I know, it’s a little cringe-worthy, but I learnt a lot, like how the cathedral—sorry, basilica—was an excellent example of Byzantine and European architecture. East meets west, with its onion shaped domes and mosaics from the east, and Gothic archways and stonework, which reminded me a little of Sainte-Chapelle.
It’s embarrassing to say this, but I learnt more about Venetian history in those fifteen minutes than I’d bothered to learn in my thirty-five years—and I’d taught The Merchant of Venice the year before. I was such a fraud. Traveller indeed! I vowed to lift my head more often, especially when I was away from my safe little patch of London.
When they made their way back to me, Lou was bouncing like a little kid, her face flushed. “Oh, my goodness. All of these historical churches. It’s just so unbelievable to think I’ve stood in places where people have worshipped for centuries!”
Jaelee looked at Lou with affection—also a little off-brand for her, but I understood. Lou was a darling.
San Marco’s Basilica
“Okay, let’s head around this way and see the Bridge of Sighs and get the obligatory photos,” said Jaelee the photo queen. “And then we can get off the main drag and get ourselves lost.” The Jaelee who’d come out of the basilica was different from the one who’d stepped off the water taxi. I wondered if, like me, Venice was having a calming effect on her.
We jostled for position at the Bridge of Sighs along with dozens of others. In truth, I was less than impressed—maybe because I’d seen the Bridge of Sighs in Oxford and the one in Cambridge—Bridges of Sighs?—and they were all pretty much the same.
Also, I couldn’t help but ruminate on what they each represented, that last glimpse of freedom as prisoners were marched to their deaths. When it was my turn for the photo, my grim thoughts left me confused about whether to smile or not. Was it appropriate to smile? Macabre? I ended up with a sort of grimace on my face—definitely not a photo for Facebook, just proof I’d been there.
I was relieved when we were done and I forced myself to shelve all thoughts of death. There were other things to dwell on, such as this wonderful city, the warm afternoon sun, and the brilliant blue of the sky.
Bridge of Sighs
We escaped into a side street away from the touristy crowds and walked along a canal, Jaelee slightly in the lead. I lagged behind because I couldn’t stop gawking. The further we got from the main square, the more intrigued I became. All of Venice was like, well, like Venice. I’d thought there would be the parts that looked like the Venice I saw in films, but that most of it would be more like the suburbs of other towns and cities—generic, soulless and “could be anywhere”.
Even the lines of washing strung between the buildings were charming.
We stopped at a little trattoria which, as Jae had promised, I would never have been able to find again, even if I was pressed. I was pretty sure Google had no idea where we were.
The trattoria was dark and when my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw fixtures which looked a millennium old and furniture from a previous century. We crowded around a small table and Dani pointed to a chalkboard resting against the small bar. “The pizzas are only six euros. Probably just for one person, don’t ya think?”
I did think, yes, and I was starving by then, so I wholeheartedly agreed we would each get our own. Also, I don’t like to share—well, food anyway. I detest those restaurants where you’re expected to get an array of sharing plates then split the bill. I want to order what I want and eat it.
Sarah tells this embarrassing story about me from when we were teenagers. We’d gone to the cinema, and I’d got a bag of my favourite lollies, Jaffas, from the pick’n’mix. Right before the film started, she asked for one and I said, “No. I got exactly the amount of Jaffas I wanted. If you wanted some, you should have said so.” I thought that was perfectly reasonable. She thought it was fodder for making fun of me for the next twenty years. I digress—again …
Jaelee asked us what pizzas we wanted, and shamelessly ordered for us in Spanish. The lovely older man seemed to understand enough and when our pizzas arrived, we all had what we’d asked for. What we hadn’t counted on, however, was that the six-euro pizzas were enormous. They couldn’t even fit on the table. After laughing nervously at their arrival, we commandeered a second table to make enough room for four fifteen-centimetre pizzas.
Even more surprising was that after groaning at the sight of them—how am I going to eat all that?—we all ate all of our pizzas. Even Jaelee.
The crust was thin and crispy underneath and chewy around the edges. The tomato sauce zinged with tanginess and a bit of heat from chili and pepper. The basil was fragrant and tasted a little of aniseed, and the mozzarella was so creamy I practically had a food orgasm. It was, without question, the best pizza I’d ever had, and we mostly ate in silence, as though we were sharing some sort of spiritual experience. Perhaps, in a way, we were.
Eventually, we sat back from the tables and regarded each other and the empty platters in front of us. Our shared looks indicated a communal feeling of, “Oh my, what have we done?” and I couldn’t help it. I smirked, which soon turned into a giggle, and then there were four of us sitting around two tables giggling like idiots while the lovely older man looked at us sideways—which, of course, made us laugh even more.
I got the bill for lunch—to thank Lou for looking after me the night before and Jaelee for the tour, and to pay back Dani for the camper-thingie ticket. Speaking of which, it was time to find our way back to the camper-thingie.
“It’s campanile,” said Dani. “Geez.”
“Campanile,” I said.
“Yes.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I have no idea.”
“It means belltower,” said Jae helpfully.
“Ohhh.”
At the campanile, we moved quickly through the queue and I was grateful to see an elevator. It was a very tall campanile and I hadn’t fancied climbing what would have been a lot of stairs, especially as I was weighed down with half a kilo of scrummy pizza.
To say the view from the campanile was “epic” would be an understatement. With blue skies in every direction, we could see all of Venice, all of the surrounding islands, and the mainland. I was even sure I could make out our hideous campsite and those pokey little wee-ridden caravans.
The only thing marring the view was the wire mesh that enclosed all the openings. I could understand why it was there and why it was so robust, but the squares were teeny, and it was tricky getting a photo which wasn’t spoiled by grey crosshairs.
After twenty minutes of oohing and ahhing we collectively agreed it was time to leave.
Campanile
“I want to ride on a gondola,” drawled Dani in that half-whine she did sometimes.
I hadn’t even thought of a gondola ride, but once she said it, it was the only thing in the world I wanted to do. How quintessentially Venetian! “We have to do that,” I said with urgency. Jae looked like she could go either way and Lou’s face scrunched up. “What? What’s that face?”
“Nothing.”
“No. Sorry, but that—” I circled my hand in front of her face to make sure it was clear that “that” meant her expression “—is not nothing.”