Venetian glass, art and shopping; Murano and Dorsoduro

Venice, May 2006: Day 4 (part 2)
> Previous entry: A Venetian honeymoon gone wrong
It was a sunny day, though windy, as I set off early to see some art. The gorgeous paintings by Carpaccio in San Giorgio degli Schiavoni provided a lovely start to the day - very refreshing for the soul after the troubles of the night.

Next on my list was Santa Maria Formosa (Curvaceous St. Mary). The church is pretty good, but personally I think the name is even better.

Then I walked northwards past the hospital (another one of Venice's most beautiful buildings, offering glimpses of ornate halls). From the ferry stop at Fondamenta Nove I took the vaporetto past Venice's cemetery island to Murano. Murano is an island most famous for its glass-makers – who were apparently pursued and assassinated by the Venetian state if they took their secrets abroad. I'd been warned about tacky souvenir shops and gaggles of ripped-off tourists but I was pleasantly surprised.

Murano is a pleasant island, although the area around the glass shops tended to be lined with other foreign tourists. I enjoyed the more domestic scale of the buildings, and was struck by a fruit-and-veg boat moored in a canal. The glass shops ranged from tacky to stylish. I picked one which was obviously a workshop, and which displayed militant posters declaring war on 'chinese glass'. I bought a tasteful glass ring as a souvenir of my Venice trip.

I ate lunch in Campo S. Stefano, a little square on the far side of the canal with lots of outside tables laid with cheery bright yellow tablecloths. Ignoring the generous range of seafood on the menu, I opted for tagliatelle with porcini mushrooms. The meal wasn't special, but I was entertained by a bold and aggressive sparrow with eyes on my bread. It tried hopping onto my lap, snatching bread from my hand, and did eventually get away with a strip of pasta. A few tables away a loquacious red-faced man emerged from the restaurant's interior to display a dead fish to a tableful of diners, his fingers thrust proudly through its gills.

While on Murano I added to the day's tally of churches with visits to S. Pietro Martire (a nice Giovanni Bellini painting of the Virgin with a doge) and Santi Maria e Donato (super mosaics in the apse and on the floor). Even the churches here have glass chandeliers, and I also saw a glass Madonna in a shrine overlooking the canal.

I returned from Murano to San Zaccaria by taking a boat around the eastern end of Venice, including some shore I hadn't yet navigated. The journey took nearly 50 minutes, but I had an outside seat and it was an enjoyable ride. I saw several teams in boats training for a regatta.

I wanted to do some more glass-shopping in Venice, and I returned to a shop I had found previously. It was mid-afternoon but the shop was shuttered so I ordered a cold orange juice at a cafe table outside and asked the waitress when the shop would re-open. 'He doesn't have an orario' (timetable), she replied, 'but I expect he'll be back soon'. Knowing Italian time-keeping I was slightly doubtful, but I sat at my table alonside this pretty canal and enjoyed the scenery.

Sure enough, the glassblower soon returned, and helped me select several of his handmade little glass figures as gifts for my friends. 'Do you know the story of Pinocchio?' he asked me. I replied that I didn't think the whole story was very well-known in England – I, at any rate, had never heard the whole tale. So as I compared miniature wizards and courting couples, he told me story with plenty of flourish, up to Pinocchio begin eaten by a whale.

Then it was back to my hotel, glass figurines carefully boxed, to collect my suitcase and change accommodation once more. Sorry to leave the Campiello, I headed along the Grand Canal to my next hotel, the Tivoli. This was in Dorsoduro, a lovely area which combines picturesque canals and a few of Venice's greatest tourist sights with a surprisingly laidback 'local' feel. This is where young people head out at night to drink and meet friends.

I spent the afternoon exploring the little lanes and canals in the area, taking far too many photographs of every scenic corner. One of the most interesting sights was another fruit-and-veg-boat, selling fresh produce to passers-by. I saw a gondola dragged up on its side to be mended, parents wheeling buggies along, and young students sunbathing along the Zattere shore.

Dinner was a plate of pasta in a pleasant bar close to the hotel on Crosera San Pantalon. Called the Improntacafe, the place tried rather too hard to be Milanese-trendy, though service was friendly. Glass-fronted and on a busy T-junction, it was great for people-watching. I saw a blind young man feeling his way past with a cane, and tried to imagine being blind in Venice. Of all places.

