Prior to departing for Italy, I made loose plans with a friend to meet in Venice. I hadn’t visited Venice in twenty years and I felt the island calling to me. I think I had some past life there, long ago when Venice was the center of the world. Don’t ask me why but La Serenissima has always felt familiar in an uncanny way. As my friend’s plans changed, I remained determined to see Venice. I was in Italy, after all. I bought tickets on March 22nd at the Orvieto train station during which time I was stopped by police and asked for my papers. That confrontation sort of threw me for a loop. I’m authority averse and don’t take kindly to anyone asking me for any papers. Everyone in the terminal got asked for ID, so I didn’t feel singled out, but the event magnified some of the cultural differences between the US and Italy. Later that evening I went on to read a dissertation on your individual rights and the rights of police to search or otherwise ask for identification. Unlike in the US, police in uniform can randomly stop you and ask to see your ID. They can even search your belongings if they suspect drug or arms trafficking without a warrant.
The judicial system in Italy, in short, is quite different from that of the US and it’s worth a closer look. I had just finished reading The Monster of Florence: A True Story by Douglas Preston and Mario Spezi, which highlights the corruption of the courts and let’s just say that Italy has its fair share of problems like everywhere else. To this day the killers who murdered those couples in the Tuscan countryside between 1968 and 1985 are on the loose because the man in power decided to ignore all evidence and pursue a totally different group of people.
Alas, I digress. Back to Venice…
On the Freccia Rossa
The high-speed train doesn’t stop in Orvieto so I had to take the RV (Regional line) to Florence to catch the Freccia Rossa. As you travel you start to learn how things work. The little green ticket stamping machines at all the platforms are used to validate your ticket. Once validated (punched) the ticket is good for travel within four hours. The large, red automated ticket selling machines at the terminals are hilarious though…as soon as you select “ENGLISH” the thing says, “WATCH OUT FOR PICKPOCKETS!” thereby alerting everyone at the train station that you are indeed a foreigner and that you have pockets that need picking. I seriously cracked up. These machines are sooo loud.
I boarded the train in Orvieto at 8am and arrived in Maria Santa Novella terminal in Florence two hours later. I had a twenty minute layover before boarding the high speed train. The Freccia trains offer free wifi, comfortable seating, charging outlets, and a snack service even in second class. First class gets you gourmet menus and more luxurious seats. While on the train it occurred ot me that I’d like to take every Freccia Rossa to every destination it stops at. Goals, you know…
At 1:30pm (right on time I might add) the train pulled into Santa Lucia station in Venice. When I saw water outside my window and the distant domes of the city I seriously welled up. I was overjoyed.
Then, when I stepped outside to all of that hustle and bustle of people, boats, bags, crisp blue water, and pastel colored palazzos I really lost it. I had to take a moment and just–cry. I think I texted my husband…I can’t believe I’m here! I’m in Venice. I’ve arrived.
I swear I felt like the luckiest person alive.
The Grand Canal
I could have walked to St. Mark’s Piazza from the terminal but I chose to take the longest vaporetto route along the Grand Canal to see all of those fabulous palazzi with their pastel hued plaster and grand arabesque windows. This was my fourth time in Venice, but it may as well have been my first. I experienced awe all over again…and again…and again…
What a place! What a fantasy!
Best Windows
I got off at the Rialto Bridge and joined the throngs on their way to Rialto. Twenty years had passed since my last visit, but I found that Venice had not changed. I joined the throngs of people and wove my way to the beating heart of Venice–Piazza San Marco. On my way I heard dozens of languages, and spied on hundreds of conversations. My ears filled with the cries of hawkers, the songs of gondoliers, the soulful notes of a distant piano. I dodged vegetable carts, strollers, Amazon delivery wagons, and countless waitors soliciting my appetite. At St. Mark’s I marveled at the cathedral for a good long while and took in the scene before walking over to the clocktower. My hotel room, you see, was supposedly in the clock tower itself! I nabbed a last minute deal on a place called simply Best Windows that claimed to have the very best view over the square. The door of this supposed wonder, however, was quite locked. The only instruction was to call the number listed.
When I called a rather agitated man answered. I could barely hear him over the noise of the square. “Come to Hotel Antico Panada,” he said in Italian. “It’s right around the corner.”
