Venice

Well, I feel like I came back to my youth here. Old Venice, Italian words, foods -- jam filled croissants and crema filled doughnuts in the morning. Water lapping at the side of the building, people moving at a brisk pace, but only so that they can slow down and talk to a neighbor when they run into her. The unusual element -- unknown to me here in early spring, is the sunshine. Emerging now to add strength to the colors of this city.

[Oh, I know! The sunshine is a celebration of a victorious election back in my home state of Wisconsin.  I wish I had a button that said -- I Voted For Her. Because I did. And this time, the "her" won.]

I look outside. Children, being escorted by a parent or grandparent to school. 

And so many boats, moving freight up and down this canal! (The hotel is at an intersection of two, and I could spend a long long time just watching the boat "traffic.") The canal - Rio di Noale - narrow as it is, does connect the Grand Canal with the Lagoon (or Laguna Veneta) and the airport at its distant corner, so I am not surprised that during the day, boat traffic here picks up. All small boats. The bridges that crisscross it are low and this keeps the big guys and bus boats away from here.

 

 

A peak at the garden that is at the heart of my little hotel. No, sorry, not hotel -- retreat. Signora Mara definitely avoids calling this a hotel.

And now I come down to breakfast. Some people are eating in their rooms and so I am alone. And the spread for me is huge! 

I realized yesterday that I could not possibly eat three meals a day here and so I cancelled all my lunch reservations (even though they were so interesting!). I mean, let's be realistic here. Of course I need to eat both the croissant with jam, and the doughnut with pastry cream. Of course I do! And all those fruits!

I talk to Sig.ra Mara during part of the meal. (Her husband serves it, but he is all about speaking Italian with me, which limits our conversation somewhat. For example, I cannot possibly explain to him in Italian the significance of our elections in Wisconsin!)  She has lived in the US for work purposes and her daughter has studied there, so she is familiar with the landscape. And yet, she wonders about stuff. Respectful, but also curious -- why? The question without an answer.

We chat, too, about the current weather in Venice. It's amazingly beautiful! She braved the cold of Chicago for a year and still shudders at the recollection. But she admits, too, to hating the weather in Venice during the summer. She cannot understand why people want to come here then. Of course, it has to be that way. I told her when my kids were little and tied to the school vacation schedule, we came here in the thick of summer. But of course, Venice has swelled since then. The city is now more crowded with day trippers -- something the Venetians are struggling to place limits on. Big ships no longer dock at the entrance to the Grand Canal. In 2021, a ban was put in place and now the cruise vessels have to dump their visitors in the Porto Marghera -- the industrial bank of Mestre. From there, they come by boats and buses to Venice. Is it a solution? Well, not a great one. Day traffic is always a bugaboo for locals. This is what creates rage in Barcelona, and made my waiter shake with trepidation in Grindelwald. If you could ban Airbnbs in Paris and Florence and Rome, and keep those big ships at bay, you'd make the locals much happier. But of course, you can't turn back the clock on inflated property prices, and on crowds pouring into San Marco.

So... where do I go today? In my original thinking, I had wanted to go back to the island of Burano. It's Venice, only at a tiny scale, with few people and a lot of local color. Sure, daytime visitors do come here, but it's a more distant excursion and so most do not. But today I'm thinking "no." I think I just want to walk without a destination. To the other side of the Grand Canal and who knows where after that.

Here's the thing: Venice is without a doubt the most photogenic city out there. The photos may appear repetitive -- one more bridge over a canal! -- but imagine coming upon such a splendid scene again and again and again! I'll try to limit myself to my favorites. But there were a lot! My walk extends through the neighborhood of Canareggio, where I see just a smattering of people, few if any resembling tourists. 

 

 

 

 (Canareggio has Venice's only remaining bridge without a balustrade)

 

 

(the way to do grocery shopping here when you're a senior is to not buy a lot... and to hold hands!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

(April in Venice)

 

(small groups of friends, everywhere)

 

 

 (oh, the colors!)

 

From there, I head toward the Grand Canal. I cross it at the Rialto Bridge which is indeed one of the tourist hot spots in the city. But it's not too bad in the morning! (Much much worse when I pass by in the afternoon.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course I stop too at the Rialto market. It's fantastic at this time of the year! 

 

 

 

 

  

 (she's fussy! "I dont like that prawn!!")

 

 

 

 

 

Then I walk all of the "left bank:" the neighborhood of Dorsoduro. Slightly more populated with visitors than the Canareggio, but still, not too bad!