A picturesque evening wandering the illuminated passageways, bridges and squares, and my last day in Venice came to an end.

On foot in Venice

I decided that one of the things about Venice which charmed me the most wasn't the art, or the beautiful palazzi, or the canals (although obviously they played a major part). I loved the pedestrian lifestyle and the friendly scale of movement. Unlike Rome, say, where only the unfortunate and the foreign use public transport, here in Venice everyone has to take the ferries. And walking isn't a third-class option; it's the norm. After the difficulties I've experienced in Rome trying to meet up with friends at night when they all hop about on scooters or in cars and I'm struggling with buses, I found the Venetian system very egalitarian. Everyone has to take the boat and to walk, it's as simple as that. Instead of roads, Venice has pedestrian lanes where people can hail their friends, and stop for a chat. It's healthier, too - I doubt there are many overweight Venetians.

> Day 5: Train from Venice to Rome

A Venetian honeymoon gone wrong

Venice, May 2006: Day 4 (part 1)
> Previous day: The Lido, a Venetian quest and a new hotel

My hotel in Venice was lovely, but I didn't enjoy the good night's sleep I was expecting. The night turned out to be memorable for entirely unexpected reasons.

Long after midnight I was woken by two fellow-guests; a German couple in a room around the corner. There were knocks, remonstrances and strings of abuse.

I don't understand much German but my tired brain began piecing together what was going on. The woman had apparently locked her boyfriend/husband out of their bedroom. He kept knocking and urging her to open the door in an exasperated undertone. She responded with a long rant in loud, sulky (and drunken?) tones. Sometimes he would get tired of arguing and go away for a while, but her loud self-pitying monologue continued regardless.

The walls of the hotel hadn't seemed particularly thin, but this disagreement made it impossible to sleep, as well as being rather more disturbing than the cheery sounds of conversation or laughter would have been. Eventually I stuck a tousled, bleary head around my door, at which point the German husband looked very embarrassed and disappeared downstairs. I actually felt rather sorry for him, as the nagging diatribe continued from within his room.

Breakfast the following morning was smart and refined, and the room around the corner was already being cleaned. It was as though this couple (honeymoon guests? Romantic tourists? The mind boggled) had never been. Until I heard other guests complaining about their interrupted sleep, and the conversation became a general comparison of notes. Some holidaymakers had complained to the night-receptionist, they said. They had been unlucky enough to occupy the room next door, and thought the loud-voiced woman must have been ranting into her mobile phone. We all marvelled at a Venetian holiday that could degenerate into such a nightmare, and piously expressed our horror and our sympathy at such a state of affairs.

The locking-out scenario certainly made a change from the other tourists I encountered: most were couples on the holiday of a lifetime, on a second honeymoon, celebrating their children leaving the nest or travelling with a new spouse. Venice didn't seem to me the sort of place you would come to with the partner in a rocky relationship. But maybe this young-ish couple thought a romantic trip would patch up existing problems? Or maybe they had learned too much about each other and the recriminations had started? Perhaps they were on their honeymoon and the bride already regretted it and was telephoning an ex-boyfriend? Maybe the local wines had caused the mischief? There was a lot to wonder about, and as I had lain there, sleepless, I started to wish I had a better understanding of German.

> Day 4 (continued): Murano and Dorsoduro

The Lido, a Venetian quest and a new hotel

Venice, May 2006: Day 3
> Previous day: Torcello, Burano and an evening on the Grand Canal
I was changing hotels today, moving my base from the Lido over the Lagoon into the centre of Venice. I thought I ought to explore the Lido first, so after breakfast I headed out for a walk. The Lido is a narrow strip of land separating the lagoon from the Adriatic, and I was rather disappointed that, apart from some faded grand hotels, I hadn't found much evidence of the elegant sea-bathing world of the film Death in Venice. My one expedition to the sea-shore ended in a wide street where various ugly structures blocked my view over the shore. By way of consolation I decided to visit the one historic sight my guidebook mentioned in its brief account of the Lido.

