August 13th-17th, 2016

STRANGE SHORE: Venice

SUNDRY LAND: Italy

WANDERING WAY: Zen in Venice

I left Budapest with every intention to update “Strange and Sundry” with a glowing account of the Hungarian contributions to Art Nouveau, but then…Ah, Venice: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eTTgusoFHhI.

Much like Indiana Jones, I emerged from a sewer – in this case the Treviso Airport Shuttle – and was so overcome by Venezia’s beauty that I found myself unable to do anything but heave happy sighs and drink Aperol spritzes in sundrenched piazzas. This sighing and the spritzing pretty much lasted for three days with interludes devoted to fresh seafood, strolling, shopping, and Soave. 

Now that I’m prepping to fly to Dubrovnik tomorrow, I’ve discovered that the Wifi connection in this quaint AirBnB is so bad that I've spared myself a great deal of frustration by not attempting to download high-resolution images of Hungarian art. Once I reach faster Wifi in Dubrovnik – one can hope – look out for a grand comparison of Budapest’s Magyar Nemzeti Galéria and Venice’s La Collezione Peggy Guggenheim, which is like going to the Guggenheim in New York except the Venetian version is infinitely more charming. An account of Murano's glimmering glass is forthcoming, too.

For now, I’ll just praise Venice. I might even be able to upload this post and a few Venice snaps at the Marco Polo Airport tomorrow morning. (Morning Update: Happily, the airport's WiFi is excellent!)

1.The Food:

What a blessing! How wonderful to have friends with good taste! Before I even touched down onto Venice’s canal-limned cobbles with a light step and a happy heart, I was directed to Osteria Boccadoro by my delightful friend Lianne Habinek. 

We might’ve have had the misfortune to miss each other in Venice (by only three days!), but I still benefitted from her stellar palate. Quite early, I had the realization that I’d just sat down to one of the best meals of my life, and I gazed out at the peaceful courtyard thankful that I’d gained the maturity and perspective to appreciate this golden dollop of time before it’d even ended. The pesce antipasti, the tagliatelli with calamaretti, salate primavera, tiramisu, limoncello…I could go on. What a beautiful capacity of the Italian language to transform food into poetry!

Yes, I’ve had lovely meals in Scotland, Cumbria, London, Galway, Prague, Austria, and Budapest in the last few weeks, but there’s no point in pretending that these culinary experiences weren’t a pale, grey Purgatorio compared to Italy’s Paradiso. (The possible exception being Galway's Kaia.) After the first bite of my scallop, I relaxed into the feeling that every wheel in the heavens had harmonized into an aria in praise of Italia "by the Love that moves the sun and other stars"(Dante, Paradiso XXXIII, line 145, orig. "l'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle").

La Colonna's black cuttlefish with polenta offered nearly as satisfying a culinary experience the next day. 

Why hadn't I tried cuttlefish before? How could I have ignored these strange little creatures? (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cuttlefish)

 2. An Admission:

Despite this culinary apex, I must make an admission. Remember when I was kvelling over the absence of mosquitoes in Europe (as I praised Prague)? Well, Venice has them…lots of them. Moreover, European mosquitoes operate on the same basic principles as their American brethren:

a. The happier the person, the more the bites.

b. The prettier the dress, the more the bites.

c. The better the wine, the more the bites.

d. The tastier the food, the more the bites.

Despite their malicious flaws, it would be difficult to deny that mosquitoes have an unerring talent for picking out delicious company. They seek out the happiest girl in the prettiest dress who’s drinking the best wine with the tastiest food, and then they bleed her dry. Mosquitoes may be sadistic bastards, but they’re total players, too.

As in New York City, you can rate the quality of any outdoor dining establishment by the number of bites received. Here’s my Venetian tally:

Osteria Boccadora: 10 bites

La Colonna: 9 bites.

Venetian total: 19 bites.

My all-time record is 33 bites in a single evening, but those were received at a cocktail party in a New York. Parties, unfortunately, skew the bite-to-happiness ratio in an alarmingly painful way. Being connoisseurs of such things, mosquitoes relish a good cocktail party.

3. Luck:

I’m the first member of my family to enjoy Venice because,

a. I managed to avoid crowds of tourists debarking from ugly cruise ships, which weren’t in port. Thank goodness.

b. I came at a beautiful time of year…unlike in winter when Venice floods.

For me, it was a sunny 80 degrees every day without a cruise ship or a flood in sight. Ah, Venice. Venice’s limpid beauty nearly defies description when it’s showing off its finest colors, all pinks and creams in the blue of the sea. As I walked home one evening on the Italian holiday (Aug. 15th, Ferragusto), a group of shopgirls were celebrating with a few spritz. We all got to talking: Not only was I informed that I should be drinking prosecco with a drop of Brandy (instead of Aperol spritzes), they couldn't believe I was traveling alone. When I explained that I was writing a travelogue, a chorus of congratulatory voices cried in unison, "Julia Roberts!" 

"Julia Roberts" is my favorite European nickname by far -- although I've been rather charmed to be called "Flower"(Carlisle), "The First Lady"(Vienna), and "Contessa"(Venice, of course). There's something about me that invites nicknames. As a feminist, I should be offended, but I haven't the heart when it's all so amusing. 

In conclusion, do yourself a favor and visit Venice. Also, don’t stay in a touristy part of the city. I love this little AirBnB tucked away in a stone courtyard off the beaten path. No Wifi, but whatever. I’ve been too busy sighing in contentment to worry about the ephemeral nature of European WiFi.

Other than educating myself about commedia dell’ arte by reading Pierre Louis Ducharte’s “The Italian Comedy” – the omnipresent Venetian masks inspired me to learn more about Harlequin, Scaramouche, and Pulcinella – and wandering in the lovely labyrinthine lanes of Venice, I don’t have much else to report. Happiness is notoriously difficult to narrate. Last night, I dozed off into a quiet, zenned-out slumber to dream of the pastries on offer every Venetian morn…Ciao!