Venice Vidi Vici

March 17, 2006
Friday
Barcelona - Carcassonne

Sandra and I woke early, hugged Lynn goodbye, and set off for the train station. We’re seasoned travelers now, so we thought we’d be all sneaky and take the metro to the train station. One transfer and we’d be there – easy peasy.

With all our luggage.

Up and down multiple staircases.

Unable to take off our coats because they were pinned to our bodies with our massively heavy backpacks. Those of you who saw my big pack before I left – please note that it is more than half full when I put in my course books, coursework, laptop, and spare hard drive.

So, we arrived sweaty and frustrated at the spot on the map that clearly said “train station”. Well, actually it didn’t. But it would have if it had been in English – as it was, it was the Spanish equivalent.

No train station. We flagged down a passing helpfulperson and he pointed us around a barrier that hid the train station from view. Great. It still took a couple of full block circumnavigations, but we made it eventually and with about ten minutes to spare, we hoisted our collective selves onto the train for the trip to Narbonne.

Sandra is glowing this whole time because she has a serious thing for trains.

Off we go, trundling up to France through the excellent scenery, and we finally found ourselves in a country where we have at least a moderate chance of telling what the locals are saying. We heave ourselves onto the platform and set off in search of a WC. It was at this point that I’m proud to announce that after many years of storage in my rustbucket of a brain, I managed to drag up enough French to get us access to the loo in at least a moderately polite manner. No hand waving and shrugging necessary here!

Off to Carcassonne now on the TGV. We have assigned seats, but the ticket is written in Catalan so neither we, nor the helpfulpeople on the platform could tell which was the coach number and which were the seat numbers. So, we heaved ourselves onto the nearest car on the train and dragged ourselves without much dignity through four cars until we found a suitable selection of seats for us and our stuff. Luckily, we dived off at the next stop and were never caught by the train police for sitting where we oughtn’t

Auntie Gilli and Uncle Mike were waiting for us on the platform, having arrived quite creatively through the goods transport section, and after cuddles and introductions we heaved our stuff onto the cases of wine in the back of the truck and set off.

Sandra had a minor moment of terror when she realized the truck had the steering wheel on the wrong side. Heh. English truck.

We arrived at heaven shortly thereafter. My aunt’s house is a French farmhouse near Carcassonne in a lovely little valley, full of books and dogs and excellent dinners (the house, not the valley). At this point we met the neighbor, and his yappy dog Bouf, then went in for cups of tea and cuddles with Ellie and Buller while we were waiting for the farrier.

Ellie is ancient – about 107 in dog years and is mostly deaf and blind. Buller is younger and more rambunctious, so we set off with Uncle Mike to take Buller on a walk up to Pinade (did I spell that right?), their hay meadow up the side of the valley.

I’m sorry James.

I’m really sorry.

Maybe you’d better go somewhere else for a bit – don’t read this. Please. Come back in a few paragraphs to start with tomorrow's entry.

Then Auntie Gillie made a meat pie for dinner, followed by blackberry pie from their own blackberries. Yum… Sandra looked with amazement at her plate between mouthfuls, and with astonishment asked for the recipe. (note: meat pie is probably James’ favorite dinner ever – well, that or stew and dumplings)

Wait for it.

Pie means pastry. Hehe… the pastry bugaboo has followed us to France. Sandra’s going to kill me now. J
So after that we had cherry brandy from pilfered cherries, and then off to bed.

March 18, 2006
Saturday
Quiet day at home

I slept in gloriously and stumbled downstairs to find that the management were on their way off to their weekly French lesson taught by Mike’s brother. Sandra and I sat at the kitchen table marveling at our luck, drinking cups of tea, and making a serious dent in the stores of homemade jam (blackberry fig and cherry were the serious casualties here).

We then spent the afternoon stumbling around sleepily, walking Buller, and then sitting down again to an outstanding meal. This one was followed by homemade ice cream.

