Avoiding the Venetian Rain

I never expected the Venetian weather to feel so familiar, as Lizzie and I browse around the tourist shops of the Rialto on our second morning in the city. Outside, the rain is pelting and the wind has a bite to it, just like an Autumn day in Britain, and a substantial contrast to the day before.  In truth, a day like this can be no fun in Venice - outdoor activities become a chore, whilst indoor attractions are flooded with tourists, each one with the same plan to avoid the rain. From the Rialto, we hastily make for the church of San Polo and seek shelter inside.  San Polo is part of the Chorus Pass scheme, a good value discount card incorporating seventeen of the city's churches.  We decide to buy the passes, and quickly make our money back through visiting many of the area's religious buildings.  This ticks all my boxes; the churches are historic, they're a fascinating and intrinsic part of Venice's story, they are free from tour groups, and they provide us with regular breaks from the wild weather.  In the course of the morning, we visit San Polo, San Roco, Santa Maria Gloriosa Dei Frari, San Giacomo dell'Orio and San Stae, stopping in a cafe opposite the Frari for a bowl of pasta and a drink.  It is here that I note, with some humour, Lizzie's incorrect coffee order (I think she ordered an Americano, but got as espresso), whilst I choose a Coca Cola, understood in practically every language in the world.  The pasta comes recommended by the old Italian couple on the next table, whose smiles and gesturing in our direction suggests they are very satisfied with their meal.  The only other people in the cafe are a middle-aged English couple, who order their coffees in English and, it has to be said, get exactly what they ask for.  Don't worry Lizzie; at least you made the effort. ;-)

The church of San Polo

Lizzie enjoys her accidental espresso

The clouds break by the time we move again, although there is still a dampness in the air, and we decide to visit the recently-restored Natural History Museum.  Now, those who know me will know how much I enjoy a good museum, and here is one of the best.  The collection starts with prehistoric fossils and dinosaur skeletons, to taxonomy, minerals, and even a weird-and-wonderful section including an albino deer.  Even better, we have the place almost entirely to ourselves, with just one other couple, who seem to scurry around in a mad dash.  Whenever the security personnel disappear, I snap away happily with my camera, although eventually the same man appears in each room we enter, and the game is up.  Nonetheless, the museum presents a fabulous collection, well worth the admission price, and one of the unexpected finds of our trip.

Scenes from the Natural History Museum

Back at the Rialto, which is by now dripping dry in the late afternoon sun, we explore some more shops and discover the charming little church San Giacomo di Rialto, certainly one of the stranger-looking churches from outside, but cosily beautiful within.  On the Rialto bridge, which is lined with more tourist shops, I take a shine to an FBC Unione Venezia football shirt, but manage to resist.  The Rialto Bridge is undoubtedly the tackiest part of Venice, and one can find a lot of tat in some of the shops, but it is generally more low-key than many other tourist centres I have been to.  Besides, who can resist a rocking plastic gondola, or a glittery carnival mask?

The church of San Giacomo di Rialto

Inside San Giacomo di Rialto

The Rialto Bridge

The Grand Canal from the Rialto Bridge

 Changed, dried, and ready to face the world again, we make the short journey from our hotel across one bridge, to Tarnowska's, an American bar with an extensive cocktail menu.  The evening is spent in fine fashion, and I can't help but feel a little bit like Earnest Hemingway sipping on my Screwdriver.  Lizzie, meanwhile, orders a Bellini, but they're all out of peach, so she settles for a Spritz made with the Italian liquor Aperol.  The bar is a classy but inexpensive place, with colourful staff and a very anglophone clientele, and there is talk of football, and the upcoming European Champions League final, which the bar is screening in a couple of days time.  We recline, relax, talk about our day and soak up all the atmosphere, before wandering merrily back to our hotel, enjoying the sheer infectiousness of Venice.

An evening in Tarnowska's

Discovering Venice

This is a picture of my grandad looking up at the Doge's Palace from St. Mark's Square in Venice, taken in 1992.

And this is a picture of me looking up at the Doge's Palace twenty years later!  Not a bad match eh?

We all know Venice, through pictures in travel magazines and on television, but it is still something of an awesome experience to come upon the city in person.  We flew into Marco Polo airport, the city appearing into view on our descent, a mesmerising and captivating collection of canals and campaniles which grew out of one of the least hospitable situations of any world city - a marshy lagoon.