After a few wrong turns, I dipped under scaffolding and tarps and found the cozy, if dated, lobby of Hotel Paneda. The man behind the desk looked like he had run a marathon in his suit. Sweat was pouring from his face which he wiped over and over with a handkerchief. “I hope you don’t have large luggage,” he said, “because I can’t carry it. The room is up some flights, you see.”
“Non c’e problema,” I replied. “I only have a backpack.”
He appeared visibly relieved.
I followed this man through various alleys back to the piazza where he proceeds to hand me the keys to my room. We climb five stories to an unassuming door marked “Marco Polo” (of course). Along the way he asks me where I am from. Cuba. New York.
“Cubana! I love Cuba!” he tells me. “But you would not like my last name if I told you.”
“It’s not Castro is it?”
“Si, e Castro…”
We laugh.
I tell him that’s a terrible last name.
He opens the door to the room and my jaw drops. The description was right. This room had the best damn view in Venice. WOW!
“Bellisima vista!” I exclaim.
He wipes his forehead, nods and smiles, before scurrying back down the stairs.
I toss my backpack and rush to the window. I am at the very top floor of the palazzo adjdacent to the clock. I can hear the deep groan of the mechanism beyond the upholstered wall. Was this really my room? The row of windows faced the square laying bare all of Venice’s drama! The best part, this room cost me 100€ a night! I paid 208€ for two nights and that included the 8€ tourist tax. Score!
If you are headed to Venice and traveling light, book this room. You won’t get coffee machines or whatever but you will have the Best Windows in town.
Caffé Florian Is a Must
I could have stayed there for an hour staring at the tableau of humanity below, but I was in Venice after all and the piano player across the square reminded me that I hadn’t had the pleasure of Caffè Florian’s cioccolata in tazza in two decades.
Caffè Florian is considered the oldest Cafe in Europe and a symbol of Venice. Founded by Floriano Francesconi, the cafe opened on the 29th of December 1720. At that time it was called Alla Venezia Trionfante (Triumphant Venice) but the patrons soon began calling the establishment by its owner’s name. The cafe was renown for serving the finest teas and wines from all corners of the Venetian empire and counted among it’s glitterati, composers, poets, artists, and courtessans. A little known fact was that unlike other establishments, Caffè Florian was the only place that admitted women. This probably explains why Casanova chose it as his “hunting ground” in his never ending search for female company.
But back to the hot chocolate, this is no ordinary hot cocoa but an orgasmic Venetian experience not to be missed. I took a seat in the red velvet interior of Oriental room next to an Arabic family traveling from the UAE. It was a little meta to be surrounded by painted Arabic odalisques while overhearing a contentions argument over the color of the orange juice in Arabic. I assumed they were talking about the blood orange juice based on the fact that the waitor had to explain in English that indeed it was not tomato juice.
The cioccolata in tazza ran me 11€ and I paid it gladly. To this day, this is the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had. MarieBelle in New York city comes close.
When in Venice, Get Lost!
After my sugar boost I just walked. Strolling through Venice is one of the most rewarding travel experiences you can have. The whole city is a sensory treat. The architecture alone invites endless wandering. Yes, I took a lot of pictures. I think it’s impossible for anyone with an artistic eye not to want to capture everything.
And so I explored until the sun began to set and my feet ached. At around this time my friend K, texted me and asked if I wanted to have drinks. I was thrilled that she had found time to sneak away with me for a bit. I met K last year when I began house searching in Frosinone. She became my realtor agent, but also my friend. We just hit it off instantly. We headed out to a quiet enoteca where we enjoyed delightful conversation, and wine paired with Venetian cicchetti.
Cicchetti are small snacks or side dishes, typically served in traditional bàcari and osterias in Venice. Similar to Spanish tapas or Turkish meze, they’re little savory bites meant to go down with a glass of wine. We had bread with inventive toppings but my favorite was the baccala ala mantecata and the Sarde in Saor, a Venetian classic.
I am so glad that we managed to meet cause we had a wonderful time just chatting and catching up. K is the cutest.
After we parted ways I returned to my clocktower suite and indulged in the nighttime gothic splendor of St. Mark’s cathedral and the sea of reflections beyond. I could not have asked for a better day.
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