March 19, 2006
Sunday

Another quiet day at home – Sandra didn’t feel well, so we spent most of the day mooching around the house being thoroughly lazy. I did a bit of weeding in the garden and wandered around a bit saying hello to the horses and sheep.

March 20, 2006
Monday

Today we went to the market at Mirepoix and ran into more English people. We had coffee and nibblies out in the plaza in the hot strong sunshine, and basically thoroughly enjoyed ourselves being lazy. So far the only French person we’ve met was the farrier on the first day, because the neighbor who came over with him was Canadian/English.

March 21, 2006
Tuesday

I came downstairs to find the whole household in a bit of a flap. Ellie had been let out for her morning wander around the yard, and had not come back. Normally she navigates with her nose and if she finds that she is in a tight spot, she stays put and yells for help. Well, this morning had no yelling, and no Ellie.

We were concerned – hushed tones of “well, she is very old” and “maybe she has died” were bandied about. We split up and searched the reasonable radius that she could cover, and found nothing.

Unfortunately, we had to head over to Carcassonne to pick up my Auntie Marlene and her boyfriend Ray, so we asked the neighbor to keep an eye out for Ellie is she returns, and off we went.

First stop was Ferran to my Uncle Tony’s house. It’s gorgeous and situated on a sunny hillside with views of the Pyrenees. Sandra, Mike and I hung out there watching Cricket and pottering about (translate: we sat outside in the sunshine with wine). Finally we had the full contingent in attendance (including the most excellent and charming aunt of my uncle) and an excellent lunch was had by all.

However, we were all worried sick about Ellie – is she hurt? Uncomfortable? Scared? Lost? Fine? Dead?

When we got back to the house, we set off again in search parties. We all struck off in different directions, fearing the worst.

After about an hour, I ran into Sandra who had seen some buzzards circling up near the hay field we visited on the first day. We decided to go check it out, and on the way we nearly turned around four times. This road is very steep, very rough, and it’s a very long way up to the meadow.

As we got closer, we heard a little unearthly howl. After a brief moment of wondering if that was a wild boar, we ran the rest of the way, burst into the meadow, and saw Ellie standing at the other edge near a ravine.

She was fine.

We charged over there, checked her over, had a quick cry, and I picked her up to bring her home. Ellie wagged all the while as if to say “took you long enough”. Sandra ran on ahead with the good news, and I stumbled my way back down the road with little grunting Ellie in my arms.
You can’t keep a Staffordshire down, I tell ya. I kept having to let her down to walk at her snails pace because she vastly preferred that, and as we got to the bottom of the hill we ran into an ecstatic Gilli and Mike and took the little wandering dog the rest of the way home.
We had a celebratory dinner that night to welcome Marlene and Ray, and to celebrate the amazing and intrepid explorer Ellie.

March 22, 2006
Wednesday

After cautioning Ellie not to go off wandering again without at least leaving a note, we set off for Carcassonne to get our train tickets to Venice, and to visit the Cite. The cite is the extremely charming medieval town center, and there was much shopping, drinking, and eating to be had.
Had a brief bit of excitement in the morning when we were all sitting out in the sunshine drinking cups of coffee. Smudge (one of the pussycats) caught a lovely big fat mole and brought it into the house for a visit. Oh, the chaos that ensued. We sat there in shock, Auntie Gillie leapt after the cat hollering 'I could use a little help!!'.

Following the ruckus upstairs (with a pair of gardening gloves - didn't want a mole bite) we proceeded to trap the mole in a corner. Buller, excited beyond belief, dispatched the mole with a quick chomp and trotted outside, our brave hero.

March 23, 2006
Thursday
Nothing much to report today – tried to arrange some travel things, walked up the Big Hill to have a look at the Pyrenees, or at least in there direction. I got a couple of excellent splinters too.