An hour and a half later and we have found our hotel, located in the lovely Campo San Maurizio, half way between the city's two best-known sites, Piazza San Marco and the Rialto Bridge.  Rested, showered and refreshed, we head out into the early evening streets to take our first glimpse of the city.  It is odd that the lack of traffic comes as something of a surprise, but to one used to dodging cars and buses, it is an almost unreal experience.  There are, quite literally, no cars on the island of Venice, no traffic lights, no roads.  The result is a soporific and quite splendid feeling of pleasure, a go-slow pace unheard of in any other world city.

Being tourists, we make our first stop the Piazza San Marco, famous the world over for its Doge's Palace, Saint Mark's Basilica, and campanile.  There's a definite air of class about the place, each structure exuding historical significance; indeed I find the sense of history particularly pungent in the evening air, where the tourist levels are more manageable, and you can hear the gentle lap of the lagoon up against the jetties.  You can also hear the orchestras of the opulent restaurants in the square - in particular the Caffe Florian - where should you wish to enjoy the privilege of an evening drink to their beautiful music, you can expect an extra six euros to be charged to your bill.  For those of us on a budget, the music can be enjoyed for free by watching the orchestra from the piazza.  Some suave individuals even take to dancing to the tunes, which range from Vivaldi to Mozart, Verdi to Puccini, each piece applauded by a crowd of appreciative onlookers and coffee drinkers.  It makes for a marvellous and atmospheric introduction to the city.

The next morning, and time to see what these packed-out water buses are all about.  To the locals, these are the vaporettos, the main means of getting anywhere in the Venetian lagoon.  It all makes for rather a confusing time, as each route map appears to differ from reality, each ticket booth is the wrong one.  It also becomes apparent that we may be the only people in all of Venice who actually bought tickets in any event, as we are neither checked on or off the boat, but the ticket price quickly becomes worth it, if only to see the lovely city skyline from the water. 

Our first destination is just across the water from San Marco, the glorious church of San Giorgio Maggiore, built in the Sixteenth century in the classical renaissance style.  The church is bright and airy, cool and peaceful, a good place to take refuge from the already punishing Sun.  Towards the back, the church's campanile is equipped with a lift, which for a small fee will take you to the top of the tower, where the views of the city are unsurpassed, stretching from the Italian mainland, to the Adriatic.  Everybody wants a view, and the little campanile quickly becomes overcrowded, as the lift delivers more and more people to the top.  As we descend, it is surprising to see how long the queue has got - after all, we had walked straight in only half an hour before - and we leave the church with the satisfaction that we have beaten the rush- a hard thing to do in Venice.

 

The day gets even hotter as we take the vaporetto back San Marco, and eventually find a shady spot beneath the trees of La Biennale di Venezia, a great park in which to eat a sandwich and escape from the crowds. As in most places in Italy, a gelateria is just around the corner, and so we feast on scoops of mint and chocolate ice cream whilst strolling to the Arsenale, a naval base that was once the military powerhouse of the Venetian republic.  Nowadays, the Arsenale flies the flag of the Italian republic, and although it remains a restricted military base, the twin-towered gates of the site are more beautiful than imposing.  There isn't much else to do at the Arsenale other than admire the fine brickwork, and so we wander the backstreets, finding along our way a glass workshop where the customer can watch the glass being made.  By now, the heat of the sun is too much for me (Lizzie, meanwhile, is coping much better), and so we retire to the hotel for a shower and a lie down.  For me, this is one of the untold joys of travel - a cool shower after a hot day's exploration completely reinvigorates my flagging energy levels.

 
The intensity of the sun vanishes in the late afternoon, as do the tour groups and queues, and we are able to walk straight into the Doge's Palace.  The Doge was the title of the leader of the Venetian republic, elected for life by the aristocracy of the city-state, in a system that continued for a thousand years, until the invasion by Napoleon Bonaparte in 1797.  His palace, however, remained intact, drawing the modern-day crowds despite its strict non-photo policy,  something I hate when I go to see interesting places.  They are serious about it though, and I fancy there are more guards employed to stop you snapping than the Doge ever had to defend the site.  The palace is certainly impressive, though, and full of classical paintings and sculptures, everything that Napoleon hated when he invaded the city-state.  Beyond the palatial quarters, however, lies the darker side of the Doges - across the infamous Bridge of Sighs is the palace's extensive prison, where numerous tiny cells hint at a life of cruelty and suffering.  The bridge provides the only way in or out of the complex, and is so called because of the sighs of the prisoners who were taken across it, many never to see the light of day again.  This whole part of the palace has a sickening atmosphere to it, and is not somewhere to linger for long.

