TwoFools in Zürich

On our first night in Venice, I wondered if we'd made a mistake. I had been so sure it would be our kind of city, but then we got lost. And very, very wet.

Getting Soaked

Photo by tylonbrew

Hungry after missing breakfast and lunch, we grabbed the umbrellas our host had provided (but not, unfortunately, the wellies) and searched for the grocery store that was supposed to be just around the corner from the apartment. The grocery appeared not to exist. (We did find it on our second to last day.)

Already wet and cold and still hungry, we went with our fallback plan to head to a hotel bar on a waterfront boulevard for a quick spritz. Surely once we were oriented, we would easily find our way to some charming osterie or enoteche where we could make a meal of ciccheti (Venetian "tapas"). Right?

Not quite. We did find the bar of the Hotel Danieli, and it was a lovely, elegant little room. But we stayed too long. And soon we were unwilling to to continue our first night's giro d'ombra though the flooded streets and unending downpour.

Photo by tylonbrew

High tide was coming; we had no choice but to fight our way back to our apartment. Of course we got lost, completely turned around in the dark and driving rain. We sloshed through water that rose up to our ankles (best not to dwell on what exactly had washed into that water) and hung on to our umbrellas as the freezing wind kept trying to snatch them from our hands. Finally, a sheltered church portico gave us a chance to get a GPS fix that led us home.

I know it sounds awful, and it was, but we had managed to stumble into our first key to Venice: we got lost and we got wet.

Getting Lost

Photo by tylonbrew

The weather improved but we kept getting lost. Streets dead end into canals, double back, twist and turn. There are no grand boulevards or grid pattern, just narrow cobbled walkways, sometimes not even wide enough to pass another (lost) tourist without turning sideways. There is no visibility, no way to look ahead––just the strip of sky between the houses lining the street and blind corners that lead to dead ends.

We walked for miles: morning walks, late afternoon walks, evening walks. And Venice kept changing before our eyes. During the midafternoon break the back streets empty, doors are shut and windows shuttered. Shops and cafes that marked our morning route disappeared. A few hours later awnings unfurled, tables and chairs reappeared, and people began to gather at their local watering holes for the early evening ritual of drinks and small plates.

We rode the vaporetti up and down the Grand Canal and along the waterfront to our (temporary) neighborhood, Arsenale. Now we could look out, see ahead, take bearings across the water. Now we could appreciate the quality of the light. And now we could begin to get the feel of the tidal rhythm of the city, grasp the relationship between water and stone and wood.

Falling in Love
Venice has been here forever. Venice has always been sinking. At a distance, buildings rise from the water, sharply defined boundaries between land and sea. Up close, the boundary appears mutable and easily overrun. By turns the city is shabby and grand, secretive and welcoming, powerful and fragile, changeable and eternal. How we could we not fall in love?

Photo by tlyonbrew

Story by Kathy
Photos by tylonbrew