 

 

 [There is the matter of shoes: I have none that are not athletic. Not here, not at home. I did bring ankle boots, but these aren't the best for the weather we're having. So I keep my eyes open. And I see that these handmade ones are really hot right now. Great for warmer weather! If they fit. I enter a shop and I spend quite a while in it. Gaia, who is half my age, and who works in the shop, is fascinated by my "solo travels." She tried it herself for the first time last year: she went to Warsaw! I had to hear all that she saw and ate. I ask her if she's Venetian, suspecting she is is not. I'm from Rome. But I went to work in London. Then came back to be closer to my mom who was then in Venice. I came here and two months later she moved to Geneva! She works for the U.N.!  

I purchased a pair of her shoes in the color she chose for me.

 

(friends, greeting continued)

 

 

(lunch break)

 

 

(April in Venice)

 

 

(in that tumult is that onr remaining veggie boat -- a mini market on the water)

 

 

(Toward Accademia, but not crossing over yet...) 

And now I walk over to the Lagoon shoreline -- where it looks out over the Giudecca. This is always less crowded than the shoreline by San Marco. Even the wide avenue leading to it is peaceful.

 

 

Here, the ice cream shops and cafes that catch the Lagoon breezes always tempt me. I stop for a coffee, but in looking at others sharing this glorious sunny spot, I'm seeing more orange in a glass than frothy coffee in a cup. I join the throng!

 

 

 

And I continue my walk.

 

 

I've never seen this part of Venice not be fairly empty. And the views are fabulous!

Time to cut back to the Grand Canal. Past the Peggy Guggenheim collection, though I stop only at the gift shop. To look.

I do, however, want to inspect more closely the stuff in a shop with very simple jewelry. Chains with small stones -- that kind of thing. But it's closed, so I cannot go in. There is a small sign that instructs potential shoppers to go a couple of doors down to the store on the corner to get help. I do that.

Inside this second shop, a guy is working on a glass ring for a waiting customer. I stay back and watch.

 

 

She pays for it. Something about her form of payment has him ask -- do you live here now, or... there?  She answers -- there.

So I'm curious and I join the conversation. Where do you live?

St. Petersburg.

We talk about how lovely St Petersurg is. She digs up that known platitude -- that it's like Venice, what with waterways and bridges. Personally, I don't think it's anything at all like Venice, but I'm not about to say that. 

We do not talk about The War. I do not ask her how it is to live under autocratic rule. But when she leaves, I say to the shopkeeper -- well, you just had two customers in your shop from two hostile to Europe countries.

Oh, where are you from? The United States. Ohhhh.... 

As we walk over to that other shop -- the one that caught my interest, he tells me that his wife is American. From Indiana. She is the one who makes the non-glass jewelry in that first shop.

He brings up The Topic. He's totally depressed about the tariffs. They will ruin us. Just wait -- you'll see how destructive they are! They'll put us out of business! 

I'm in my most apologetic mode. I try to answer his questions. You know, my wife, she listens to the news, the podcasts all the time. I do not listen to any of it. I can't. I listen to music to calm me, but it's as if she is held captive. What's going to happen in your country? It's such a mess.

Don't I know it.

At least I do buy the necklace. Big deal, right?

 

 

 

And now I cross that other hot spot -- the Accademia Bridge, with that classic picture postcard view of the Grand Canal. 

 

 

 

From there, it's about a 15 minute walk to San Marco. Of course I'm going to go there. It's crowded. It's crazy. But it also is beautiful. Sitting in the sunshine at Cafe Florian is an exquisite treat. I order their classic ice cream coupe. Along with a coffee, it costs me about as much as I would pay for a casual dinner in Italy, but what the heck. How many times will I sit, bathed in sunshine here, with music playing, birds swooping down for the kill (well, for the crumbs), people smiling... It's magical.

 

 

 

 

 

From here, I have to put up with many people: the shortcut walk from San Marco to the Rialto is along narrow alleys and so even small groups of people fill up the space. And of course this is the epicenter of souvenir shopping. I walk briskly.

I stop at the dei Tedeschi department store to take in the rooftop view. Perhaps unnecessarily -- I've seen it before -- but Madama Garden owners are friends with someone who is friends with someone and so they get free VIP passes for their guests. I have one, I'm here, so I use it.

