Act II: Venice

And I've left it even later to finish this. But I must do so, having started it... what kind of blogger would I be otherwise, eh? Yes, I know, an incredibly slack one. Like I already am, but let's pretend that all that time doesn't matter and finish this off before I attempt to use this blog rather more professionally again. (Stop quibbling, once upon a time I did try.)

So... where were we? Pulling into Venice in a grey 8am. There was a small amount of confusion because our tickets said Venezia Mestre (a suburb of Venice, across the lagoon on the mainland) rather than Venezia Santa Lucia (the station actually on the islands). The guard didn't make too much fuss about this, in the face of our grumpy unslept determination to get to Santa Lucia and his own lingering embarrassment from getting stuck in our compartment (he didn't seem half so chatty after that...). Hah. Getting out of the train, we were pleasantly surprised that although the skies were still as leaden as they had been in Prague, the day was significantly milder and felt positively pleasant. We found our way to our hotel (as we were only in Venice for one night, we actually splashed out the money for a room all of our very own, in order to get onto the islands themselves - we didn't want to spend all our time bussing back and forth to the mainland. Definitely money well-spent) and left our bags. Pausing only to change socks & shoes for sandals, we left again and were soon bravely ordering breakfast croissants in Italian (well, mostly pointing - I ended up with grapefruit juice because it took just 5 seconds too long to remember what 'pampelmo' might mean) and eating them in the brightening sunshine of a street cafe on the Lista di Spagna, the only main street in a city that has no such things. Not yet knowing our way around at all, although armed with a free map from the hotel, we wandered south along it, amusing ourselves with tourist shops and tourists. When we got to the Rialto bridge, we weren't paying enough attention to the map and went several streets beyond it before I realised we shouldn't have crossed it at all if we were going to the Piazza San Marco (as had been the plan). That finally plunged us off the wider, more traditional-looking streets (where there really is only one and a bit of) into the rabbit-warren of Venetian alleys proper. Still a well-beaten tourist track to San Marco, though, and we had no problem navigating a few narrow streets to emerge into the sunshine and grandeur of our destination.

There is no doubt that the Piazza San Marco is a "must-see," as our guidebook described it, and yet I find it a little strange that it is such an icon of Venice when, to me, it is slightly anathema to the city itself. Undoubtedly there are no other handily stunning landmarks to use on postcards and images around the world, but its very openness, its marble facades and its gilding, its statuesque beauty of pillars and lines and wide stone-paved areas, all seem subtly amiss in a city of twisting back streets where centuries-old buildings crumble slowly ever further into the warm green canals. There's no denying that San Marco and its environs are worthy of renown, but they do not feel representative of the city that managed to catch my heart in 36 hours. (That sounds like some kind of new reality/challenge show.)

Having been suitably awed by the gilding on the outside (and less so by the scaffolding on it at the time), we couldn't actually go in the Basilica di San Marco because it was still quite early in the morning and it wasn't open yet. Not bothering to read a guidebook or look for anything else worth doing in the area, we marvelled at the people feeding pigeons for a while and then just headed back the way we'd come. I think this was partly because we were extremely exhausted and had no wishes beyond sleep, but mostly because we were really enjoying the warmth and pleasant meandering after the cold and rain of Prague. Also, a lot of the indoor attractions in Venice seem to be art galleries, which interested neither of us when we had so little time to see the city. And so we walked, crossing the Rialto intentionally this time and doing a lot of window-shopping at all the pretty glass things, masks and colourful pasta. We found a cheap restaurant in a pleasant square with a church, and had pizza to properly welcome ourselves to Italy. It was good. Cheeky had one with eggplant on, because it made her happy in a world of fictional references. I was playing with my very limited Italian vocabulary whenever possible (it would appear that 'succo di pera' has stuck with me since age 6, which is quite an achievement) and cheeky was enjoying being surrounded by a language where you can at least take a guess at meaning or pronunciation based on Latinate words in English - we really did flounder a bit in Prague. After lunch, we wandered further into the labyrinthine alleyways to the north of the Rialto, ever following the helpful (and thankfully very ubiquitous) signs towards things in useful directions (such as the station, since we knew how to get back to the hotel from there). Exhaustion had finally caught up with us and, combined with post-prandial lassitude, we decided that we should go back to the hotel, check in properly (8am had obviously been a bit early for them to let us have the room) and take advantage of our beds for an hour or so's nap. Well, cheeky wanted a nap and I thought I would probably read or something and just enjoy resting (I'm not good with midday sleeping, it makes me disoriented and strange). Yes... that resolution lasted for about 10 minutes after lying down on my bed.

