Happily Lost in Venice
July 1-2
Venice
On a summer day is a city that can have 50 times the number of tourists as residents. Which is sad. Especially when you start to think that maybe the real Venice is more like its Epcot replica in Florida than it is to itself. So I sometimes wonder if it is a city I SHOULD love? I know my search for carnivale masks and glass rings does not help the residents of this enchanting city. But I can't help but secretly love this place.
Justin had read "The City of Fallen Angels", a book by John Berendt, chronicling the 1996 fire of the Fenice Opera House. I walked and listened to his stories of writers and glass blowers and saw glimpses of a city that is easy to be intrigued by. He wanted to know the non tourist side of Venice. We wandered and watched and soon found ourselves at an outside cafe, again sweaty and tired.
"I want a bottle of Rose wine in a big bucket of ice." He said with his hands showing me the exact size bucket he wanted. "That is really all I want." he added, as I perused the menu.
Closing the menu slowing, I looked up at him, smiling, trying to give him that reassuring look that everyone should get the moment they get introduced to the real Italy. "Well, first, they don't sell wine by the bottle!" still smiling, "And, secondly, they don't have Rose." I didn't have the heart to tell him that a bucket of ice was highly unlikely too.
Amy would later say, after I recounted the moment, "Yeah, how do you say, 'Italy is not the land of Great Expectations, it really should be said it is the land of NO expectations.' I mean of course it always works out, and usually it is better than you could have ever expected in the first place, but it is best to not know what you want and expect absolutely nothing."
He looked back at me, I smiled and said, "Prosecco is always nice!"
"As long it is cold." he said with a smile.
"God be willing." The prosecco soon came and it was what I could affectionately call European cold.
We finished our wine and water and decided to head toward the Grand Canal, where we found a seat on the cement and dangled our legs far above the water. It was easy to dream, thinking of the stories the Palazzi must hold. We watched boats and residents and sat undisturbed from tourism until about 8 when we headed to Zucca, a quaint Osteria, in the Santa Croce area. More wine, pumpkin flan, a little coniglio (rabbit) and before we knew it we were again filled by Italy. By the time we left dinner, the sun had set and we were ready to head to San Marco's Square.
Unknown to us, Venice has a summer concert series. Andrea Bocelli sang. In the middle of San Marco's Square, Bocelli's voice filled the humid summer night. The make-shift walls surrounding the concert were high, we could see nothing, and we had no tickets (because I might be the worst tour guide on the planet). But we heard heaven, in one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Talk about no expectations..... sublime, Italy, sublime.
Venice
On a summer day is a city that can have 50 times the number of tourists as residents. Which is sad. Especially when you start to think that maybe the real Venice is more like its Epcot replica in Florida than it is to itself. So I sometimes wonder if it is a city I SHOULD love? I know my search for carnivale masks and glass rings does not help the residents of this enchanting city. But I can't help but secretly love this place.
Justin had read "The City of Fallen Angels", a book by John Berendt, chronicling the 1996 fire of the Fenice Opera House. I walked and listened to his stories of writers and glass blowers and saw glimpses of a city that is easy to be intrigued by. He wanted to know the non tourist side of Venice. We wandered and watched and soon found ourselves at an outside cafe, again sweaty and tired.
"I want a bottle of Rose wine in a big bucket of ice." He said with his hands showing me the exact size bucket he wanted. "That is really all I want." he added, as I perused the menu.
Closing the menu slowing, I looked up at him, smiling, trying to give him that reassuring look that everyone should get the moment they get introduced to the real Italy. "Well, first, they don't sell wine by the bottle!" still smiling, "And, secondly, they don't have Rose." I didn't have the heart to tell him that a bucket of ice was highly unlikely too.
Amy would later say, after I recounted the moment, "Yeah, how do you say, 'Italy is not the land of Great Expectations, it really should be said it is the land of NO expectations.' I mean of course it always works out, and usually it is better than you could have ever expected in the first place, but it is best to not know what you want and expect absolutely nothing."
He looked back at me, I smiled and said, "Prosecco is always nice!"
"As long it is cold." he said with a smile.
"God be willing." The prosecco soon came and it was what I could affectionately call European cold.
We finished our wine and water and decided to head toward the Grand Canal, where we found a seat on the cement and dangled our legs far above the water. It was easy to dream, thinking of the stories the Palazzi must hold. We watched boats and residents and sat undisturbed from tourism until about 8 when we headed to Zucca, a quaint Osteria, in the Santa Croce area. More wine, pumpkin flan, a little coniglio (rabbit) and before we knew it we were again filled by Italy. By the time we left dinner, the sun had set and we were ready to head to San Marco's Square.
Unknown to us, Venice has a summer concert series. Andrea Bocelli sang. In the middle of San Marco's Square, Bocelli's voice filled the humid summer night. The make-shift walls surrounding the concert were high, we could see nothing, and we had no tickets (because I might be the worst tour guide on the planet). But we heard heaven, in one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Talk about no expectations..... sublime, Italy, sublime.
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