. This was clearly a neighborhood hang out, as a group of 4 men came in, grabbed some drinks, had a little food, and joked loudly with the owner as they left. Then an older and a middle-aged man entered and got a table as the food slowly began coming to their seats in a steady stream and didn’t stop the entire time we were there. Like the larger group before them, these men spent the whole time talking with the owner and other locals who entered for a quick drink. I couldn’t help but giggle as their loud Italian jokes filled the air and created an ambience of friendship and fun.

After lunch we set out in search of a gondola ride. They try to charge you exorbitant amounts of money, upwards of €100 per 30 minute ride. “For you three, I give a special price of 20 per person,” one gondola driver tried to sell us. You do the math: if they get €60 per half hour, they can make €120 minimum every hour, even more if they take a larger group. That is $165.77 for an hour, more money than the ride is worth and more money than we had to throw around. We waited and a few minutes later saw two French men shelling out their money for a ride, when I approached and asked if we could get a better rate if we went together. “No, is a private tour,” the gondola driver said, but I saw the intrigue in the Frenchmen’s eyes. “Is it cheaper if we go with them?” they asked. “€20 each if you go as five.” We promptly pointed out that it was the same price if we went just the three of us. Realizing that we caught their attempts to overcharge us, they offered €15 each for my friends and I and €20 each for the two men. “Sold.”

A view you can only capture from a gondola.

The gondola ride was absolutely wonderful. We paddled through the canals of Venice as the boat tipped lightly, resulting in small bursts of nervousness as my arm, and the camera tightly clutched in my fingers, neared the water by several inches. He assured us that this was just how to turn the boat, but laughed as he made us rock a little more than necessary. The Frenchmen tried to reposition themselves to steady the boat, resulting in more rocking, more laughs, and insistence that they listen to the gondola driver when he told them to go back to their original seats. The two men also tried to make conversation with us, an amusing challenge. The son tried to call his father “Mr. Monk,” making us reply, “Like the TV show?” I still don’t know if that’s what he meant. But after they took a picture for us and we took a picture for them, we laughed as they took another picture of us, this time with their phones. Somewhere right now in France is a picture of my friends and I, forever immortalized as those silly American girls who couldn’t figure out how to say anything more than “Merci” and “Oui” (both of which I might add made them cheer and complement me as I said them). The rest of the ride involved the driver singing quietly and pointing out historical locations. It was well worth my €15 and one of the best enjoyable experiences I had in Venice. 

Our gondola driver!

After the gondola ride we returned to San Marco and watched the beginning of the Carnival activities. I spotted a large fountain in the center of the square and proclaimed, “The water is red.” I assumed this to be some Carnival tradition that I wasn’t aware of. We dye the Chicago River green for St. Patrick’s Day, maybe they dye the water red for Carnival. I then watched in amazement as several women working at the bars set up around the fountain approached a spout and filled jugs with the red liquid, then serving it in cups to the customers. Oh mio dio, it was a fountain of vino.

We pushed our way to the front of the crowd, eagerly tied our masks to our faces, and joined in the celebration of Carnival. I took hundreds of pictures of both the historical traditions being reenacted on the stage, as well as the incredible costumes of the people in front of me. This was why I chose to come to Venice during Carnival. Many of the costumes are rooted in a traditional Italian play called Commedia dell’Arte. This was an improvised mixture of comedy and drama, in which actors always played similar characters. While the stories were never the same twice, the characters kept the general roles. There was always a joker and poor man (Alechhino), the flirty tease (Colombina), the fearsome captain (Capitan Spaventa), and the doctor (Medico della Peste), just to name a few (all of this knowledge is compliments of my Italian culture class). While Carnival has evolved since these characters were created, you can still see many of the character traits rooted in the traditional costumes. These pictures speak for themselves. 

