(The two weekends before my second travel week have been highlighted by two significant events. The first was celebrating the end of Carnevale in Venice. The second was spending the weekend with my family in Mirano, Padua and Venice. Enjoy!)
This is it – Carnevale. I have arrived only minutes ago, and already I can see the signs of the celebration. Masks, confetti, and festive laughter are all around the train station. I haven’t even made it into the city yet! I make my way through the hustle and bustle of excited tourists queuing for the vaporetto and soon find myself in a river of humanity.
Shoulder to shoulder in most places, there is little I can do to make my trip to Saint Mark’s Square any more quickly. I won’t be able to make it there and back in time for my departure train at this rate! I guess I could try running through everyone, but that would attract a lot of attention – plus, I might fall into a canal. What am I to do? How am I supposed to get through these crowds? Wait – I know what to do:
I need to blend.
Like a snake in the grass or a lion on the prowl – or like an assassin – I need to blend in with the crowds and become a shade. As a result of my limited wardrobe, I have already dressed the part by wearing mostly black. Now all there is to do is use that to my advantage. It shouldn’t be too difficult since all of the tourists are lost and distracted most of the time anyway.
Ducking and weaving, I make my way past hundreds of loud, sweaty tourists. My movement through the masses is fast, but it is not quick. Rather, I would consider myself to be a suave, graceful dancer, improvising a sort of mental choreography into my shadow-like movements.
A few people give me weird looks as I skulk blatantly through Venetian alleyways. By taking these side streets and taking out the occasional passerby who might alert a guard as to my lurking presence, I am able to make it all the way to Saint Mark’s Square without a hitch.
The entire square is swarming with people. On the west side, a stage has been set up, and around it there is a section that has been partitioned off for ticket-holders. Luckily, I’m tall, so I don’t need a ticket to be able to see what is going on.
The bells of the campanile behind me toll 2 o’ clock. The square, already alive with tourists and the occasional performer in costume, turns into a colorful, frenzied masquerade. Around a fountain gushing wine in the middle of the square, a parade of performers walks by. Represented amongst these are all of the different professions of Renaissance- and Baroque-era Italians. Doctors, nobility, clergy, businessmen, traders, butchers, and many others are there – it is certainly a sight to behold!
I’m standing here, in one of the most famous cities in the world. It’s surreal, vaporous, and legitimately dreamlike. For just a few moments, whatever problems I have swirling in my head escape my senses. These jovial sensations all around have put my mind in a state of calm. I enjoy the moment.
My mind snaps back to reality. Time has caught up with me. I arrived in Venice later in the day than I originally planned. My visit, while exuberant and wonderful, must soon come to an end.
I make my way back through the narrow streets past the tourists. Though I have a train to catch, I have just enough time to sit by the Rialto Bridge, looking down the Grand Canal towards the setting sun. Today has been a good day.
Fast forward one week.
I’m making my way back towards Venice, but this time I’m stopping at the train station on the mainland, in the city of Mestre. My parents, brother, sister, and brother-in-law (and later on, 6 more relatives) have flown out to Italy to enjoy their spring break here in Italy; since I’m here, they have a good excuse!
Coming up from the platform stairs, I spot my family sitting in the McDonald’s. There are hugs and handshakes all around. Everyone is feeling pretty sluggish after a full day of traveling, and I don’t blame them – jet lag makes vacationing rough. For those of you who might be wondering, walking barefoot on carpet and making fists with your toes doesn’t really help all that much with jet lag.
Within minutes of my arrival, a mantle of responsibility comes down from the heavens and alights upon my shoulders. Actually, it crashes down upon me like a sack of potatoes, but that’s not the point. The point is that I suddenly realize that it is going to be my job to navigate and interpret for the family. I’m the local, the veteran, the one who has gone native in a foreign land. Surely I know what I’m doing, right?
Wrong. Even after all of my time in Italy, my language skills are still limited to ‘parla inglese?’ which is ‘Do you speak English?’ Actually, I do know more, but when I’m under pressure, I resort to the language of the tourist: English.
We make our way towards where we think the bus stop is, with luggage in hand, up and down the street, getting nowhere quickly. My frazzled group is realizing that I’m not so fluent in the ways of the Italian after all.
“Let’s just take a taxi, then, Heath. We’re exhausted. We’ll figure out the bus system in the morning.”
“Alright” I say. A taxi it is.
In case I haven’t gotten this point across to you, drivers in Italy are crazy. They’re safer than American drivers in many instances, but because of the country’s spaghetti-inspired infrastructure, they’re crazy to drive there.
