To the Islands!

An early start on a beautifully blue-skied day sees us boarding the vaporetto to the island of Murano.  Lying a little way north of Venice, Murano is an altogether softer affair, with a cute laziness in the air, and a more authentic feel of the real Italy.  Quite naturally, the island's glass museum makes the perfect starting point, with colourful displays reflecting the traditional industry.  Murano is clearly very proud of its glassworks, seeing it as a major export, with prices reflecting the overall quality of the pieces.  The museum's size is perhaps slightly underwhelming (we content ourselves in having been eligible for the reduced youth price), but what is on display is both interesting and beautiful.  Centre stage on the top floor is an enormous giant glass aquarium, full of colourful glass sea creatures and plants, but unfortunately under the watchful eye of the photograph police.  Elsewhere, plates, vases and beads fill the display cases, some pieces dating back to Roman times, and excavated with incredible care.

Murano

Artefacts from the glass museum

 We take lunch from a tiny little cafe on a canal side, revelling in the bargain prices of our €1.50 sandwiches.  It is only when we open these that we realise, this price was for half the sandwich, but the food is good and the experience enjoyable, as we sit in the shade of moored-up boats, dangling our legs over the edge so that our feet are almost touching the canal water.  A short wander later brings us to two of Murano's churches, San Pietro Martire and Santi Maria e Donato, the latter so called because the body of Saint Donato, patron saint of Murano, was brought here from Cephalonia in 1125.  The churches of Murano are less bothered by photographers and, unlike their Venetian counterparts, are free to enter, which may explain their popularity.  They certainly provide us with some shade from the sun, now beating down at the heart of the day.

Santi Maria e Donato

 On our way to the boats for the island of Burano, we happen upon a uniquely Murano garden.  The island's rather lovely Giardinoitalia - Italian garden - is made up entirely of glass, down to the flowers, leaves, stems, and creatures who inhabit it.  Lizzie's favourite (and I have to agree with her); a little green frog sitting happily on a Lilly pad.  Beyond the garden, the farce of trying to find a boat to Burano awaits.  We join a crowd (queue is far too polite a word), which fans out behind us and into the street, as one boat moors up, then leaves, and is quickly followed by another that doesn't even stop.  Forty five minutes later, and our 'once-every-twenty-minutes' boat finally arrives to take on passengers.  What ensues is something of a rugby scrum, as eager tourists scramble to get aboard.  The vessel takes on what certainly looks like an unsafe amount, but this doesn't seem to deter the ticket officials, who wave more and more travellers through the gates and onto the deck.  Eventually, there are enough passengers even for them, and our boat departs - with an extra burst of fuel - into the northern lagoon.  I can't help but feel I'm riding on the back of a crocodile that has eaten too much, for the ride is sluggish as we pass uninhabited islands, and are passed by much faster, less busy boats.  Still, if it gets us to Burano, I shan't complain, and a slow journey really helps us to appreciate the scenery - the Dolomites rise majestically in the distance, their snowy caps mingling with the wispy summer clouds that have collected above them.

The Giardinoitalia

The Dolomites rise in the distance

 Setting foot on Burano feels a bit like walking into the Godfather film.  No we are not in Sicily, but you can almost taste the family tradition and Italian culture of the island.  Burano is most famous for its colourful houses, which distinguishes it almost provocatively from the other islands.  The legend goes that each house in the row was painted in bright contrast to its neighbours, so that the island's fishermen could pick them out whilst fishing on the lagoon.  Nowadays the practice is just for fun, which may explain why those houses not facing the lagoon are also vibrantly coloured.  What also fascinates me, however, is that many houses in the same row also have very different shapes and appearance.  Blinded by the dazzling colours, this didn't become apparent to me until I took a photo in black-and-white.  Take this row of buildings by the Chiesa di San Martino; each is uniquely painted, but also uniquely shaped and styled, obviously not built as one block, but rather cobbled together one-by-one.  I love this individuality, I find it appealing and very charming.

Colourful houses on Burano

 There isn't much to do on Burano after we enjoy the architecture, devour a gelato, and visit the church of San Martino, so we hop on a much quieter boat back to Venice.  As we approach the northern end of the Venetian island, we pass San Michele, the cemetery island, where the good people of Venice have been buried for centuries.  Due to space restrictions, the average stay here is now only 60 years, after which time a person is exhumed and reburied on the Italian mainland, so this may explain the enormous number of cremation memorials, wall-after-wall, block-after-block.  What is perhaps most striking is that nearly every memorial is adorned with colourful flowers - a testament, perhaps, to the Catholic respect for the deceased.  For the living, the experience can get a little overwhelming, a tad claustrophobic, so Lizzie and I content ourselves with a half-hour wander, before being on our way.

The cemetery of San Michele

 Evening arrives in Venice and class wafts through the air as the tourist population dresses up for the stylish bars, restaurants and canal cruises of the city.  Murano and Burano have left me with a headache, but restored after a fine pizza dinner, we arrive at the nearby church of San Vidal for a Vivaldi concert.  The church is a wonderful setting for the event, and every seat is full as the orchestra take to the stage, then woo the audience with sumptuous music for nearly two hours, playing far more than the obligatory Spring.  Afterwards we all pour out into the square, heads full of the music, and slightly drunk on the whole experience that I fancy we float back to our hotel.  What a day!

An evening with Vivaldi, San Vidal