Venice (I)

Nothing I'd heard or read could prepare me for Venice... though it took about ten minutes and five canals after entering the city for me to start to appreciate where I actually was. I’m finding this is often the case; it’s as though each new city or grand monument needs to knock at the gates of my senses for a few minutes (I'm Venice... Hello, Venice here!) before I can let it in; once I've done so, however, a city like Venice makes itself thoroughly at home, kicking its shoes off and reclining full-stretch on the couch in the living room of my soul.

From the hotel, I caught the bus with the other international delegates from the conference (see below) to the city proper, and by a stroke of good fortune we managed to find our minders, Roberto, the flamboyant professor with a creative grasp of English, and his three younger assistants, Davide, Piergiorgio and Laura, all current or former postgrads from the university.

As I said, after about ten minutes, I was overwhelmed. There was a brief moment when, standing before a shop window, I had to take two steps away from the group to pull myself together. Exhilarated by the sheer enchantedness of the place, I felt that saccharine promise of catharsis – ie. the urge to cry – welling in my chest. But whether it was due to conditioning (gender, nationality etc) or something else, I kinked the hose so that no tears came.

After a good half an hour of stumbling agog through the winding alleys and charming terraces, and sharing in the blissful idleness of those couples snuggling in the gondolas (for eighty euros a pop, thank you very much), we came to a piazetta which featured, as Roberto pointed out, the oldest church in the city. Opposite this church stood a marble plinth, whose inscription Roberto pointed to, which indicated that this was where the new laws of the city, as well as other legalistic proclamations, were read out to the people. Professor Ramaswamy pointed out that this was probably the setting for the judgement scene in The Merchant of Venice (act 4 or 5? Pound of flesh etc. It’s been a while.)

It took us fifteen minutes to cross the Grande Canal (though it could be crossed in two) as many of us stopped to take snaps, got lost among the hoards of fellow tourists, bought souvenirs etc, before miraculously regrouping on the far side.

Our destination was Piazza San Marco, the main square in Venice by the sea, but first we had one more treat from the university: a three course lunch at a nearby restaurant. Now I can honestly say that with the exception of the odd slice of pizza, I’ve eaten out (ie at a restaurant) in Rome, on precisely one – yes, one – occasion. (This has been partly for matters of frugality – given I paid for storage costs and a laptop out of my bursary etc – but also because I’d much prefer to wait until Emma arrives… I simply can’t bear to eat alone at a restaurant here in Rome, surrounded by couples feeding each other spaghetti!) So, thanks to the extreme generosity of Antonella, this week saw me sampling local culinary delights the likes of which I had not experienced in Italy, nor expected for even a moment. Let it be said then that the lunch was divine, seafood, white wine, and a typically well-paced affair – all in a restaurant with tablecloths (another rarity for this writer!) in a leafy courtyard.

Sated and reinvigorated by the meal, we set off for the Piazza. The promenade by the sea was swarming with fellow tourists, and the breeze was welcome. The scale of the San Marco Piazza (named after the saint, whose remains are found in the church of that name) is extraordinary – the square must be one of the most impressive in the world. The 15th century Torre dell’Orologio, or clocktower, sports a twenty-four hour clock complete with the astrological ‘time’ also, the phases of the moon, the position of the moon and sun in the sky. The Basilica di San Marco was modeled on one in Constantinople, from where the four bronze horses on the roof were stolen; the stupendously ornate architecture is blend of Byzantine, Romanesque and Renaissance architecture.

After regrouping again, we all had ‘free time’ (though the tour was hardly a constraint) to do as we wished. The Indian contingent made for the Campinile (bell tower), Richard, Fiona and Gera (their son) went for a ride on a gondola, and Tom and Vicky went for a general wander. Though I was the only Venice virgin among them, I did none of these things, for I had my heart set on one thing: the Peggy Guggenheim Collection.