rachelmanija | (no subject)

I am used to having to search out the picturesque parts of even the prettiest cities; Kyoto, Jaipur, and San Francisco all have their share of concrete-block monstrosities.

I stepped off the train in Venice right on to the walkway along the Grand Canal. Green water lapped at the edges of beautiful buildings, and boats were chugging along, and a trio of theoretically Native American buskers were performing a tribal dance in full headdresses... OK, so the last part was a little weird. But Venice is extraordinarily beautiful, and every twist of its maze-like streets turns up some lovely view.

Also, the gelato is excellent. Today's gelato: one cup of half fior di latte and half pear (gritty and subtle), and one cone of half fresh peaches in brandy (flecked with peach flesh, and the flavors of fruit and alcohol balanced and vivid) and half fior di latte. The latter is milk ice cream, no vanilla, and it is wonderful. In the US I hear you can very occasionally get it under the name of "sweet cream."

I booked late for high season, and could only find a room for three nights. It's a big hassle to switch hotels, and I figured Venice would be swarming with tourists, and I wasn't sure how much I would like it anyway, since I do not always like cities that are big tourist attractions. I now really regret not booking a longer stay. Switching hotels would have been worth it. I will have to come back some day and stay longer.

I got completely lost trying to find my bed-and-breakfast (without breakfast-- it's a room in a family's house.) There were a number of factors involved in this, to wit, 1) I always get lost trying to find my hotel, 2) when I printed the directions the right edge got cut off, and I didn't notice till I unfolded it when I stepped off the vaporetto, but the post-vaporetto instructions began, "Turn [blank] at the canal," 3) it is notoriously difficult to avoid getting lost in Venice, 4) another direction was "go down the street with the trees--" this was not as bad as it sounds, though, because although there were three streets with trees, only one was a gorgeous path lined with elegant matching trees on both sides forming a canopy overhead, 5) there was no name on the door to the B&B, 6) (this was the killer) it said, "We are next to the fish shop." It is next to a fish shop. However, the fish shop was closed and shuttered, and had no helpful sign reading "fish shop." If it wasn't for a party of Good Venetians, I would never have found the place.

This was all made up for when I did find it, and the proprietor, Maria, escorted me upstairs. It is a small room overlooking a lovely canal, and every inch of the wall that doesn't have a window is covered in floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Naturally, most of the books are in Italian, but some are in English. But still! I tried to tell Maria that this was so wonderful because I was a writer, but I think I actually said, "I have a lady author as my mistress."

I arrived in the afternoon, and I asked her for a recommendation for a good restaurant that local people went to. This was a little hard to communicate. Finally, vaguely recalling one word from a phrase I had failed to remember that meant, "Please give me a plate of assorted traditional appetizers that costs ten euros," I said, "Classico?"

"Ah, classico!" said Maria. "Yes, here's where you should go."

She gave me a list of three restaurants, and I, wondering if I had actually said, "Appetizer," or "assorted," rather than "traditional" as I had intended, set off. I ran into Maria walking her two friendly little dogs while I was hunting for one of them. She pointed it out to me. It was traditional all right: a seafood place with all the seafood in Italian. One of the few words I recognized was "seppei," or "cuttlefish." With polenta. I knew that was a traditional Venetian dish, so I ordered it. It came, strange tentacled lumps swimming in a black ink sauce smelling of tidepool, bordered by slabs of firm polenta.

I do not think that I like cuttlefish.

However, this was my fault for ordering it, and I will try one of her other restaurants tonight. I am avoiding all places that have bilingual menus, as the guidebooks all warn against dreadful tourist traps. My favorite Venglish menu translates "pasta al pomodoro" as "pasta to the tomato sauce," "spaghetti alle vongole e veri" as "spaghetti to the veracious clams," and "tartufo bianco" as "hipocrate to the vanilla." I can kind of see how they got the first two, but the hipocrate baffles me.

Today I walked all over the San Marco-adjacent parts of Venice. The sky was a blue-gray verging on white, without visible clouds; the entire sky was clouded. The sun kept emerging and vanishing, and the air was perfectly temperate. The light was delicate and misty, like you sometimes see in San Francisco. The streets are sometimes broad, sometimes dark and narrow tunnels, where I can stretch out my hands and touch both walls and the ceiling. Some roads become arched bridges, and others dead-end in canals. Once you get off the main tourist roads, the smaller ones can be empty. Since you can't see where you're going and there's always something worth noting ahead-- a window full of blazing scarlet geraniums, a gelateria selling homemade gelato of peaches in brandy, a stone Madonna silhouetted against black shutters, two men who've pulled up chairs to play speed-chess, or a floating farmer's market-- it seems a place full of secrets and discoveries.

I have to come back.

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Date: 2006-05-18 04:59 pm (UTC)

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