March 24, 2006
Friday

Breakfast, impossibly charming market in Limoux, lovely walk around, awesome grocery store, coffee and goodies in the plaza, excellent dinner, lovely company, great walk. You know, just your average ho-hum day in the south of France. ;)

March 25, 2006
Saturday

Gorgeous sunny weather today. I spent the day weeding the garden and mooching around with various cups of tea, until the time came to posh up a bit and head into Limoux for the carnivale. The carnivale was great – we sat in the town square with coffee and yummies while costumed folks with a brass band made their very slow way around the square waving wands and sprinkling confetti on the assembled masses. It was delightful, and the brass band continued merrily tooting along as we walked back to the car to go off to the neighbor’s house for yet more excellent booze and nibblies.

Hint: Always bet agains Sandra and me if we’re a team playing pool. We were so bad it hysterical.

March 26, 2006
Sunday
Carcassonne - Venice

Sad day. Gorgeous weather, but we spent the morning packing our stuff up. At lunchtime, with a full contingent of aunties, we went into Carcassonne and with a round of cuddles and a chorus of “see you next month!” we set off for Lyon, then Dijon, then Venice.

Nothing much to note about all this – There were no lions in Lyon, and Dijon did not smell of mustard. Our final train to Venice was one of those alarming trains where six people sleep in flap-down bunkbeds in a space smaller than some closets I’ve seen. My compartment was filled with French people and we chatted merrily along (yes, in French) as we got ourselves assorted into our various slots. My bag was deemed way too heavy and they just left it on the floor. The fellas who’d tried to hoist it up to the luggage rack expressed disbelief that I could carry it around and I assured them that I did, and that carried my other two (smaller) bags at the same time too. After having been cautioned not to fall out of my bunk by the fella below me (ne tombez pas! Ne tombez pas!) I was lulled to sleep by the creaky squeaks of the old train, and the creaky squeaks of the people in my compartment. Tee hee.

March 27, 2006
Monday

Woke up on the train with misty contact lenses (oops), cotton mouth, and icky hair. Eww. Luckily, everyone else was in the same situation and we sat around chatting until we got into the Venice train station.

I surprised the fellas by successfully hoisting up my bags (comme l’escargot apparently) and set off to find Sandra who’d slept in a compartment with a bunch of traveling Mississippians.
We bustled through the train station and set off for our first look at Venice. Luckily, our instincts proved good and we did not end up in the touristy end of town – we stopped for a coffee and a bite to eat, then decided to stumble our way back to the train station over the charming bridges to leave our bags in the left luggage office.

Back out into Venice, more wandering, and then lunch. We met up with the rest of our group, then got our apartments.

I’m rooming with Lynn, Hannah, and Sandra, and our apartment is great. Two women in each bedroom, separate beds, two bathrooms, living area, kitchen, and balcony over a canal. It’s awesome! Were just east of the Rialto bridge, so we’re central to most things, and if I lean out my window I can chat with gondoliers as they go by. Yes, they sing.

This is much more charming than the morning serenade. We’re the closest neighbors to the clang thump and grind of the garbage barges (garbarges?) that start their lulling song at 6:30 in morning. What joy.

March 28, 2006
Tuesday

Today was the first day of studio, and we had but a mere dot on a map to guide us into getting there. It’s on the south side of the Giudecca, the island that makes up the entire southern side of Venice. You must take some form of boat to get there, so we headed down to St Marks and got the traghetto from there.

Venice is as pretty as they say. We were up before most of the tourists, so were able to do the twisty turny thing to get to the traghetto stop with a minimum of fuss. The urine smell is stronger in the morning, and the pooper scoopers and garbage people hadn’t done their jobs yet, so Venice looked much more like a city that people live in than just an elaborate living museum.
The traghetto is awesome and I think I grinned the whole way over to the Giudecca. We found the studio with a minimum of fuss, but we were a bit early so Sandra and I wandered off down the waterfront to find a coffee. Our studio is in the Venice Rowing club (they’re going to teach us Venetian rowing!)

