Postcards and Prosecco

Italian politics, water-taxis and Venetian street-planning

In an earlier post, I commented that Amsterdam is quite pretty.  Well, if Amsterdam were to be described as a pretty, young maiden, Venice would be a beautiful, old woman.  Venice is certainly aging yet she is still stunning and well deserved of all the romantic allusions and "Wish you were here" postcards.

The flight over from Amsterdam was largely uneventful (other than Holly's unquenchable thirst).  You might expect Amsterdam and Venice to be similar given they're both old European towns dominated by canals, but we knew we were in an entirely different place the moment we stepped off the plane and entered Marco Polo Airport.

Immediately above the turnstyles where you leave the departure lounges and enter the public spaces, there is a large sign harshly criticising the Italian government (over there in Rome) for delaying the building of an airport shuttle service and displaying in anarchistic-red LED lights the number of days said service has been delayed by the "bureaucratic red tape" (oh, only about 10 years!).  It's not hard to imagine that this sign is the result of all the wild gesticulations, finger-pointing and dramatic shouting that have gone on over the years.

Apart from the regular near-misses with cyclists, Amsterdam seemed a quiet, civilised place where public order was ingrained (we barely even saw grafitti let alone cigarette butts), whereas Venice (and I think it's fair to say, Italy on the whole) is far more likely to loudly proclaim it's displeasure about, well, pretty much anything!

Leaving the terminal, we lug our luggage along the path where the shuttle service would run (while more signs remind that it's the government's fault that we're walking and not riding in the airconditioned comfort of an electric tram) to the piers where you catch your choice of either a long and boring bus trip over the causeway, a sleek (and very expensive) Bond-esque water-taxi, or our middle-of-the-road choice: the Alilaguna vaporetto.  I know, sounds sexy, right?  It's not.  It's basically the same as the public water-buses that ferry the masses through the canals just not as crowded.

Our chosen mode of transport: the Alilaguna vaporetto

Sean Connery's preferred mode of transport: water-taxi

Having said that, our tanned capitán was very dashing in his Aviator sun-glasses, white slacks and matching polo with a fetching navy blue sweater artfully and oh-so-very Roman Holiday draped over his shoulders.  I didn't actually notice any of that but Holly assures me that it's an accurate description.  She also says his name was Antonio.

Anyway, while we cruise slowly towards the main island, (I'm sure it was) Sean Connery and his glamourous (and well-heeled) pals whizz by in their water-taxis leaving us spluttering in their sea-spray.

En route from Marco Polo airport to Venice

After a couple of stops along the way to let passengers dis/embark (told you it was like the bus), we arrive 30 minutes later at Fondamente Nove (or Nouve if you check the map - the first of many helpful-for-tourists discrepancies we discovered with street-naming - maybe it is the ninth new street or perhaps the new ninth street?) in the Cannaregio region of Venice.

Being the seasoned travellers that we obviously are, we now know that a Fondamente is a street that runs alongside a canal and is usually, but not always (again, helping out those tourists), named after the canal, whereas a Calle is a street with no canal.  A Ponte is a bridge crossing over a canal and is often named after the canal it crosses or sometimes the street (or plaza) it leads to or from.  I suspect the town-planner (assuming there was one) was schizophrenic.

Following the email directions provided to us by our host, Andrea, we arrive at the wistfully named Fondamente Zen.  From here, we are supposed to cross Ponte Zanardi but said ponte is nowhere to be found.  In my best broken Italian, we ask a couple of locals but they just give us that endearing Mediterranean shrug where the shoulders, eyebrows and hands gesture up and the mouth turns down.  We're now speaking the universal language and this essentially translates as "your guess is as good as mine, mate".  With no other obvious alternative, we take a punt and try the bridge we are standing next to, Ponte Zen.  As fortune would have it, we find ourselves at the right place when we get to the other side.  It seems obvious now, Ponte Zen is acutally Ponte Zanardi (or is it the other way around?)  Fortunately, Venice is so charming, if you get lost, it will almost certainly be in a beautiful spot.

Fondamente Zen by night

From here, the rest of the way to our accommodation, Ca' Zanardi, is easy.  We enter through the artsy little courtyard (it's hosting an exhibition at the moment) into the ground floor and it's clear that this place was once an extravagant manor house.  Marble covers all the floors, beautiful ornate plasterwork clings to the walls and ceilings (much of it bearing its original gild-work) and the original frescos are still clearly visible throughout the entire three floors.

Our room in Ca' Zanardi (not visible: separate private bathroom)

We're greeted by Andrea who helps us carry our bags up the worn stairs to the second floor.  He shows us through what was probably the original ballroom - the old chandelier still hanging - and out onto the terrazzo where he offers us our first of many glasses of prosecco.  The prosecco is crisp and spritzy and we have already fallen in love with La Serenissima.