The festivities wound down and we decided to explore a little more. Honestly, I am sad to say that we got bored after a while. Venice is adorable but there are only so many shops and alleyways you can go through before they all begin to blur and look alike. We eventually made our way back to San Marco in time to watch the beginning of a concert, where I struck up a conversation with a man originally from Houston and now working and living in Milan. He had come to Venice that morning for coffee and didn’t know that it was Carnival so he chose to spend the day there. First of all, why he’d come all the way to Venice for coffee I don’t know, it’s not anywhere near Milan, but wow what a surprise it must have been for him when he encountered the masses of people celebrating the holiday. He very kindly offered to get me a drink, but two things flashed into my head: 1) How old is he? He looked about 30, and while I don’t mind a few year age difference, I’m not looking to be hit on by a 30-year-old man. 2) My parents always told me don’t take drinks from strangers (disclaimer: he meant no harm and was just being sweet, but that little voice in the back of my mind made me laugh). Anyway, I politely declined and after a few more minutes of chatting, we departed to a small panini shop for dinner, where I bought myself a drink instead. Actually, a panini, wine, and hot chocolate to be exact. Happy Carnivale to me!

This concluded our fun for the evening. We returned to our hotel to collect our bags and then boarded the waterbus back to the train station. Unfortunately, the train ride home was a disaster. Loud Italians drunk and chanting “USA” in the station was just the start (keep in mind this is 11:30 pm and we are overcome with exhaustion, not to mention that it was probably giving Americans a bad name for being loud and obnoxious despite the fact that they were actually Italian teenagers). From there we had an overcrowded train, people in our seats (to which I kindly showed them that they were in the wrong cabin and got them to vacate mine), a woman yelling, trouble with my friend’s ticket, and exceedingly uncomfortable seats leading to almost no sleep. When this nightmare was finished, I collapsed onto my bed at home at 8 am, sleeping until 10:30.

I’m still not sure if it was exhaustion and desire to sleep that made me so happy to be home that morning. More likely, I think I just truly missed Rome. As I boarded a tram back to my neighborhood, I was filled with an overwhelming sense of happiness. While coming home after a vacation is often filled with sadness and an understanding that it’s back to the daily grind, this was different. It was kind of like the feeling I get when I come home from college and I’m so excited to be back in my own house, my own bed, my own kitchen, and be with my family. I felt similar to this when returning to Rome. Simply put, Rome is home.

This week I’m back to my normal activities. Class, cooking, sleeping, class. I’m feeling a little under the weather which is no fun at all, but keeping a positive attitude and flooding my body with as much Vitamin C as humanely possible is sure to help. Last night I also made a stew which was warm and wonderful as it went down. This stew was an unintentional success. I set out to just make a sort of hodge-podge meal and it became a masterpiece. I sautéed some onions in olive oil, fresh garlic, and dried basil, then added a fresh tomato and white wine and let the tomato juice reduce down into a sauce with the wine. Into the pot also went frozen broccoli, ground veal sausage (saved in the freezer from a previous meal), eggplant, and tomato puree. As it cooked down, it essentially formed a stew. Topped with freshly shredded parmigiano reggiano of course, I gulped down its deliciousness. I hate to toot my own horn, but this was amazing! 

Today I went to the fresh market despite the dreariness and cold of the day (and the entire week for that matter). While I got incredibly ripped off on a red pepper (I paid her €2.24 but she lost my business forever), I had a wonderful success that trumps this troubled run-in with the pepper vendor. A seller who had tried to speak to me last week smiled as I approached his stand again. Our previous encounter had resulted in awkwardness from me as he tried to converse and I couldn’t understand, instead nervously laughing and responding with “Non parlo Italiano, mi dispiace” or “I don’t speak Italian, I’m sorry.” This week I approached his stand and was able to easily ask for the fruit that I wanted. He smiled and said something to me, and the few words that I definitely caught were “Italiano” and “bene.” He was complementing my Italian!!! I walked away from the stand nearly bursting with excitement.

Tonight I’m going to a cooking class with an Italian chef. He comes to AUR every week and offers a 3-hour course for a ridiculously discounted rate. The class is so popular that this week was the earliest class of the semester I could get. After hearing about everything people have made in his other sessions, I’m eagerly anticipating a fantastic night of food, learning, and fun. While the menu changes weekly, it always includes fresh pasta dough, something I have been dying to make. I’m also looking forward to this weekend, as I’m off to Tuscany for three days on a school trip. We’ll be spending a day in Pisa and Florence, followed by a day in Trequanda for a wine-tasting. It is sure to be an amazing weekend! Not to mention that the day after I get home, my sister is coming to Rome! I haven’t seen her since the beginning of January and I can’t wait to have her here and show her this incredible city! It may be a while before I can post again but I’ll try to write as soon as I can! Ciao!