So, we arrive in Mirano (notice that it is not Murano, the island near Venice famous for making hand-made glass) at a homey agristourismo, or farm hotel. We find ourselves checking in, finding a bed, and passing out within minutes.
The next day arrives. My brother Craig hasn’t been feeling well – a fever and other symptoms have sneaked up on him. He decides to sit out on the activities planned for the day. We depart this time for Padua, or Padova, as the Italians call it. We catch a bus to the train station in Mestre…
…Our so we think. Because we never found the bus stop the night before, we miss where we’re supposed to get off, and soon we’re on our way to the island of Venice instead of the train station on the mainland. My mom has a mini-anxiety attack. I say that it was mini because I knew this would happen, but I also knew I wasn’t going to let her experience her first day of exploring Italy without my help and assurance. So, being the good son that I am, I let my mother take me by the arm, and we make our way to Venezia S.L. train station, where we easily get tickets to Padua.
We arrive after an hour of recuperating from our interesting misadventure. The city, while not the most picturesque, is pleasant enough. We stop at a small café, where each of us gets something different for lunch. Everyone else orders, and being the mooch that I am, eat a bite of each one, plus the lasagna that I order. I share my lasagna with my family so I don’t feel quite so bad about my terrible habit of mooching.
After that, we go to the main attraction: the Museo civico di Padova, a museum filled with late medieval and Renaissance artwork and sculptures. There seem to be an endless number of pieces of artwork, and I love them all, but it’s sensory overload. Seeing all of this artwork all at once makes my head spin!
It turns out that we are also going to a chapel next door filled with frescoes. I’m eager to see more, but it’s hard to keep it all in my head. Without saying it out loud, I think ‘why are we paying extra for a mere 15 minutes in a chapel that probably has the same sort of art we’ve already seen? Haven’t we seen enough already?’
Once again, I’m proven wrong by the saying that 'if the art is truly great, you can never see too much of it'. The chapel we are introduced to is Scrovegni Chapel, and it was painted by Giotto and some of his pupils at the end of the 14th century, I believe. As I utilize my consciously finite span of time to look around the chapel, it is apparent that later Renaissance artists got inspiration from this amazing chapel, in particular Michelangelo, because one wall of the chapel is devoted to telling a story from Revelation - the Final Judgment. I consider taking out my camera for some photos, but the eyes of the curator are like the Eye of Sauron, always watching.
Take my word for it – the chapel is beautiful (and I’m sure Google can help you find photos). From Padua, we go to Venice, this time according to plan. Since it is a Sunday, we go into several churches on the way to Saint Mark’s for free (“Sure, we’re Catholic…” -- “Okay, come on in!”). On typical weekdays, churches in Venice charge you anywhere from 3 to 10 Euros to enter. I particularly enjoy going into the Frari chiesa (church) because of the marble columns and pyramidal crypt on the left side as you enter.
The campanile (belltower) in Piazza San Marco is something I missed out on the last two times I came to Venice, so I figure it’s time to go up in it. Dylan and I get up there right at 2 PM, and the bells above our heads begin to toll. Plugging my ears from the ringing, I am able to concentrate on the scenery below, which is magnificent. Because of my previous knowledge of Venice’s layout via the Assassin’s Creed series, seeing the city from an eagle’s point of view creates a feeling of déjà vu inside me.
After getting some delicious gelato with Claire (for a mere 1 Euro per scoop!), we go into Saint Mark’s Basilica. If you’re a fan of mosaics, you’ll instantly fall in love with this church. If you’re not a fan of mosaics, you should be after seeing the inside of this church! The floors, walls, and especially the ceiling, are all covered by thousands upon thousands of tiny tiles. Gold, marble, stone, you name it – it’s in there, forming scenes from throughout the Bible all across the church.
The time comes for us to meet up with our extended family. We make our way back to the train station, and lo and behold, there they are! For a grand total of maybe 20 minutes, 12 members of my extended family (including me) are all reunited as a group for the first time since 2006. Though we are at least able to take a few photos, it is a bittersweet moment for me as I wave goodbye to that group. I know that while they are all getting ready to go gallivant around the country of Italy, I will be in class, doing homework, and otherwise doing anything and everything not related to vacationing. I’ll admit it – I got a bit teary-eyed when it all went down, but I guess it’s natural to feel sad when the ones you love leave you.
I return now to the train station, where thoughts now begin to whirl in my head as to what I am going to do during my next break – 10 days without classes, spent in Rome, Siena, and San Gimignano, places I have been looking forward to seeing more than anything else!
we love you too! :)
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