Three or four hours later, we woke up to find that sunlight had fled the tiny square outside our window. Feeling somewhat abashed at wasting so much time in a city where we had so little of it, we hauled ourselves to our first showers since Prague and then out into the streets again. Retrospectively, sleeping was a really good idea; not only because we needed the rest but also because it actually made me feel we'd spent three days in Venice instead of two - the two halves of Saturday are very separate in my memory. And in the end, we didn't really feel rushed for time - it was just right. Still feeling somewhat sleepy, we took a little wander up to the very northern edge of Venice (only about 5 mins from our hotel) and admired the lowering sun over the lagoon. We decided to aim ourselves towards San Marco again because I was feeling annoyed with myself for shunning the idea of going out for night-time photos in Prague and was convinced that we should go see the most photogenic bit of Venice by streetlights on our only night there - which, as it turned out, was indeed very pretty. And so we wandered south again, not bothering with Lista di Spagna this time but instead heading straight back across the Grand Canal by the station, meandering towards the Rialto Bridge through the districts of Santa Croce and San Polo. The Rialto and the Ponte degli Scalzi (the bridge by the station) are two of only four bridges that cross the Grand Canal - until the 19th century there was only the Rialto. We had discovered that the route using these two bridges brought us from the north to the south more directly, and more quickly - it was a 30-40 minute walk from our hotel to San Marco when just pleasantly strolling. 'Directly' is perhaps a misnomer, however, as I don't believe we ever went the same way twice. If we noticed that we were doing, we usually took an abrupt turn in order not to. This did lead to us going slightly circuitous routes once or twice, but the prodigious signposting and handy free map never let us down and if we were really going the wrong way we usually seemed to end up in the square with the dragon holding glass umbrellas, so that was handy.

Emerging into the Piazza san Marco as a warm dusk settled, we decided to hell with budgetary constraints and that we'd wander along the waterfront looking for a restaurant with a view. We actually found one with decent prices and so settled in for a nice meal as the night arrived, sitting outside under a canvas canopy surrounded by the scent of jasmine (grown on a trellis around the seating area. Beat that for two obscure tv references in one go). Feeling pleasantly wakeful after our earlier exhaustion, we had a good meal and lazy conversation about something or other that I have now forgotten. I think we were both quite relieved that we didn't seem to be running out of conversation - after all, going on a week's holiday with just one other person who you've only met twice in real life and to whom you've previously mostly talked about only tv is a bit of a venture into the unknown. Actually, it all worked out very nicely and I would not ask for a better travelling companion, so that was very cool. Hobblings are just awesome, that's all there is to it. After dinner, we walked slowly back through the heart of the city and cheeky had to cope with me delaying us many times while learning how to get my replacement camera to produce anything even half-decent in night shots. But the air was still warm and gelato was found upon our route, so I don't think she minded too much.

On Sunday morning, we got up and headed first for the bus station, to find out exactly when our bus to Treviso airport would leave that afternoon, to buy tickets and to establish whether there was anywhere we could leave our luggage. There wasn't, and even at the railway station the prices charged for doing so were quite extortionate, so before checking out we asked to leave our bags at the hotel again - which they were, thankfully, very happy to let us do. Determined to actually do something in addition to walking before we left Venice, we headed back towards San Marco and looked at the queue. Having established that the queue was currently purposeless, as the basilica wasn't open (we established this by joining the queue, shuffling forwards with it for 10 minutes and then being told that the basilica wasn't open...), we went and had an overpriced but conveniently nearby lunch. We then joined the queue again and got inside this time - but only after being phoned by Mr Ata to ask me to send him Keppet's mobile number so they could try to join up with the London meet going on that day. Slightly bizarre, but happy to help... Anyway. Shuffling round inside the church, on ancient tiles, gazing up at incredibly detailed gilded mosaics, I wondered once again just how much Britain lost of its religious heritage during the Reformation. On the one hand, I am much more fond of our plainer, simple and undecorated churches, but to think how much medieval art we must have lost does sadden me. The gilding in San Marco was at least to my taste - being older and more dulled than the ostentatious Prague churches undoubtedly endeared it to me, for a start.

Out of the basilica, and we had a limited amount of time remaining to thread our way back through the city to the bus station before climbing aboard a sadly boring, standard (but thankfully air-conditioned) coach full of pensioners on tour that would take us the 20 miles to Treviso airport.