June 12

 

Oh my Lord, another up and at ‘em – an 8:30 train to catch to Venice. This night owl struggles the most with the morning roll calls.  Convinced that there is no way this old lady can lug a backpack and her suitcase 15 minutes across cobblestone streets, Al agreed to a cab ride.  We arrived in plenty of time (which I also love) and had time for tea and croissants at the train station.

The ride was a bit disappointing.  When I think of train ride I think of scenery, but this train goes right smack dab through the middle of mountains, literally, so we mostly saw the inside of a tunnel.   It was ok, got a little of yesterday’s writing done.  The train is of course in great condition – the Europeans do trains right if nothing else.  Fortunately, it wasn’t crowded starting in Florence because we had no idea what to do with our oversized luggage and finally figured out it could go behind the seat if we pushed them hard enough.  No on sat next to us for about half the trip, it started to get crowded as we neared our stop in Venice.

Which is where we mistakenly got off the train.  Near our stop in Venice. Not our actual stop. Sometimes it seems a miracle that Al and I ever get anywhere we intend to be.  It wasn’t a big deal – for two more Euros total we were able to buy tickets for the rest of the way – it was just one more station, the OTHER station, in Venice.  In retrospect we probably didn’t have to do that.

 I handled that disaster while Al waited with the luggage, and we were standing on the platform we thought we were supposed to be on when I bothered to look at my ticket and the train number, which was NOT coming to platform 5 but rather to platform 9.  We raced over to the correct platform (my body crying in frustration) – only to watch the train pull away.  Someone assured us we could use those ticket on the next one – so we went back to platform 5 where we were in the first place.  By this time neither Al nor I could speak to each other because no one was at fault.  We are both dingbats. No sense arguing over which of us was dingbattier.

By the time we got to the correct station and got off the train, however, I was in NO MOOD.  Meltdown alert.  I love Al, but he is a classic “don’t ask for directions” kinda guy.  So, swearing my head off under my breath (and sometimes over it) I finally took over the lead and asked for directions to the hotel (we had already passed it).  While Al checked in, I sat there and just cried.  My Mom used to say “thank God for the gift of tears”.  She was right, I felt much better even though it took me another hour to decide that we would after all make it to our 40^thanniversary next week.  Cutting it close, though.

It is now 11:30 p.m. after a FULL day of touring Venice so I must complete this tomorrow.  It will be a short day tomorrow as we catch the cruise ship and finally, finally, unpack one time and not repack until it is time to go home. Insert sleep here.

It’s the next morning as I write.  After having my little sobbing jag in the lobby of the hotel, I almost told Al to go on without me, I didn’t want to be anywhere near him or any human beings for that matter.  Within minutes I gathered up my emotional yard sale and agreed to go with him on our two tours.  We found our way to the water taxi, which was actually a waterbus, and was exactly like a city bus – crowded – but at least it was outdoors.  It was our first taste of Venice and really pretty nice as public transportation goes. 

Our first tour when we arrived at San Marcos Piazza was a “secret places” tour of the Doge Palazzo. (Please be warned I may spell that differently each time.) It was interesting – a solid tour of the prison and info about the horrible conditions that most prisoners did not live through even though the usual term was one year. Pretty dark and dank and unsanitary.  There is graffiti from actual 18^th century prisoners on the walls.  Also, the torture room which was really just an awful rope pulley contraption hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the prison.  I guess the purpose was to elicit “confessions” but added to the relaxed ambience for the prisoners in the dark cells around this central room. 

Then to the archives room which held all the documents of the Republic of Venice. There were floor to ceiling cabinets, and we were told that the manuscripts were cut in three pieces and filed separately so it would be harder for spies to accomplish anything.  Also there were copies in two other places – the original backup hard drives!  Considering this and all the endless artwork and architecture I have concluded that the Italians have had too much time on their hands forever.  This may be why there is no sense of urgency about anything in Italy.  If you are an American in a hurry, you will be sorely disappointed by the pace of Italy.

