Venice

May 4, 2008 A day to ourselves in Venice, before joining our ship. Since most of the people who are boarding the ship are staying in the ship-designated (and ridiculously expensive) Danielli Hotel, we needed to find our own way to the ship. The brochure spoke of a bus being made available at the bus terminal so Bob and I scouted out where it might be located since obviously we’re not the only cruise line offering such a service in Venice. It took more than a bit of detective work since there was absolutely no signage and every information booth, public bus official and stray individual whom we asked had absolutely no idea where the busses to the maritime terminal would be located. Having figured out an approach for the next day (arrive and look like dummies), we took off for the island of Murano, which Bob had visited before when working here for a month in 1996.. Murano is known as the home of beautiful glass and thus has the qualities of a natural tourist trap in addition to being a lovely island. No sooner were we off the vaporetto than we were encouraged to watch the glass blowers in action. For a mere two euro we were ushered into a simple warehouse off of the quay where two kilns were glowing – ready for action. We sat on some very rustic bleacher seats as other tourists were ushered in until all available seating had been taken. Finally, in a mixture of French/Italian and English, an audio tape was played that welcomed us and explained the history and the process of glass blowing. Then working in almost perfect silence (not unlike our demonstrations in the Meissen factory) we watched a glass blower actually create magic. Somehow you expect an artisan to look somewhat delicate or at least artistic…. this man could just have easily been making bread or hauling garbage. He looked very much like old time movie actor Wallace Beery. But this rough exterior hid a talent which was obviously learned over many years. In less than a few minutes time he had blown a lovely clear vase with a very ornate handle (which he broke, and threw away as useless) and a glass stallion rearing on its hind legs. We took lots of pictures which he encouraged, oohed and aahed as the ball of hot molten glass took shape under his deft handling, and applauded his talent before being ushered out to the shop next door where we were encouraged to make a purchases upwards of $2000. We looked but I must say the chandeliers, the ornate vases and the fussy glassware was not appealing. The larger more modern pieces – especially one of a sailboat with a large spinnaker caught our eye but the costs even here were prohibitive so we took pictures and escaped to a quiet square for lunch. The entire island is one large manufacturing site where in every corner and backyard there appeared to be either a shop or some ovens for making glass. If I were ever in the market for ornamental glass this would be the place to make a purchase. But, not this time. We took the #5 vaporetto back to the main part of Venice and searched for two restaurants we had dined at over fifteen years ago. Radar-nose Ring found them almost without trying. He has this amazing sense of direction which even in Venice allows him to get from point A to point B without much map examination. Me, I’d be lost every two seconds. The two restaurants (La Columba and Restaurante de Il Teatro ) are near the Le Fenice Opera House/Theater which has just been rebuilt (again) after a fire. John Berendt in his fiction/fact book The City of Fallen Angels weaves a story about Venice and its society around this fire and its impact on the people of the city. We stood above one canal near the restaurants for at least ten minutes and watched a whole flotilla of gondolas filled with Japanese tourists go skimming by – in one, they even had an Accordion and a singer which must have set those tourists back a few euro. In one sense the whole ‘gondola scene’ is terribly kitsch and touristy, but there is a wonderful fairy-tale quality to standing on an old stone bridge built centuries ago while watching gondoliers very deftly guide their boats with small, seeming effortless gestures as they dodge other gondolas, assorted motorboat taxis, floating garbage scows and delivery boats all vying for right of way in small areas without much room to maneuver. At times it looked as if there just had to be an accident or ‘gondola-bender’, but no, with a small twist of the oar the gondoliers guided their barques as they slid by each other using the resistance of water, the walls or the underside of bridges to propel themselves and their passengers down the canals. I have no idea how long it takes to learn such a skill but to stand up at the rear of a very slim black boat, going through the chop of motor-churned water, using only one long oar and one’s own placement of weight to maneuver is not a career for the faint of heart. It seemed as though it would be ever so easy to fall into the drink, and that is distinctly one place where no one wants to be. Between flotsam, jetsam, and god knows what else, the canals do not look like the healthiest of water systems. But with tourism being the major economy of Venice, there will always be gondoliers ready to guide fat Americans, romantic honeymooners, and all manner of foreign tour groups through this amazingly beautiful city. (I must say we saw few old gondoliers – it may be a trade for the young and muscular only). We got back to our hotel via the #41 vaporetto, passing lots of old haunts – including the Pensione Seguso where I had stayed years ago with Connie Miller and Lynne Devnew when we, the BIBS, were younger, slimmer and unmarried. The Pensione seems to be thriving as do any hotels in Venice. The one thing we’ve noted this time is the distinct lack of Americans, or for that matter any English speakers. I could say it’s the time of the year but I think the power of the euro over the dollar has had an impact. Not that the crowds were any less, if anything the euro has provided an opportunity for many from the old eastern block to visit. We have heard quite a bit of ‘Russian-sounding’ language which we can’t decipher to know if it’s Slovene or