Shortly thereafter we spent the morning filling in paperwork in order to become official Venetian citizens (with all of the appropriate discounts – instead of costing 5 Euros per ride, citizens can buy a pass for a month for just 30 Euros). After the faffing about that is the result of 32 people filling out a form in a language they don’t speak, we were cut loose for the day.
Ran a few errands – arranged my account with an ISP on the Giudecca so that I can check the internet as much as I want during some unfortunately inconvenient hours. However, for a mere 24 Euros for a month, I’m going for it – near the apartment it runs about 6 Euros an hour. Therefore, please forgive me if I’m a little slow responding to emails.

March 29, 2006
Wednesday

Today we walked the length and breadth of the Giudecca, taking pictures and notes the whole time. The Giudecca is almost completely non touristy in the middle, the western corner is the Molino Stucky Hilton – an old flour milling compound that is mid renovation. It’s pretty cool and we got a good tour, including the elite rooftop suite that will cost an estimated 12,000 Euros a night.

At the other end of the Giudecca is one of the posh hotels – so posh that they’ve got a permanent fleet of boats at the beck and call of their guests at all times.
The center of the Giudecca is working class – filled with comparatively modern arpartments, some green space, some shipyards, and just a couple of relic villas back from its agricultural heyday.

Rumor has it that “back in the day” wealthy Venetians would come to the Giudecca for their summer holidays. Hm… Not far, eh? Honestly, it would take a while but I could certainly swim the distance. Not that I’d want to – Venetian septic systems process the waste then send most of it straight into the canals. Luckily the tide totally flushes (har har har) the Venetian basin twice each day.

During one part of the tour, when we were in the shipyard directly next to our site, a woman came out and handed out black mirrors to a few of us so that we could watch the partial eclipse of the sun. It was extremely cool, and almost entirely unphotographable – ah well.

After the tours we wandered around the Giudecca (admittedly – we were cold and bored and didn’t want to spend the Euros on heading back to the old town for a mere hour and a half) until the time came to return to the rowing club for our welcome dinner.

The event was lovely – we started with spritz on the patio (wine, juice, bitters) with some curious nibbly crackery things. Then we adjourned inside for dinner – first course was pasta (with ham and tomato), second course was pasta (with zucchini and peas), third course was bizarre meats (bologna, a salami-ish thing, prosciutto, and a cod-and-cream-on-toast). Washed down with local plonk, we all ended the night with satisfying burps. Unfortunately, all the wheat is doing a number on my digestive system and and at least the side effects are amusing as well as embarrassing.

Late that night (about 11:00) we took the boat back to St Marks to come home. As we entered the plaza (piazza, Charlie, piazza) it soon became apparent that there was a mild aqua alta. As I’m sure you’re all aware, Venice is in a lagoon right between the sea and the land. Venice itself is subsiding, and sea level is rising. I’m sure you can all spot the problem here – Venice floods all the time and it is called “aqua alta” or high water. It has flooded very deeply (over a meter), but usually it’s not that bad. They’ve got elevated walkways set up throughout the city to help people walk above the water level, and they’re working like mad things to protect the architecture and infrastructure from the water.

So it was with some guilty delight that we saw a mild aqua alta coming into the plaza. The drains were gurgling and water was coming up through them – it was an inch deep in some places. The good news is that the piazza is the lowest part of Venice – so the rest of the city was fine.

March 30, 2006
Thursday

Lynn and I had heard rumors of a swimming pool close to our apartment, so we set off to find it in the morning. We had no such luck, but thoroughly enjoyed the walk across Venice and back. Looks like we’ll have to use the pool over on the Giudecca.

We had to head over to the studio after that, and after watching the boat we wanted to take go sailing by, we realized that it only stops at that particular spot at times that we are not likely to be there. So, we caught another traghetto up to the railway, then caught the wrong one back down the Giudecca. Ooops. Oh well, we were only five minutes late and since the lectures started on Mediterranean time, we were actually ten minutes early.