We had to leave this secret tour early because although it was fun and informative, after Al had booked it he discovered if we wanted to see the Cathedral he had no choice but to set up another tour that included the San Marcos Cathedral and it was only offered at that time.   It was a three hour tour of the Cathedral and back to the Doge Palazzo Museum, so if we wanted to see the Cathedral we had to make a choice to leave.  That didn’t make much sense reading it back, and it didn’t make sense at the time and I once again put my faith in Al and followed him wherever he said he needed to go.

I have been to Italy several times now and of course I know I need to cover my arms to walk into a church, but our morning was so traumatic it didn’t occur to me to grab the scarf I brought for this purpose.  So once again I got to buy a cheap scarf – why not, it’s a useful souvenir – but really, Mary.  Please quit packing things only to leave them behind in the hotel when you need them. 

What can I say about the San Marcos Cathedral/Doge’s Palazzo Complex.  Again, taking photos is largely useless, and my words will be dim description of a place illuminated by mosaic art and Gothic architecture.  There are only one or two mosaics here, mostly of the inside of the church.  One covers the ceiling and walls, the second one is the floors. The scope of mosaics this monstrous building is hard to comprehend. Hard to comprehend how they got the glass pieces so small, (the photo I include was meant to show that (they look huge in the photo –  they were the size of your little finger nail) how they fit it all together to make a picture, how they got up so high to do the ceilings, how they managed to finish it at all.  Every surface is mosaic.  I recalled when we were in St Petersburg Russia at the Church of the Spilled Blood it was so sad.  There were a few mosaics left in the cathedral but after the Revolution it was looted (along with everything else) and sold off for almost nothing and few are left. We had to just imagine. That part of Russian history is in and of itself quite the story.

 Now we can see what it might have looked like.  As usual, I ended up taking photos of the mosaics just because as a crafter/artist type myself it is so damn cool.  However, my quilter self did what have done everywhere else I’ve had the privilege to visit, not the least of which was St Petersburg Russia’s parquet floors. I took photos of the floors because those are the coolest quilt patterns I’ve ever seen and I want to make them.  I posted these to my sisters and brothers on my FB quilt group and turns out I’m not the only one who glances as the artwork in whatever room they are in and then patiently waits while everyone moves forward so I can photo the floors.  My FB group instantly started commenting and one woman even gave info on a book that has fashioned patterns after such floors!  I’m only half crazy after all.  (I am picking up where I started to fall asleep last night and there are now 776 comments about those photos!)

A note about these floors in the Cathedral.  It’s Venice, they are really wavy.  You can feel it as you walk, big time. They cannot have pews but rather chairs because pews wouldn’t sit flat on the floor.  Part of the building is cracking away from the rest of it.  They are working on it. 

The San Marcos Cathedral that holds relics of St. Mark.  Now here’s a tale for you: the relics used to be at St Mark’s in Alexandria.  Some Italian merchants went over there and ended up stealing the body (relics were big business back in the day, if not now). A mosaic on the front of the church depicts the deed, as the turbaned Muslims find the empty tomb and the merchants are depicted stealing away with a shrouded body.  They even came up with the perfect justification, which was to save the Christian relic from the Muslims.  You can’t make this stuff up.

The “bronze” (but actually mostly copper) Four Horses at St Mark’s (Cavalli de San Marcos).  These horses got around before they landed here and one whispered to me that they’ve just about had it and nobody else better try to move them.  First they were in Constantinople or somewhere in Byzantium and part of a statue with a chariot.  Then they came to St. Mark’s and hung out on the loggia.  Then Napoleon enjoyed them for awhile and plunked them on top of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris which or course he had built.  (I’m beginning to think more than even power he just liked collecting STUFF everywhere he warred and then showing it off).  They came back to Venice in the 1800s and now they are here.  They are inside to preserve them and are really quite powerful to view up close and personal.  

