Venice and the Grumpy Gondolier

I had always wondered why people raved about Venice. Now I know. Imagine opening a glossy coffee table book. As we sailed into Venice it was as though we were looking at a picture that was slowly coming to life.

The early morning sun made the cityscape sparkle and church bells were ringing the hour in all directions. Activity in the harbour and on the Grand Canal had already started.

It was hard to know where to look first as we travelled the Grand Canal with narrow offshoots of the waterway going to the right and left past buildings that stretched and curved upward to the sky, ornate bridges connecting the maize of streets.

St Mark’s Square, the very heart of Venice, was heaving with people. Temporary elevated boardwalks stacked in readiness for the coming winter’s high tide - little did we know they would be in use several days later as St Mark‘s was awash after several days of rain, even flooding the interior of the Basilica. It seems that all Venetians are in possession of a pair of waders.

Sitting alfresco in St. Mark's Square at Café Florian, which began business in 1720, we drank coffee that would have bought a decent dinner at home. No matter, we were rewarded as the Basilica’s bells played out their noon hour refrain, with the ringing echoing throughout the Square. Over the next couple of days we spent hours discovering St. Mark’s Basilica, the Bell Tower, the immense Doge Palace and Bridge of Sighs.

The crowds swelled in the Square throughout the day and visiting Venice as we were in shoulder season, it was hard to imagine the onslaught in the height of summer.

Once you are in possession of a vaporetto pass the world is your oyster in Venice. Basically the floating bus system in this city of canals, once the map has been digested, it is a remarkably easy city to get around - if you don’t mind a few elbows in the ribs.

We ventured from our wonderful hotel on the Grand Canal eventually reaching the colourful island of Burano - a stark contrast to the ornate buildings of Venice.

Here the buildings are painted in strong colours, stacked on top of one another like a house of cards - orange, turquoise, emerald, red and purple - no holds barred on the colour palette. The paved streets curve along narrow canals with small boats vying for position in the water. It was raining but somehow it just didn’t matter.

One short ride on the vaporetto from Burano and we reached the island of Torcello - a sleepy place renowned for its ancient church. In a world of ABCs, this was a place of worship not to be missed - the frescoes, murals, multicoloured floor tiles and ancient brickwork that seemed to reach up to the sky. The uneven arches and large wooden fractured beams spoke its age.


Back in Venice it was dinner time. He was lightning fast - his fingers working the pizza dough as though it were a concerto. All this in contrast to our waitress - it wasn’t exactly indifference, more that she seemed to be somewhere else. Always looking for a challenge we engaged her in conversation and eventually were rewarded with a genuine smile. She told us that the restaurant had been owned by her grandfather and began operation 72 years ago. The restaurant, more a hole in the wall in a curving alleyway to the Scalzi Bridge and Lista di Spagna, was always busy despite the indifferent service.

After roaming the endless shopping area flanking the Rialto Bridge, acquiring a stunning lime green leather handbag and beautiful gloves from Fanny’s – purple polka dots and all – it was time to start thinking about the trip home.

But before leaving Venice, we simply had to take a gondolier ride by moonlight. And while there were stars in the sky as the gondola moved silently through the black waters of the winding canals, our gondolier was not playing his part. Call it “end of season blues” – whatever the problem he was not in a singing mood.

Evidently you can’t have everything in Venice, but almost!