Venezia!!

"I want to go where the rivers are overflowing and, Ill be ready, Ill be ready" - Tracy Chapman

I got off the train from Milan to a rainy, windy, and cold mid-day in Venice. Tourists milled around everywhere, undeterred by the horrible weather, most of them having decided to splurge on a crappy sweatshirt from some kiosk to keep warm; as a result, everyone was wearing noticeably bright “Italia” and “Venice University” hoodies. Amid the sea of blatant, wide-eyed, and shivering tourists, I felt distinctively isolated. It had been a while since I traveled somewhere entirely solo and the shock of seeing a mass of identically clad strangers made me all too acutely aware that I was, in fact, for better or for worse, alone.

I dismissed the slight anxiety that resulted from this realization, bought a map, and headed out into the city from the train station. In a miraculous display of proper packing etiquette, I had come to Venice with only a handbag, so I could begin exploring immediately. Scrunched inside, was an extra t-shirt, a toothbrush, and my face wash; behold the miracle, for the first time in my life, I had managed to pack only the things that were necessary!!


Over the course of the next several hours I made my way through Santa Croce and San Polo, along small, crowded paths and streets, occasionally crossing bridges to some unknown final point. I must admit that I was entirely lost but decided to float along with the crowd, willing to give in and discover whichever tourist mecca they were on their way to see. All in all, I saw San Polo square, walked along the docks and the fish market next to the Rialto bridge, crossed the bridge itself, and made my way to Piazza San Marco. On the way, I wandered into some stores, the most notable of which (ironically) sold handmade stationary and was playing Billie Holiday music…as I browsed the carefully crafted (and overpriced) cards, I let the music come in waves and felt an unexpected feeling of recognition, of familiarity in this alien country. What a nice surprise!


Having made my way to Piazza San Marco, I explored the church and the surrounding area. Although I had expected San Marco to be…well, larger…the inside was covered in exquisite gold-leaf mosaic and did all but disappoint. One may argue that my sneaking in through the exit to avoid the queue was entirely legitimized by this viewing…

The rest of the day involved an almost absurd amount of walking (I even ate my dinner as I walked). I was driven by some nervous expectation, as if Venice were sinking directly under me and I had to check-off the major tourist destinations before the apocalyptic event began to unfold. As the day progressed, it became only a bit warmer but significantly sunnier, and walking became much more pleasant. Although it would be easy to omit this, I will not hide that I got lost. A lot. I walked to the opposite end of one island, I took the vaporetto in the wrong direction, I couldn’t find a church for about 30 minutes… However, I also have to admit that I thoroughly enjoyed these moments of uncertainty, I guess in part because in Venice the uncertainty is limited by the very physical barrier of surrounding water, so the threat of wandering off into a different city or into an area off your tourist map is not really plausible. Armed with an acceptance of this particular kind of ambiguity, I wandered somewhat aimlessly through the partly sunlit and partly shaded streets, ate watermelon gelato, and listened to Buena Vista Social Club on my iPod. What lovely moments!! I wandered in random churches, I sat in random parks and embankments, I shopped around for random souvenirs but bought only two. At night, exhausted, I headed back to my hostel…or rather, my campground, as I slept in a tent!!


I saw several exhibitions during my stay. The first was by Enzo Fiore, whose black/brown and white portraits are organic and raw, quite literally since he uses mostly leaves, trees, plants, and in some cases, entire insects, to create his designs. It sounds horrible, but his work is actually surprisingly beautiful, especially if you stop to consider how all of these organic elements of nature are trapped under a hardened layer of glorified transparent slime and turned into human form. Of all the exhibits, I have two clear favorites: Judy Millar and Sandro Chia. The former is New Zealand’s representatives to this year’s Venice Biennale festival. Her presented work was a series of blown up representations of her abstract canvases, fragmented and broken up around a church (see photo). The inside of the Maddalena is round, and the dislocations, inversions, and special disruptions that Millar’s geometric work creates in the space asserts a palpable feeling of immediacy in such a historic and calm context. It’s a beautiful tension to behold: old and new, modern and ancient, stable and ephemeral, clear and undefined. The second of my favorites can best be explained briefly: a photographer and a painter teamed up to paint a series of life-size replicas of the famous terracotta army of Xi’an, then photograph them in “real life” scenarios. Some of these (like an abstractly colored terracotta warrior carefully planted in the audience of a wedding celebration) had such fine humor and irony, that I was literally laughing as I walked around the space. Quite honestly, these were both a pleasure to witness.


I think most people consider St. Petersburg to be the Venice of the North, but for me the converse is true. Venice has a distinctly similar air in some ways – the sound of water lapping at your feet, for example – but the banks of Peter’s city are clad in marble and granite, not wood, so Venice feels quainter, less regal, more homey to me. I like this vantage point because it turns the city into a less glamorous, and arguably more real, entity. Driven by this, I wandered away from the center to Cannaregio during my second day. What wonderful silence, what tourist-free streets!! I took a tour of the Jewish Ghetto there, sat down on bridges to write and enjoy the sunshine and the breeze, entered random buildings and galleries, and felt my patience renewed. I walked a lot, but more calmly this time, and that distinct feeling of loneliness that greeted me when I arrived in Venice fell away. Later, as the train pulled away and westward, my window passed graffitied wall that said, in crisp, simple black writing, “Regina, I still miss you!” And on that last, somewhat melodramatic but still romantic note, I left Venice.