The lectures were quite interesting, talking about the history and recent development of the Giudecca. One of the most famous residents of the Giudecca (no, not Elton John, though he has an apartment there too) was in attendance, a Mrs. Nuria Schoenberg-Nono. She’s the daughter of Schoenberg the famous music guy and widow of Nono, another famous music guy (sorry Megan – I’ll try and get more details for you). She was charming and affable – German by birth, American upbringing, and as Venetian as they come, as she had lived there for about the last 30 years. She was a member of the Venetian literati in the 1960’s and we saw some great pictures of her at dinner with Mr. Nono, Benjamin Britten, and Carlo Scarpa (famous architecture guy).

We all decided not to go to a party we’d been invited to (we hadn’t know it was formal, or that we would have had to sign a waiver to get in because it was being filmed), so we headed home, ate some artichokes, then went to bed.

March 31, 2006
Friday

we met up with the group bright and early and climbed into a good sized boat for a tour of the lagoon. After a brief stop over at the Giudecca to pick up the folks who live over there, we set of for the famous island of Murano.

Murano is fairly close to Venice – perhaps 45 minutes by boat. The lagoon is mostly very shallow – less than a meter deep. When the water is low, great soggy acres of vegetation appear. When the water is high, unsuspecting boats beach themselves. To prevent this, the natural channels that were formed during the lagoon’s daily flushing were formalized with great wooden pilings, and the channels have been maintained by dredging. This also provides some excellent defense to Venice – just about the only non-walled medieval city anywhere. When they thought someone was coming over for a bit of an invasion, they scooted around the lagoon pulling up the pilings so that the unsuspecting bad guys would get stuck miles from the city. As Julie would say “That’s what you get.”

Murano is cool – much quieter and less touristy than the old city, and filled with excellent glass shops and a nifty museum. Back in the somethingoranother century, all of the glassworks were moved here from the old city for fear of fire. We just saw the museum today though, we’re coming back later for a glassworking demonstration, and there have been rumors of glassblowing lessons.

After Murano, we headed over to the Lazaretto, the ancient quarantine island that protected Venice from the rats and diseases of the world. Incoming cargo and sailors had to stay here for 40 days (like Jesus in the desert) and if they survived they were allowed into Venice itself. As they laid around all day, not doing much, this gives us the word “lazy”. The island is really cool – very rural, full of archaeological digs, and a particularly masculine feral cat. The cat had improved on the one-leg-up self-cleaning technique by going whole hog and having both legs up for the same cleaning. Half of the class was in quiet crying hysterics, unable to explain to the rest of the class why they were laughing.

After our wander around, we had a very Venetian lunch in their dining hall. Pasta with sardine and onion sauce, fresh sardines gutted then fried whole (down in one, baby), polenta with cuttlefish in its own ink sauce (not a great fan of this one, but will try it again – very unusual flavor, actually tasted inky), followed by espresso and the unremarkable biscuits that get served at all catered meals.

So, with bellies groaning with fruits de mer, we set off for the island of Burano. Burano is notable for two major things – first of all, most of the houses are painted in eye poppingly saturated colors. Fuschia, hot pink, aqua, ultramarine, crimson, yellow. I have to admit I like the effect, and part of me wants to go home and paint the house scarlet. Burano is also famous for lace making, both needlepoint lace and bobbin lace. We got a tour of the excellent museum, squinted at some exquisite lace that was impressive, if not to my taste, then were shephereded quickly back on to the boat.

Next stop, Torcello. The first inhabited Venetian island. It’s extreme swampiness, cruddy soil, and bad location means that it was quickly abandoned and is now a comparative rural paradise with gorgeous churches, and a couple of very posh hotels (having catered to, among others, Queen Elizabeth and Princess Diana). The archaeology museum there is excellent, and the church is a good one – very old, very Byzantine, and filled with creepy imagery. I’ll post some pictures. It’s also one of those charming churches that has bodies on display – saint somebodyoranother in one case, and a couple of other notables in another.
After that, a long boat ride home to a quiet meal in our graceful apartment. Never mind that the clothes washer broke on the day before it was my turn to use it and that now one of our locks has broken too. Ah well.