We got to watch a really cool clock outside the church turn like an odometer from II:59 to III:00. It just dawned on me that I don’t know why the hours are in Roman numerals and the minutes are not.  Anyway, it was a moment my Dad would have loved as he was always waking us up from our naps in the back seat on car trips to watch the odometer turn from 49,999 to 50,000 or whatever.  That is a lost delight in modern day cars, isn’t it?   After the clock struck III one of the two immense figures struck the immense bell with an immense mallet.  

The photos below show around the square area.  What a hodgepodge of sculptures and steeples and what not, yes? Back to the Palazzo we went not for a secret places tour but for a highlights tour.  This place was the white house, congress and supreme court of the Republic all in one building.   The Doge was the guy who was the head honcho.  The place is filled with wall-sized oils on canvas except in the rooms where Napoleon made off with the spoils of war.  Paintings all over the ceiling.  Those of you who know art know that the bright blue back in those days was made from crushed lapiz lazuli and it was more costly than gold.  I tell you what, that makes for some really striking blue skies.  Many of the paintings depict various Doges and they did not carry on as kings and they wore funny little hats that looked like short stocking caps instead of crowns and in each painting they are kneeling, as they considered themselves servants of the state.  What a concept, eh? 

Speaking of oil paintings, the acclaimed Venetian artist Tintoretto (I never heard of him but he was a really big deal in Venice and elsewhere. His painting ‘Paradise’ is the longest oil on canvas painting in the world. It’s pretty long and takes up an entire width of the Main Hall in the Palazzo.  The main hall itself is pretty amazing and I’m going to send you to a great little website that talks about this treasure. http://www.thetourguy.com 12 Astounding Facts About the Doge’s Palace. It’s worth the read and heaven knows I can’t write about it better than he does.  He’s got ads but it’s probably worth it if you’re interested.

One room had another cool clock that was all Roman numerals, in “military time” and also ran counterclockwise.  There were no real standardized clocks so why not do it that way?  She also said something about the new day starting at VI instead of midnight, but I got a little lost.  This was nearing the end of a three-hour tour. 

Speaking of which, the guide Iola was excellent, not just in her knowledge but in her delivery.  Sometimes I felt like she was a kindergarten teacher – she could see our eyes starting to glaze over mostly from fatigue and she would lower her voice and almost whisper in an “I’ve got something really special to tell you” way, which caused me, at least, to wake up and start to listen again.  In some of the last rooms she would quietly and gently ask, as if waking up children from a nap “are you ready to continue? Ok. Andiamo”.  It was cruel torture that so many of the rooms, being meeting places for the movers and shakers of the time, had bench seating all along the walls – which we were not allowed to take advantage of.

Now then. Mary’s Ignorance alert.  I always figured the Bridge of Sighs in Venice was a romantic Romeo and Juliet kind of bridge over a canal where lovers would lament the loss of their love.  Turns out it was a small narrow corridor between the room where dudes were convicted of a crime and the dreaded prison discussed above. Once in a blue moon they were allowed to go into the corridor and look out one of two cement latticed windows at beautiful Venice outside.  What the….?  I wasn’t so much disappointed in the real story as astounded that I was so ignorant of it.

Our exhausting day of guided touring behind us, we nevertheless kept walking to the Rialto Bridge fueled by gelato, hopped on the waterbus and went back to our hotel.  I showered and rested while Al went out to buy a hat.  When he came back he said he had spoken to someone at the ticket window and learned the waterbus route we should take if we wanted a nice overview of the city. I fully intended to just keep resting, but dang…it DID sound nice.   The recommendation was spot on.  The line took us out to Lido Island and back at sunset, as the nearly full moon rose – quintessential Venice.  I even let the guy I’d been so irritated with in the morning wrap his arms around me as the cool breeze refreshed us and the city showed us her best self.

We ended the evening with a light pizza (God I love Italian pizza, so easy to digest), stopped into a little shop to pick up a Murano glass Christmas ornament (our souvenirs of choice as we travel now, that and street art) and headed for “home”.