As Indiana Jones sighed, "I love Venice."
Founded in 697, Venice has a unique history, a watery setting, and a romantic atmosphere with its canals, arched bridges, colorful buildings, and smells of the pleasant and not so pleasant varieties. I'll leave it to you to research her further.
Narrow walkways, hard cobblestones underfoot, GPS unreliable, like a puzzle to navigate but what fun! An absolute blast!
How tired my feet and knees became after working that puzzle for hours, finding the unique treasures which belong to Venice alone.
But I digress.
One day, while vacationing for a week nearby, my husband, daughter, son-in-law, and I and drove into Venice, as far as we could, walking the rest of the way toward the liquid maze to explore. With gasps erupting from our lungs, cameras pulled from pockets and purses - pointing and clicking while in rhapsodic dazes - we crossed a Venetian bridge for the first time, water below, overcast sky above, history exploding all around.
"Where shall we go?"
"I'm getting hungry."
"I'd like to stand on the Rialto Bridge."
"Sounds like marching orders to me. Let's go!"
Our bed and breakfast host told us to be sure to take a map because GPS is unreliable in the city. Because the maps had tiny print - all those streets and businesses! - my son-in-law tried using his phone's GPS anyway. It seemed to work. But it led us on wild goose chases. We ended up in little stub-ends of narrow walkways, or tiny squares of residential areas. However, we did fortuitously happen upon public restrooms, clean and well-attended by friendly women who take your euros with a grazie (thank you) while pointing left or right for men or women. We learned early on that the word toilette uttered in an interrogatory tone would yield locations and directions. A good thing to know in Italy.
Yelp guided us to a little restaurant with good reviews where we had a delicious authentic meal at a table in the center of several other tables, Italian enthusiastically spoken all around. That took care of the hungries in fine fashion.
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| Coffee and Cocoa Photo Credit: Caroline Foulard |
Now, to find the bridge.
The famous stone arch bridge, Ponte di Rialto (Rialto Bridge) crosses the Grand Canal at the narrowest point in the heart of Venice. Built in the late 16th century and renowned as an architectural and engineering achievement of the Renaissance, the bridge is the result of a design competition won by Antonio da Ponte and his nephew Antonio Contino.
GPS was taking us in circles, the map was confusing. I had a bright idea.
"Let's follow the crowds. We know we are getting close. The bridge has to be a big draw for tourists. The crowds will direct us there."
And they did!
We exited a narrow dark walkway into a tourist hubbub of photo posing, boats, and the magnificent bridge spanning the waters of the Grand Canal. Thrilling! Like the victors we were, we four stood shoulder to shoulder on the banks of the waterway, the sun had burned off the clouds a bit revealing the autumn Italian sky. A gondola floated noiselessly right in front of us. Ah, Venice!
And then. . .
. . . four noses wrinkled, four sets of eyes looked at one another.
"What is that smell?"
Travel informs deeper and truer than movies, pictures, or even Rick Steves. Oh, they show you carefully filmed scenes bathed in beautiful weather, smiling faces of attractive people - or at least friendly-looking ones - music in the background. Sure. But when you actually stand there in the comfortable weather, street musicians playing live music at your elbow, an eclectic array of ancient buildings splashed with the lapping waters of the canal, the iconic Ponte di Rialto dominating the scene, yes, your senses fill with sights, and sounds, the taste of the watery air, the touch of the sunshine and breeze, the sound of folk music, and . . . the smell of sewage. Rick Steves didn't tell us about that.But we, being us, found it hilarious. Onto the bridge we traversed swept up in the merriment of tourists, including us, posing for pictures, taking it all in, joy abounding. A dream come true.
More walking. More pictures. More amazement.
Until the moment came when it was time to head home.
By the time that moment hit we were far from our parked car. Far, far far. We still had cobblestone walkways to tread plus arched bridges aplenty - you have to find just the right bridge to get you where you need to go - and curving passageways yet to conquer before we met the comfortable seats of our rental car for the drive back to our even more comfortable country estate in a nearby village.
My body went on strike. Right then and there. I gave my options some serious thought, then made my proclamation.
"I'm not walking all that way back. My feet and knees are killing me from these cobblestones. I'm taking one of those classic wooden boats, a water taxi. You guys can walk. I'm taking a boat."
Protests of how expensive that would be met me, but I said I didn't care how much it cost. I've always wanted to ride in one. Now is the time.
Son-in-law gazelled from the bridge we were standing on to a landing where water taxis were parked, waiting for clients. He made a deal for all four of us to ride to our exit. Fifty dollars. If I agreed.
"Done." I said. I gave him the money.
You should have seen the smiles on the faces of my family! They were so excited and tickled and eager and loving it! I was thankful for the inappropriate shoes I wore which led us to this decision.In a matter of minutes an Italian man was holding one of my hands and my French son-in-law holding the other as they helped me aboard the rocking boat. My mind was blown. How did I get here? Who cares! It's glorious good fun.
My husband and son-in-law were grinning from ear to ear. My daughter and I were giggling and grasping each other's hands in glee. Look where we are! Look what we are about to do!
Immediately passing through the cabin to the back of the boat, I stood there looking all around me, my arms resting on the smooth shiny wood of the top of the cabin, face to the breeze. My family followed. Once again, we four victors faced the world and the wind, only our driver and us aboard. We faced the canal, took a couple of excellent selfies - excellent because the joie de vivre shines from our faces - and we settled in for a dream come true.
Drinking in the moment, studying and enjoying everything around me, feeling it, smelling the air which just smelled good like Venice should, of water and boat fumes and coffee and oldness, absolute contentment alighted on my entire being.
Our ride took several minutes, for which we were thankful. Bursting with happiness, it took great self-regulation for me to not grin and wave at the tourists in the heavy water busses or the gliding gondolas, or even at the people with cameras pointing at us from the bridges. It's just not done. Understated elegance, you see.
After disembarking we marveled at our newfound energy. My rejuvenated body didn't ache anymore after its rest. I bought some lovely prints of Venice which hang in my bedroom, reminding me everyday of that euphoric moment. My daughter bought some clothing and trinkets.
And we drove home, wrapped in our joie de vivre, happy chatter all the way.That Venice water taxi ride is a highlight of my life. A dream come true, grander than imagined, enriched by the fact that, rather than a touristy check-it-off-your-list attraction, I needed help, I was in pain, and there was this sun-reflecting glossy boat which just happened to contain a wish for me, a desire to be whisked away through the watery streets of Venice, under its various-sized bridges, next to venerable structures, and with some of my beloved family along for the ride, overflowing with contented vitality.
Oftentimes difficulties give way to the most beautiful - and memorable - joie de vivre experiences.
Che bello! (How beautiful!)
(Photos all mine except where marked. All rights reserved. Thank you!)
