At one point, the refreshment "ding-ding" cart tried to come through and a riot nearly erupted. A tall businessman and an Italian mama shouted the vendor down, telling him it was impossible to come through the corridor. The cart guy kept insisting angrily it was his right to make a living. I thought it was going to come to blows!
On the final leg of the journey, after a brief stop in Verona, I started speaking with an old gay couple who had also found space by the WC, a male nurse and an English teacher from Minnesota. They say they come to Italy every year and rent a villa near Venice. One was obese, nearly blind and suffering from Parkinson's. He wore a turtleneck robe outfit and a huge cross on a chain around his neck and moved painfully with the assistance of a cane. We chatted about the Guthrie theatre and the old guy regaled me with tales of Gielgud and Guthrie, or "Sir Tyrone" or whatever Guthrie's name was. His partner drank a tall scotch out of a cut-crystal tumbler from the portable bar in a leather trunk with which the couple travels.
Finally the train arrived at Santa Lucia in Venice. I decided to go ahead and get my prenotazione for my trip on to Vienna in a few days while I was passing through the station; blessedly, there was only a short line and no troubles. Then on to Vaporetto 1 to San Marco. Found my hotel fairly easily, very cosy and right in the midst of the pricy designer boutiques. A very friendly, very handsome and very old dapper gentleman, Ramundo, former antiques dealer and alleged "friend" of Peggy Guggenheim (and her stinky little dogs, he says) greeted me and gave me the key to my room. Tiny, but cute. The entire building was obviously once a private home. My bathroom's shower is a spigot in the wall and there's a drain in the bathroom floor. Wow. Elegant, economical solution. This doesn't bother me at all, but my mother wouldn't be happy with this bathroom arrangement.
Struck out to Piazza San Marco about 4:00 to try to accomplish some gift shopping and get it over with. Remarkably, I found the same shop again where I bought necklaces before in Venice and got something for everyone I'd promised a gift to. Starving, I stumbled upon a tiny tree-shaded café with lattices to provide privacy and had a salad and pizza and a good glass of red wine.
Walked to Rialto, then to my former hotel, then past the bar where I spent time in 1995. I stopped in for a coffee. Piero, the bartender then, is now the owner of the place! He was there behind the bar chatting up a female patron. The place, and he, are little changed in nine years. I'm glad he's doing well in the world.
After another hour of getting lost in the Venetian labyrinth I returned to my hotel and accepted an invitation from Ramundo to go around the corner to "his" bar and have a spritz with him -- prosecco and Campari, great! Afterward, we stood outside the hotel door for a while and chatted in the twilight; he gave me art gallery and museum recommendations. Being in Venice tomorrow, a Sunday, is maybe not such great timing?
Now I'll go steam up the tiny bathroom, shower and then go to sleep to Italian television. And I get breakfast in bed tomorrow! I hear the clack of plates drifting in my open window from a restaurant down below.
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Had a coffee at a little table outside at Caffé Florian. That place is so cool. I love the ancient, dark paneling. Are there tiny private salons inside, I wonder? It's so old and dark and Goth. I love it! It seems like Casanova could be in there.
Trekked to L'Accademia to see all the Tintorettos. Incredible! I wish I had time to draw while visiting these museums. The bathroom doors in L'Accademia are painted like doors to galleries, worthy of exhibition themselves. Rested my pounding feet outside for a few moments before striking off to the Guggenheim. Most moved by the little doggie graves next to Peggy's. Enjoyed a photograph of Peggy on the terrace with wild Felliniesque sunglasses and her arms full of little dogs. Of course, my favorites there are the Joseph Cornell works: "Fortune-Telling Parrott," "Scene for a Fairy Tale" and "Ski Shutes and Ladders."
Then back to hotel to change clothes; it was unseasonably cold all day with a few sprinkles. Grabbed a pannini on the way in. Then back to Florian for a spritz and to listen to the musicians playing outside -- "Un Bel Di." Then, just at sunset, to the vaporetto to tour the Grand Canal at the golden hour. Rode all the way to the end of the line, got off, waited for next vaporetto, did it again until twilight was over and darkness had fallen. Sublime. One could nearly agree to die happy after that ride.
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After a big rowing contest and regatta concluded mid-morning and the lagoon was no longer full of boats, I took a vaporetto out to Lido. I wanted to see L'Hôtel des Bains from Death in Venice. I went to the beach with its rows of cabañas and families swimming. The ocean in the distance is blurry, shimmering gray-blue. Very tranquil to see it in the cool of the morning. I wandered a long way from the vaporetto landing to the beach side of the island, then back again. It was very pleasant to be on Lido away from the droves of tourists at Piazza San Marco. On Lido, people strolled and walked their dogs leisurely of a Sunday morning, lingering over their coffee, heading for the beach on bicycles. The architecture on Lido was lovely -- from villas to modernist 1930's apartment buildings. I walked down a beautiful, shaded street and heard someone in a palazzo practicing harp.
After spending three hours on Lido I caught the vaporetto back to San Marco and immediately after I boarded, there was a ruckus. A young woman had gone white and fainted. One of the workers on the vaporetto had her about the waist, trying to stand her upright. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she was as greenish-white as a Pontormo dead Christ. The boatman laid her out on a bench in the vaporetto waiting area when we docked and an ambulance soon arrived. Poor thing!
Back on San Marco, I strolled a while, losing and finding myself, in narrow streets clogged with tourists. Succumbed to hunger, went in a real restaurant on a whim for a sit-down meal and finally was able to try the legendary Venetian specialty dish -- I forget what it's called -- with fried sardines, onions, raisins and pinoli -- very good! Strolled a few hours more, came back to the hotel, showered, crashed for a nap, got dressed, went back to the piazza for sunset and a Bellini at Florian. Wonder of wonders! Roberto, the lazy-eyed accordionist of my 1995 visit, still plays in the ensemble. The musicians performed selections from The Magic Flute, Bolero and then something of Astor Piazzola's. I can't believe both Roberto and Piero are still in exactly the same places here in Venice as when I last saw them nine years ago!
Music in Venice: strange how sometimes people here stroll and sing a song out loud, un-selfconsciously. And there are the alleged singing gondoliers of myth and movies. I saw two old men strolling together after lunch, singing a song together.
If I were a millionaire I would want to live here in Venice -- or maybe on Lido? I understand why Peggy Guggenheim did. Everthing is simply so beautiful here, and so to my Goth tastes. And it seems Venetians know how to enjoy life.
Maybe tomorrow on the long train ride I'll remember all the other wonders that passed before my eyes today. Most striking: a little boy, a tourist, waved gaily to a kneeling beggar woman. I couldn't tell if she was a gypsy or a Muslim; her clothes were dark and old-fashioned and she wore a paisley head scarf. She kneeled, perfectly still, with one palm out.
Later: got into the shower, lathered up my hair and immediately begin to hear the pop of fireworks. Damn! There would be fireworks after the regatta on the Grand Canal just when I had soap in my hair and couldn't see them! I cannot believe I missed that sight!
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Got up at dawn and walked around Piazza San Marco and the Rialto in the early light. Saw where all the gondolas are lashed together and tarped down overnight. There was no one stirring so early except for the street-sweepers, who still sweep by hand with traditional long, bristled brooms that look like they're made out of bundles of twigs. I saw only a couple of ancient men walking little dogs at that hour. The night lights in the arcade around the piazza were still lit. I will never forget it -- the sea bathed in golden powder, the perfect, echoing silence of the square.
