Venezia. Before anything else let me take a moment to admit that here, in Venezia, I have had my first encounter with a bidet. ‘Nuff said.

Decided to walk to piazza de San Marco. Excellent choice. Took a map just in case but got lost now and then anyway. During one moment of directional challenge, I stumbled onto the house of the great Italian playwright, Carlo Goldoni. That really made me smile and think back to my days with the American Repertory Theatre doing A Servant of Two Masters. I had forgotten that play was set in Venice.

Once back on track I found that there is plenty of signage and if you are in foot there are very few ways to get to San Marco, so you end up getting funneled there. And once you are there… Well …Napoleon called it “The Drawing Room of Europe”. It’s still true since all of Europe and a good portion of the rest of the world is represented in the crowd of people who are received at San Marco.

Went to the top of the Campanile, and took in the view. I can’t begin to describe it. I lack the education. Suffice it to say that it is about the same view that Galileo had when he was up in that tower. And that is what landed so hard on me. I was walking the same streets as some of the greatest men who have ever lived.

Saw the Doges palace. Here again I’m gonna show how incomplete my education has been. I did not know that Venezia had been part of the Byzantine Empire. That is huge. I really should have finished college. Took the audio tour of the palace. Wonderful artwork, some of the best Renaissance stuff I’ve seen. The enormous painting of the Battle of Lo Panto in the main meeting room is on a scale that I would not have thought possible. It was 10 meters high at least, and 12 or 13 across. Much of the artwork was allegorical, and without fail, when Venezia was represented, it was as this beautiful and blessed Queen of the Seas.

During the tour, I crossed the Bridge of Sighs into the prison area of the Doges Palace. Pretty grim place. That’s how the bridge got its name. If you were crossing that bridge you were sighing because you were going to a hopeless place. All the cells were unadorned stone and the heavy wooden hatches for entry were only about 4 feet high and locked with heavy iron bolts. The little hallways that the hatches opened onto were themselves secured with heavy wood and iron doors. No sign of any kind of sanitary facilities. Not even a bidet. One can only hope that buckets were provided.

After the tour I went up to the Basilica and paid my 5 euros to wander the loge. I just can’t get over how old Venezia is and the Basilica is a perfect gauge of how long there has been a Venezia. The ceiling of the Basilica is a vast, shimmering mosaic of tiles only a centimeter square and the images are rendered with such devotion. I actually got a little choked up looking at it. It was possible to go out onto the outer walkway of the Basilica and look down on San Marcos. The view just knocked me out. I wanted to freeze that moment and live in it for a long, long time.

As the day progressed the piazza got very crowded. I decided to bail after one turn around the Piazza. Back at the Rialto I opted to take the vaporetto back since they stop at the train station. BTW, Italian for train station is Ferrovia, which I think means “iron way”. Is that cool or what? Back to the hotel to freshen up and rest a bit for the evening.

A dear friend just told me that the best part of solo travel is that to know exactly what you want to do minute by minute. I decided that I wanted to get lost in Venezia. I gathered my stuff (including a map just in case) and thrust myself into the maze that is This great and ancient city.

I made a point of taking only the smallest and loneliest looking streets. I saw a street called “Di Morti” and turned onto it, the wooden doors on either side of this narrow walk had an ominous air about them, and in the late afternoon light this narrow alley was grey as thought in fog. Suddenly there was a loud, pounding, whooshing sound directly over my head, it gave me a start and sent me into a half crouch in an automatic desire to get low and take cover, (once a Marine always a Marine). I snatched a glance skyward and saw… A pigeon, that had jus landed on a low window sill. That’s what happens when you walk down a street with the word “mort” in its’ name.

Came into a little piazza and saw a few tables and a couple of diners. The waiter taking care of them was Asian. I had seen a few if these Asian run establishments around town. I’d noticed they always called themselves “snack bars”. I thought perhaps there was some sort limit on restaurant licenses so immigrants were going the snack bar route in order to get a business started in Venezia. Who knows? But the fact is I was hungry and this place was here, I ordered some spaghetti pomodoro with olives, and a half Liter of vino rosso. Then I just sat down and relaxed. Now and then people would cross the little piazza and I would just observe. I enjoyed watching European families walking together. So much affection, and such ease in demonstrating their love for each other.

Had a nice chat with an English couple who were celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary. They were going on about how much fun they had been having reading the latest Dan Brown book and finding some of the places mentioned. They had been taking turns reading the book out loud to each other. That sounded pretty good to me.

Paid my bill and set out again as it grew dark. Down one slim street I saw a shop that sold Carnevale masks and in it a young woman in a stained apron was working intently. I took a look and saw that she was applying gold leaf to a large mold of the hands of God and Adam from the Sistine Chapel. I said hi and asked if I could watch. She smiled and nodded. It was fascinating to see the thinner than tissue gold laid onto the work and brushed smooth. The woman’s name was Beatrice. She had been working at the shop for a couple of years. I noted that whenever she referred yo the owner of the shop she used the term “master”.

“Oh I’m preparing this piece for my Master to put the finishing touch”

It spoke to me of a place with long traditions. Especially artistic traditions. Some folks might have thought this merely a shop, but no, it was an atelier. I thanked Beatrice and moved on.

I was drawn to the sound of an amplified voice ahead and came upon an empty space where, earlier a market had been. There was a large crowd gathered around a portly little man in a beard and baggy pants who was giving a poetry reading. He was passionate and animated. Nearby someone was selling wine at 2 euro a glass. I got one and stuck around. It was inspiring to see a crowd of people really engaged in a spoken word event. I know no Italian, but I do know that this man had something to say and the crowd wanted to hear it. I looked around me and thought of something my old “master” had told me back when I was at the Shakespeare Conservatory. He said that if you go to Italy, and really observe, you’ll see that Fellini was not manufacturing fantasies, but rather, documenting life. Tonight I began to understand what he was talking about. My adventure tonight might have been in a Fellini film. The unexpected twists of the evenings narrative did have a surreal quality and yet were all things that happened.

The poet was between pieces and bantering with the crowd so I finished my wine and continued, past diners at candle lit tables fronting the grand canal, past young people sitting on the ground talking and laughing, past a woman reading an Ebook and listening to music through ear buds while Venezia was happening all around her.

I looked up and saw that I had reached The Rialto. The vaporetto stop was a few meters ahead and it was late. I boarded and went back to the hotel. In getting lost, I found a lot. Ciao!