These messages are from a series of e-mails written after our vacation to Paris and Italy, in the summer of 2002. The events recounted in this internet diary occurred on Tuesday, June 25.
--Jim McQueen
I really enjoy writing these little stories. It's fun remembering the vacation, and it's fun exercising my writing skills, even though my brain often protests at the workload. The bad part is, I have to be in an appropriate mood, and I have to have some quiet time to write. This is easier on the weekends, and I usually get a head start with three or four day's e-mails for the coming week. When the week gets busy, I run out of stories, and miss a couple of days.
So, back to the train...
We awoke in Italy, zooming through a countryside filled with corn fields. Nancy and I wanted coffee, but continental breakfast in the dining car would have been 28 Euros. We decided to wait for Venice. We watched the scenery as the kids slowly came to life. At one point, the conductor knocked, and returned our tickets and passports. As we neared Venice, the train track rode on a long causeway through swamps, and finally across a large bay.
I noticed that our direction of travel was reversed from the night before -- at some point during the night, they had switched the cars around, possibly sending a portion of the train to another destination. I had slept through whatever had happened, but when we pulled into the station in Venice, we were again at the end of the train farthest from the platform. We gathered our bags, climbed down from the train, and trekked to the exit.
The train station opened up right onto the Grand Canal, and immediately beside it were the vaporetto stops -- public transportation on boats, sort of like a bus system. The directions to our hotel seemed simple: "From rail station take the vaporetto line number 82 till Rialto Bridge and then follow the main street "Mercerie" (direction to San Marco square)." The platform for the 82 vaporetto was right there, so I bought a family ticket, and we moved onto the platform and waited. In just a minute or two a large boat pulled up and let off several dozen people. Several dozen more crowded on with us.
It was fun seeing Venice from the boat. It started looping around the outside of the city, and near the train station was a large cargo terminal. It was several acres across, and was full of delivery trucks loading and unloading. The waterfront was packed with small boats three deep, taking the various cargo loads. We could see that everything coming in or out had to use a boat for that end of the journey.
Soon after we got on the vaporetto, I started looking for info about the trip, to see how far it was to our stop. I guess I was expecting something like the maps of the Paris metro or the London underground, but I couldn't find anything posted on the boat. We rode quite a way without seeing our destination. Finally I asked a crew member. He didn't speak English, but he soon made it clear that we were on the right line, headed the wrong way. Our directions hadn't said the vaporetto line runs two different ways.
So, we got off at the next stop. While we waited for a boat headed back, I had time to locate the maps and schedules. Those had probably been posted back at the train station, too. We waited about 20 minutes for a return ride, and when we finally arrived at the Rialto bridge, it was a couple of hours later than we expected to.
We turned our attention to the rest of our directions: "follow the main street "Mercerie" (direction to San Marco square)." We were at the right boat stop, but nothing was labeled Mercerie or San Marco. I left Nancy and the kids in one place, and walked down several narrow streets, looking for some hint leading us the right way. I couldn't find anything.
I had seen our hotel located on a map on their web page, but the map wasn't very detailed and I hadn't printed it. I had a vague sense of which direction it had to be, so finally we just gathered up the kids and bags, and set off. After a short walk, I figured we should about be there, but we didn't see the hotel. Again I parked the family in one spot so I could explore.
Venice really is a maze. Having been in London and Paris, I thought I knew what a city was like when it was build before automobiles, but Venice doesn't have cars even to this day. They've really raised labyrinth to an art form.
I got lucky this time. I had gone just 50 or 100 feet, down a dark street that was narrower than a sidewalk, when I heard someone call, "Jim". It was Susan, returning from her morning shopping. I had gotten us almost to the door of our hotel, but I might have spent the rest of the day searching for it, if I Susan hadn't spotted me. We fetched Nancy and the boys, and Susan led us home.
Love,
Jim
In Venice we stayed at "Hotel al Bareteri". The front door led immediately up two flights of stairs, and the hotel proper began on the third floor. The rest of the surrounding building on the first two floors were residences and shops. Susan's room was an oddity, a small nook on the landing after the first flight of stairs, the only thing on that level. She had two nice windows looking out to the "street" over the hotel entrance, but her room was the only one without air conditioning.
The rest of us had two double rooms on the fourth floor -- again, without an elevator. Our rooms shared a bathroom, and looked out onto a "street" on the other side of the building. The "street" was so narrow we had to open the window, stick our heads out, and look straight down to see anything other than the opposing wall.
Once we'd settled into the hotel, Susan led us out into the city. We were only a hundred yards or so from Piazza San Marco, the tourist heart of Venice. Many of the streets in our neighborhood were lined with designer brand name stores. For lunch, we found a quiet little restaurant sandwiched between the boutiques. Nancy and Susan had what Nancy said were the best omelets she's ever tasted.
After lunch, we walked into the Piazza, and the boys enjoyed one of their favorite pastimes from London -- feeding pigeons.
Love,
Jim
Last week was busy, and one of Nancy's friends came and stayed the week in our guest room, which limited my access to my computer. This week should be better, since I'm on vacation after today. Let's resume the story -- we left off in Piazza San Marco.
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While the kids fed pigeons, the rest of us looked at the exteriors of the Basilica and the museums. We didn't have the energy to tackle museums just then, so we dragged the boys away from the birds and wandered into the narrow, meandering streets.
We spent the rest of the afternoon finding a long, circuitous route through Venice. From Piazza San Marco, we traced our way back to the Rialto Bridge, where we'd (finally) ended our boat ride. We crossed the bridge, one of only three over the Grand Canal, and meandered through the shops and restaurants. I got a photo of the boys just as a quarrel was about to turn physical, but Sean saw me focusing my camera and stopped just in the nick of time.
The tangle of Venice was fun, but confusing. Once we were away from the bridge, there wasn't any main street for us to follow. We were like water seeping through a sponge, walking from one gap between buildings to the next, drifting vaguely parallel to the Grand Canal. On many of the passageways, we could find a small, hand-lettered sign with an arrow, saying "Rialto >>" or "<< San Marco". I don't think the city painted the signs, they were all different styles, like each shopkeeper took it upon himself.
We window-shopped ourselves around to a second of the three bridges, named "Accademia" for Venice's most famous art gallery. The bridge is actually a temporary bridge built in 1933, to allow for a permanent bridge that was never finished. (In the photo, I posed Nancy and Scott at the top. They're so small that I have to point that out.)
We finished our circle of Venice without buying anything, and rested at the hotel before cleaning up for dinner. Susan had a guide book that listed a pleasant sounding, informal restaurant, the Osteria da Carla.
The book gave directions, and it was walking distance, just off Piazza San Marco. We found the proper street leading from the piazza, found the first turn, and the next. We should have been right there, but the only restaurant had a different sign. I was surveying nearby streets when an American entering the restaurant told us, "If you're following the same guide book as me, this is the place."
We took the only available table, outside, and had a very good meal. Susan found the red table wine very mild, and much to her liking. On our way home, we found the restaurant's name painted on the sign, in tiny letters at the bottom.
Love,
Jim