Back outside, and enough of the evening remains to enjoy the illuminations of Piazza San Marco.  No gaudy neon here, the simplistic lighting around the square once again highlights the good taste of the city.  It's an easy twilight in which to fall in love a thousand times, as we stroll hand-in-hand across the square, fully adapted to Venetian pace, tired but elated, starry-eyed and excited, eager to taste more of the city after a quite scintillating first day.

Jubilation!

What a wonderful weekend!  A weekend full of joy and celebration, patriotism, national unity and togetherness.  A brilliant weekend for Britain, a great advert for the nation, a massive lift for a country badly in need of a cheer-up.

Our weekend started in the pretty cathedral city of Chichester, an hour's drive from Lizzie's Surrey home.  Our arrival coincided with a Jubilee parade, and the crowds were out in force to add their voice to the cheers and whistles resounding across the country.  It was brilliant - Saint George and the dragon were there, along with bagpipers, Royal look-alikes and classic vehicles.

On Sunday we wandered down to the common in Shalford, to take a look at their summer fete.  Despite it being an unfortunately cloudy day, the spirits were high as the loudspeaker played a host of period tunes, and we tucked into hog roast rolls and cake.  Lizzie didn't win any prizes in the raffles, and I didn't win anything on the coconut shy, but our hopes were high as Lizzie entered her dog, Poppy, into the dog show.  There were many categories, and Poppy was going for the crown of golden oldie, for dogs over nine years old.

Well, she may not have won the competition, but we all thought she was the best dog, and at least it meant we could enjoy a commiserative ice cream!  There was no time to hang around for the awards anyway, as the fascinating Jubilee pageant was about to begin on the television.  The coverage of one thousand boats making their way down the Thames in honour of the Queen was enthralling, inspirational stuff!

(Photo courtesy of www.telegraph.co.uk)

Day three of the celebrations, and to the little town of Godalming, which was hosting one of the 2,012 beacons due to be lit as part of the celebrations.  The townfolk gathered outside Borough Hall, where councillors were attempting to recreate a group photograph taken on the day of the Coronation, 60 years ago.  Army cadets then led a procession of torch-bearers through the town and into the park, where the festivities had clearly been well underway for hours.  A fabulous brass band kept the crowd amused as night fell, and after the saying of the Jubilee prayer, we all joined in the national anthem.  The beacon was lit to a rousing cheer, and then a seriously impressive burst of fireworks filled the sky, as the band struck up Land of Hope and Glory.  This, for me, was the best part of the whole weekend, so atmospheric and so very memorable.

Our final day of celebration, Tuesday, saw us up uncomfortably early for the train to London.  The capital was certainly busy as we navigated our way around closed-off roads and barriers, eventually ending up on The Strand, just in time to see the Royal car itself, Her Majesty on her way to Saint Paul's Cathedral.  Further down The Strand, a giant screen had been erected at Trafalgar Square, with the square itself shoehorned full of spectators.  From here we made for Whitehall, choosing a spot just beyond the Cenotaph to watch the pageantry unfold.  Considering the millions of people who turned up to watch the event, we didn't get too bad a view, as the bearskins marched through, followed by the cavalry with their perfectly trained horses.  After what must have been two hours, cheering could be heard from Westminster, the household cavalry galloped past, and the royal carriages came into view, Queen Elizabeth with Prince Charles and Camilla in the first, followed by William, Kate and Harry in the second.  We were taken aback by the speed of the procession, but we did the best we could to snap some photos, camera in one hand, union jack waving in the other.  The crowning moment of our Jubilee weekend, the Royal Family themselves, was an absolutely unforgettable moment for Lizzie and I, and every other spectator in the crowd.

Finally, a word about an 86-year-old woman who embodies the spirit of a nation.  In her 60 years on the throne, she has remained the one constant of the country, ever faithful to her sense of duty, unwavering in her national obligation.  Queen Elizabeth never asked or chose to be our Queen, but she has fulfilled her role unflinchingly since the moment she learned of her father's death in 1952.  Inspirational, brave and passionate, she is a national asset, the very best of British.  

This blog would like to thank Queen Elizabeth II for 60 glorious years of service to the nation.  God Save the Queen!