Slovak, Croat or Crimea, Ukraine or Uzbec… or ?. We always liked it when we could go for days without hearing our native tongue, but this time it’s downright remarkable. May 5, 2008 Off to the bus terminal we went searching for the bus to take us to the Maritime Terminal. It was pouring rain and everyone was looking a wee bit soggy. There was absolutely no Azamara bus to be found, so I asked a young lady holding up a sign saying COSTA (another shipping company) where the bus might be. In her halting English (she was from Argentina !), she suggested we just put our luggage on the COSTA bus, say nothing to anyone and we would get to the terminal without any problems. Which we did. Being very early, we were the only ones on line for Azamara check in so that we got rid of our luggage, got our passcard and voila….onto our ship we went about noon. The Azamara is a re-constituted ship which was once part of the Renaissance lines. She holds less than 700 guests, is distinctly smaller than most cruise ships being built now and it is another experiment… if I like this size ship – certainly a good deal smaller than the Queen Mary, but a lot larger than our favorite Star Clipper ships. We found our full balcony cabin on the port side, seventh deck, and then began an exploration of the ship. From level to level, from stem to stern we found all the nooks and crannies, restaurants, bars, library and spa facilities. It certainly has all the amenities that anyone could want. But here are my first impressions: she looks older and sadder; less crisp or fresh; our fellow cruisers are just not as elegant or gracious as those on the QM2, and while there are far fewer canes and walkers than on the QM2, there is an increment in body fat being hauled around the decks. Who knows these could become our new best friends so I’m grabbing impressions before I know what’s in the future. Pre-sail drinks in the Martini lounge with fellow Cruise-Critic sailors was a delight. We met the people with whom Bob had been emailing and with whom we’ll be going to Lake Bled in a few days. We met a fine pack of women who are either widowed or divorced who call themselves the SLUTS (Southern Ladies Under Tremendous Stress; or Southern Ladies Up To Something). These six ladies from the Atlanta area have sailed together often and their energy and enthusiasm mixed with everyone’s first-meeting-nervousness made for a fairly raucous but happy crowd as names were exchanged, prior sailing stories were told, and what I call the ‘first tier’ stories were told. [Everyone has their polished first tier story to introduce themselves to others - who they are and where they live and why; it takes many further conversations to get deeper into a person’s autobiography and learn the real story – warts and all.] But it’s night one, so we’re just beginning. Being a little weary, we went to the main dining room for dinner. The Discovery Room is one of three dining rooms; the other two are more formal and one has to make a reservation, though it costs no more. Our table mates were: two Mexican sisters from Mexico City who spoke almost no English but one could tell were lively and enthusiastic about this trip; and a honeymoon couple from Silicon Valley both in their late 30’s and glad to be married to each other. They were all very nice, but conversation was stilted and ‘first tier’, and that ended our day. May 6, 2008 While we had boarded, unpacked and gotten settled the ship was actually going no where yesterday. The first day of the cruise was an opportunity to explore Venice. For many who had flown directly from their home to Venice in order to board the ship this gave them their only opportunity to explore this wonderful city. Being an amazingly blue sky, sunny day, Bob and I chose to go in search of the statue of Colleoni which daddy had mentioned in his very first letters from Venice. The statue of a man on a horse is in a square not exactly in the heart of the tourist area. We took a vaporetto around the edges of Venice to the Hospital stop where we then walked with Radar-nose-Ring locating the square without a hitch. I had to take the picture in the exact location where daddy had taken his picture. I kept wondering why was this important to him, and how would he have found it in the first place since it is not that close to either Rialto Bridge or St. Marks Square. I’ll never know, just as I’ll never know a lot about those letters, but it was nice to stand there and think that he’d stood in this exact same place with his trusty Leica and taken the exact same shot in 1927. Having accomplished this very important task, we had a beer and a ham & mozzarella panini at Café Colleone, stared at people walking by in the square, were serenaded by two men with ancient accordions, admired the famous church and the old guildhall and having paid our respects to the past…moved on. Radar-nose-Ring using our less than perfect maps managed to walk us over bridges and through little alleyways until we found ourselves….right back staring at Colleone. How could this happen? Only in Venice with its winding ways could one stride out so confidently only to find oneself chasing one’s own tail. We made an embarrassing course correction and found our way to the Rialto Bridge – my god what a tourist trap! To go from the peace and quiet of the square to the chaos of hustlers, masks, scarves, kitsch and pushing, picture-snapping crowds was like going from a piece of sanity into total insanity. We quickly boarded a #2 vaporetto and headed back to San Zaccaria to catch the ship-provided vaporetto returning to the Azamara Journey. Sail-away was breathtaking! A sunny late afternoon sailing, going right past the Campanile, Doge’s Palace, Bridge of Sighs, the Lido, and other monuments with a lecturer on board who relayed what we were seeing as we steamed out to the Adriatic. We passed by (and photographed) the old Termini Maritima, where daddy had sailed from on a foggy day in 1927. It was so gorgeous that Bob and I could not stand to go inside, so we had drinks (huge, perfect Manhattan for Bob) and dinner outdoors on the aft deck until the very last bit of sun had set over Italy…and so to bed.