Padraig Breathnach

I like to think that I am fairly sensible about personal security, and
less likely than average to be prey for pickpockets (so far, so good:
I haven't been got yet). I use a shoulder bag, which is more easily
protected than a backpack, in which I carry things which, if stolen,
would amount to an annoyance rather than a holiday disaster. On one
occasion we boarded a crowded vaporetto, and I was careful to stand so
that the person nearest the bag was one that looked unlikely to want
to empty it -- a well-dressed mature lady who I guessed was Venetian.
After about a minute she touched my arm to get my attention, pointed
to the bag, and warned me: "Be careful about pickpockets". I didn't
tell her that she was part of my strategy for being careful.

In my opinion, when you order a spaghetti dish, you should abandon
prissy eating manners: spin it on to your fork, lean forward and suck
it into your mouth, use bread to mop up the remnants of the sauce and
to wipe your chin if necessary. We were taken by two English visitors,
middle-aged and middle-class, who sat near us in a restaurant, and
used knife and fork, cutting into the mass of spaghetti and taking it
to the mouth on the back of the fork, sitting straight as they did it,
just as if they were eating roast beef and potatoes. They were fully
successful, clearing their dishes as successfully as I did with my
less elegant method. But I awarded myself points for authenticity.

Herself spotted a graffito: "Kill the tourist". We were the only
tourists in the locality. Which one of us was the target, she
wondered. We decided it didn't matter. If one of us were killed, the
imperative would still be there, and the survivor would be moved to
the top of the queue. The graffito suggested that there is some
anti-tourism sentiment in Venice -- perhaps held by only one person,
but it exists. Yet Venice is one of the most visited cities in the
world: for its size, perhaps the most-visited. What would it be like
without tourists? Apart from considerably less-crowded, it probably be
an unemployment black spot. The local economy seems to be one of the
most tourism-driven in the world.

One of the guidebooks in the apartment had a section on shopping. It
said that Venice is the most expensive city in Italy, that the typical
visitor is well able to meet the prices, that one should not expect to
get discounts, and that haggling is a no-no. Herself was drawn into a
shop by the display outside, and tried on an outfit. She liked it, but
was a little hesitant in making a decision. The assistant, fearing
that she might miss a sale, offered a 25% discount. Herself, who is
not normally given to haggling, considered the offer and, as a way of
letting fate help her decide on the purchase, said she would take it
if the discount were 30%. Deal made. So much for no discount and no
haggling. And she was given a free kerchief.

We missed out on a number of things: some as strategic choice (too
many churches for the time available); some, like Torcello, through
mischance; some through lapse of attention (I think we should have
visited the Ca' d'Oro). We chose not to visit Harry's Bar; its main
claim to fame seems to be that Hemingway liked to drink there, but
that's not much of a claim: Hemingway seems to have liked to drink
everywhere; to us, his writing is more interesting than his drinking
habits. We passed on Florian's: it looked too crowded, even in
February; what must it be like in July? Nor did we eat Gelato: with
temperatures close to freezing (it snowed while we were there) we
could not summon up much enthusiasm for it.

We had not considered who else might be in Venice while we were there,
but the tourist mix was interesting. English-speakers, both British
and American (and a few Irish), seemed numerically by far the most
dominant. There were many young Americans, but not so many young
British people. The only other groups who seemed to be there in large
numbers were French and Japanese. The gondoliers in particular must
have been happy with the Japanese, as they seemed to be the principal
users. One shop assistant told us that the Japanese were big, and
somewhat indiscriminate, spenders.

Those of us without a specialist interest in history may never of
heard of the battle of Lepanto. It looks to me as if the word is
inscribed on the heart of every Venetian as the high point in their
history. And I had thought, from my schoolday poetry book, that the
glory belonged to Don John of Austria.

Before our trip, had you asked me to name a Venetian painter, I would
have thought first of Canaletto. I like his work, with its combination
of architectural precision and almost informal treatment of landscape
and human content. We saw and heard surprisingly little about him in
Venice (although I did find a house in which he had lived). Then it
dawned on me: most of his work was done for export, and there is
probably less of it in Venice than elsewhere. But he is the
trailblazer for the artists of the Riva degli Shiavoni. Maybe that's a
reason for the Venetians to downplay him.

There is much that we did not do in Venice. Five days is a short
enough time. But it's not a problem: Venice remains on the list of
places we intend to visit, and we can fill in some of the blanks next
time.

--
PB
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Carrigman

Excellent trip report. Very comprehensive and useful. Thanks.

Looking forward to more.

Carrigman

Mimi

I've been eagerly awaiting your Venice report, Padraig. We greatly
appreciate your contributions.

But did you like Venice or not? Where do you stand in the great Venice
debate? I think it's a wonderful magical fantastical city; others says it's
old and damp and hardly worth a visit.

I've only been there in warmish weather: June and September. Maybe the
season makes a difference.

Marianne

Juliana L Holm

Mimi <[email protected]> wrote:
    > I've been eagerly awaiting your Venice report, Padraig. We greatly
    > appreciate your contributions.

    > But did you like Venice or not? Where do you stand in the great Venice
    > debate? I think it's a wonderful magical fantastical city; others says it's
    > old and damp and hardly worth a visit.

He said he'd be back. I think he liked it. Possibly without as much
hyperbole ;-D but I think he liked it.



--
Julie
**********
I could be wrong. My experience is limited to my experience.

Check out my Travel Pages (non-commercial) at
http://www.dragonsholm.org/travel.htm

Padraig Breathnach

"Mimi" <[email protected]> wrote:

    >I've been eagerly awaiting your Venice report, Padraig. We greatly
    >appreciate your contributions.
    >But did you like Venice or not?
I thought it showed: I loved it. Herself too (I leave the ambiguity
there).

    >Where do you stand in the great Venice debate?
On the Rialto, able to see both sides and survey the stuff happening
in between.

    >I think it's a wonderful magical fantastical city; others says it's
    >old and damp and hardly worth a visit.
Let them think it; encourage them to think it. There is a danger of
its becoming overcrowded.

    >I've only been there in warmish weather: June and September. Maybe the
    >season makes a difference.
On balance, I'm glad we went when we did. I don't like crowds, and
Venice was crowded enough in February. It must be hell in high season.

--
PB
The return address has been MUNGED

Ken Blake

In news:[email protected],
Mimi <[email protected]> typed:

    > But did you like Venice or not? Where do you stand in the great
    > Venice
    > debate? I think it's a wonderful magical fantastical city;
    > others
    > says it's old and damp


I'm not the person you asked, but I think it's all of those
things.


    > and hardly worth a visit.


It's one of my favorite places to visit. I'd be happy to spend a
couple of weeks there every year.


    > I've only been there in warmish weather: June and September.
    > Maybe the
    > season makes a difference.


We usually go in the fall--October or November--or the Spring,
around April. Yes it can be cold and damp then, but I don't mind.

--
Ken Blake
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