In this quiet season, outside passeggiata hours, I found the Lido's streets disconcertingly empty. Alone, female and walking away from the tourist areas I felt somewhat conspicuous. Still, I'm used to this in Italy. A few passing car drivers stared. A smirking man offered me a lift - on the luggage trolley he was pushing.

The walk along the lagoon shore was fairly interesting. Venice lay sparkling just over the waters. I watched the various types of water-traffic, passed a little boat filling up with fuel and crossed the access-road to a jetty where a larger ferry lay awaiting its cargo.

I was disappointed when I reached my goal, however. The church of San Nicolò is a significant building, the destination for the Doge's annual procession (now performed by the Mayor of Venice) of the Festa della Sensa (a symbolic marriage between Venice and the sea). But while the ancient exterior was simple and attractive, I didn't find the interior particularly exciting. I lacked a detailed guide, and I couldn't find the tomb I had hoped to discover (that of Nicholas / Nicola Giustiniani, a twelfth-century Benedictine monk who was compelled to leave holy orders in order to marry and beget heirs for his noble family before returning to his abbey on the Lido).

Returning, I passed the walls and locked gate of Venice's old Jewish Cemetery, an atmospheric and overgrown graveyard which, according to a sign, dates to the 14th-17th centuries.

Taking the vaporetto 1 from the Lido over to Venice we passed in front of a massive cruise liner, the Carnival Liberty. This dwarfed everything in the lagoon and suddenly cast Venice in a very different light. High, high above us the ship's decks and vantage points were packed with the tiny figures of passengers crowding for their first glimpse of Venice.

Back over the waters in Venice I checked into my impressive new hotel. Around the corner in Campo San Zaccaria I ate a light lunch in a little bar with a few indoors tables. Then I set off on a quest.

On my previous trip to Venice with two friends, we wandered home from dinner, hoping we were heading in the right direction for our hotel. We passed many lovely sights in the moonlight, but the most impressive of all was a jewel-like Renaissance church in coloured marbles. I remember gazing open-mouthed at this unexpected and perfect building. The image of this chapel haunted me and I needed to find it again. I studied my guidebook and maps to identify the most likely candidate. Then I set off to visit Santa Maria dei Miracoli.

The church was exactly as I remembered, and just as beautiful by day as by night. Stepping inside was breathtaking, like walking into a jewel-box. An English-language tour group were being lectured on architectural history by a young guide who confessed that the church didn't make her feel spiritual. To me it seemed magical, but maybe that's different.

The rest of the afternoon I spent wandering around Venice's lanes and canals, before taking ferries on the routes I hadn't yet experienced. I travelled along the less-touristy northern shore, past the vast walls of the Arsenal, before alighting at San Pietro. This residential island, attached by bridges to Venice, gave me a refreshing taste of the everyday. The terraced buildings here were on a humble scale, and laundry hung over the lanes and waterways. It was too late in the day to enter the church of San Pietro, which has a dramatic campanile and a pleasant grassy forecourt, but I admired the exterior before heading back along the busy Via Giuseppe Garibaldi, past the statue of Garibaldi (above a pool filled with turtles), to the Riva degli Schiavoni shore.

St. Mark's Square isn't really a buzzing or cool place to go at night, but I popped along in the evening to see what was happening. The two grandest cafes, Florian's and Quadri, had competing sets of musicians playing on opposite sides of the square – mostly lively waltzes. I decided the Quadri orchestra had a slight edge, thanks to the panache displayed by their synchronised-movement musicians. The audience was split between well-off older couples sitting at the outside tables and a motley rabble of cheaper tourists and school parties standing around behind them. I could understand why couples on their dream holiday might want to sit there, but the night wasn't warm, the piazza had a rather dead, cluttered feel to it despite the music, and it really seemed like a congregation place for tourists who had no idea where to go after dinner. (I'd recommend Campo Santa Margherita or hidden back-street bars for a livelier atmosphere and less touristy vibe).

I was staying at Hotel Campiello, which was my favourite hotel of this trip. It was smart, comfortable, good-value and offered a free internet point as well as a handsome receptionist. However, my one night in the hotel was ruined in the most unromantic of fashions. Read the next instalment of this travel journal to learn more.
> Day 4: A Venetian honeymoon gone wrong; exploring Dorsoduro

Torcello, Burano and an evening on the Grand Canal

Venice, May 2006: Day 2
> Previous day: Venice in the rain
Sunshine! I arrived at the quay to a beautiful view: the lagoon glinting green - the warm brick-and-stone towers of Venice - a mountain backdrop, peaks capped with white snow – the sun dancing on little waves – like opening a jewel box.

I was exploring the lagoon today, so from my base on the Lido I caught the large ferry which ploughs along the outer edge of the lagoon northwards towards the islands of Burano and Torcello. Sitting with the sun and wind on my face I was able to observe the various activities of the lagoon: dredging, fishing, construction works (perhaps the controversial Moses project, against which I saw various banners and posters organising protests).

Torcello, the abandoned island, was my principal goal. But to get there you need to take a smaller ferry from Burano, and by the time everyone had piled off my boat, the Burano ferry was already leaving its jetty. With half an hour until the next departure, I explored Burano. The island is famous for its brightly-painted fishermen's houses, and is incredibly picturesque. As I snapped away with my camera, I wondered whether the locals are legally required to live in gaudy houses, for the sake of the tourist trade. What would happen if you fancied living in a plain white house?

Although maintenance works on one of the canals detracted from the views, Burano was still a very pretty and charming island. Far more real and working-class than Venice, and on a much more human scale. Although the larger canals were busy with tourists, there were also quiet alleys festooned with washing lines that were just as appealing.

The most bizarre thing about Burano when I visited was the way in which the houses seemed to be growing umbrellas. Presumably because it had rained all the previous day, the town was full of umbrellas hung out to dry; dancing out from windows and washing lines like strange excrescences against the bright-painted walls.

Burano would have been a nice place to spend a couple of lazy hours; but I had a schedule and it was time to head off to Torcello.

Torcello is an evocative expanse of marshland, interrupted by the cathedral and town square which are all that's left of the island's busy past. I could write far more about the island, but suffice it to say that it's well-worth visiting: for its atmosphere, for the lagoon view from the campanile and for the cathedral's Byzantine mosaics. Wear insect repellent, though. I was planning to stop for lunch in a pleasant garden restaurant, but the clouds of insects put me off. I'd already been bitten once in Venice and I had no intention of providing lunch for the mosquitos of Torcello.

After returning to the Lido I made an afternoon sortie into Venice, wandering around in a daze of canals, palaces and vistas. I returned in time to take some photographs of the fine old hotels on the Lido before the sun sank. Then it was time for the Venetian evening.

A chance encounter on my previous visit to Venice had led to a rendezvous on a bridge, which led to an evening attending a party overlooking the Grand Canal (looking down on gondolas sliding past in the moonlight) and taking a private tour of Venice. So often the unplanned moments of holidays are among the most memorable...

> Day 3: The Lido, a Venetian quest and a new hotel

Venice in the rain

Day One in Venice - May 2006

This was my second visit to Venice and it started off in the dark and in the rain. My delayed flight arrived at Marco Polo Airport at around 10pm and I didn't see much on the ferry journey to the Lido. Murano appeared out of the night, looking picturesque, then vanished again. The Lido itself was unromantic – streets and cars rather than the canals and gondolas of Venice – but I was too tired to care about my surroundings. By now it was too late to go out for the evening, so having found my accommodation (Hotel Reiter) I did not leave again till morning.

My first day started with the ominous sound of raindrops on tarmac. It rained heavily for the entire day. So what is there to do in Venice in the rain? I soon discovered the limitations. With rain outside and condensation inside there wasn't a view through the windows of the vaporetto I took over the lagoon to Venice. And wandering the streets of Venice in the rain isn't as easy as it sounds. For a start, they're mostly narrow lanes, with room for only two people holding umbrellas to pass. Tourists in Venice aren't put off my the rain (most are only here for a day or two), and negotiating crowded thoroughfares with an umbrella while jumping puddles is no easy task. The covered colonnades around St Mark's Square had become a refuge and gathering point for hundreds of bright waterproof-clad tour groups.

Before long I found that getting around and sightseeing was far from straightforward. And with my shoes beginning to let water, the only thing to do was to get out of the rain.

So I visited the Museo Correr and the Museo Archeologico, a rambling complex containing some fine art and classical statues, as well as interesting scenes of Venetian life. The museum's facilities were inadequate, but apart from that it was a good way to spend a couple of hours.

I ate a quick, late picnic lunch in my hotel room, then braved the heavy rain once again and wandered the lanes of central Venice for a while, more from duty than inclination. I contemplated buying a new (dry!) pair of shoes to cope with the wet, then decided that I should be optimistic and hope for an improvement in the weather.

I was lucky: by the time I'd eaten dinner (a good asparagus risotto with white wine in a cheap restaurant close to the Lido ferry stop, called La Pizzeria) the evening was drying out. There were streaks of pink sunset in the sky over the lagoon. I wandered down to the waterfront to look at the view over towards Venice. An elderly drunk was singing loudly in a small park by the water's edge. He was singing in Italian, too – it's not often you see an Italian drunk. A police boat had pulled up alongside to investigate this untoward behaviour. A strangely picturesque way to end the day.

> Day Two: Torcello, Burano and an evening on the Grand Canal.

Venice and Rome in May

I recently returned from an eight-day trip to Rome and Venice. It was a pleasant week, although surprisingly lacking in comic or disastrous events.

May is probably the best month for visiting Italy, with plenty of sunshine but without the searing heat of high summer. I experienced some weather extremes on this trip, though. My first day in Venice was memorable for the heavy rain which fell without pause from dawn until dusk. And my last two days in Rome were remarkable for a tarmac-melting, sunburn-inflicting heatwave.

Favourite hotel of the trip: the Hotel Campiello in Venice.
Best meal: a welcome plate of pasta at the Trattoria di Priscilla on the Via Appia Antica in Rome.
Worst meal: never buy the prepackaged sandwiches on the Eurostar train.
Most cliched moment: an evening appointment on the Accademia bridge over the Grand Canal.
Saddest Venetian sight: the German holidaymaker locked out of his room by his wife.
Conversational topic of the month (maybe year): the emerging Juventus football scandal.

Read on for more of my travel notes.

- Day One: Venice in the rain

A night out in Venice

We were two girls out on the town in Venice, and we'd been rather disappointed with the town's nightlife (or lack of it) up till now. So after a large meal, helped down by a generous pitcher of strong white wine, we followed our guidebook's directions to Campo Santa Margherita. This long open square is apparently the busiest and most buzzing area of Venice at night. Well, there were two bars open and a few people clustered outside, which was certainly the busiest place we'd seen so far.

The liveliest bar was the Caffè, which was crowded with what seemed to be a mixture of locals, tourists and students. We elected to drink at the bar and were enjoying our dirt-cheap beverages (a prosecco and a very good local-speciality spritz) when we had our first encounter of the evening. Three young men edged nearer and nearer, speculating audibly on our nationality, before asking if we were Finnish(?).

One of our new acquaintances was a cheery American ("a firefighter from Chicago"), travelling around Europe. One of his friends was a faintly creepy Italian who looked rather like a predatory bespectacled mole, and was introduced to us as "the man behind the man behind the man". The third of this odd grouping was a bouncy young Italian from the mainland wearing a pale pink sweater and a wide snakeskin belt which kept drawing our fascinated eyes inexorably but inappropriately towards his groin area. We politely refused more drinks, and chatted in a casual fashion although frequently at cross-purposes, thanks to the language barrier (the conversation was in English to suit J and the American boy, and I didn't feel the need to explain that I spoke Italian). J laughed across at me, and Snakeskin Belt demanded 'What are you laughing at?'. She couldn't very well say 'at you' so she simply said 'Oh, we like laughing.' Snakeskin Belt pointed at me and said 'But she's not laughing'. J told him 'she's laughing inside', whereupon he leaned towards me and said into my ear, in heavily-accented English 'I want to laugh inside you'. Our mirth overcame the outrage I was trying to convey: J and I laughed and left.

We crossed the campo to the other bar and sat ourselves down at an outside table to enjoy a more staid atmosphere. The rest of our night probably merits another blog entry, but for now suffice it to say we enjoyed more drinks (for which we duly suffered the next morning), had some politer conversation, and nearly witnessed a mysterious fight. Then it was time for the night-boat home.