 

 

 

 

 

And now it's time to get back to my room and recharge my batteries -- on my phone and in my soul! I walked enough to be in competition with my most serious hiking days in the Alps. And that's a good thing!

 

 

 

In the evening I eat dinner at Vini da Gigio -- another one liked by my hosts here. 

 

 

 

It's a family run place and I'm told to look out for the various temperaments of (older) father and (younger) son!

I have a lovely table that gives me a full view of the dining room. I'd studied the menu - I know I want a selection of Venetian appetizers. 

Good variety! I think I'd like them even more if it wasn't for the fact that yesterday's stood out in their excellence so much. But, you can't compare. Each place has their presentation. And here's the thing -- I finally order pasta tonight, this one with prawns and small tomatoes and it is just superb! It's so easy to kill pasta, to over-sauce it, to toughen the prawns. This place does none of that. It's one of those simple dishes that I know I could not easily replicate.

I pass on more food though. And say no thank you to dessert. The food tempts you from all sides, but in truth, there's just too much of it. 

I walk home happy and satiated. Good wake-up to great outcomes in Wisconsin, fantastic walk, fabulous weather, and memorable encounters. Venice, at her best.

 

 

with love...

to Italy

It was supposed to be just a spring break -- nothing more than that. A week in the mountains, for the walks. With a pleasant hotel to come back to at the end of the day. Then home again, ready to face the spring planting season.

It turned out to be so much more -- from all angles and perspectives, a trip that grew into something enormously special. Longer. Different. And yes, beyond all expectations.  

You need a whole bunch of days in Grindelwald to have it really sink in. You need the sunshine, the clouds, the weekend swell of visitors, the weekday mornings of quiet. You need to do those fabulous excursions that start with a train or a gondola and place you face to face with Alpine giants. But you need also to have time for a walk in the forest, in the hills and pastures. You need to meet the Swiss cows and look into their eyes as they patiently wait for their summer in the verdant meadows.

And still, you will have just touched the surface.

Everyone has their own Grindelwald. I would bet 90% of those who come through here spend no more than a day or two. They come for the "top of Europe" ride up to Jungfraujoch -- that highest rail station in Europe -- they take lots of photos from downtown Grindelwald. The hikers may come in the summer, but in March, I see no one on the trails. Locals, walking their dogs, that's it. I like that. 

Last night, over fondue, I chatted to the head waiter. Trained in hospitality at the very best training institutions in Switzerland, he is a recent arrival to this town. Winter was okay, he tells me. He's not sure how he'll feel about summer. He has been warned -- it gets crowded downtown. 

I'm curious how it is to make a life here as an outsider. I see Europe as being more open to the blending and mixing of nationalities, but my head waiter cautions against making assumptions. He is half Mexican (on his father's side), and even though he is also half Swiss (on his mother's side), he still feels like an outsider. He's thinking of going back to Mexico to be with family there. (His family, also in hospitality, owned and operated hotels in Miami, but they sold off everything and moved away after the elections of 2016 -- a fortuitous move, given everything.)

And yet, I consider the staff I met at the Fiescherblick: Eva was Czech, Katherina is German, Andras is Hungarian. The two brothers would never be able to staff the hotel (17 people total, half of them in the restaurant) with just Swiss workers. They know that. They are extremely kind and accommodating to their team. Andras will have his young son moving in with him in Grindelwald in a few days. They will revise his schedule accordingly. It's an enviable work environment. And of course, it rubs off -- the guests are the ultimate beneficiaries.

Yesterday I felt a pang at having to leave. That was a sign for me. Andras showed me one more room I was curious about. I like mine, with the corner windows, but I liked that one even better -- it's smaller, but it has the best view. And gobs of sunshine, should I be so lucky as to have a handful of sunny days. I booked it for spring break, 2026.

 

This morning, I'm up at 6. Finish packing, look outside. Those clouds are misleading -- it's going to be a beautiful day.

I go downstairs just a little after 7. Katherina is there, as is a family from India, leaving early, like me, and a couple from Japan, heading out for Jungfraujoch. We have the comradery of the early risers! The breakfast buffet is up and running. I sit down to a last breakfast of bircher muesli.

Are you the one who makes this? Did you put in the milk and yogurt last night? -- I ask Katherina.

We take turns. And yes, that's their recipe. I add the fruits -- grated apple, orange, banana if it's ripe -- in the morning. We all have our own recipes though! At home, I dont put in the yogurt until the morning!

So delicious. Definitely my new go to breakfast at home.

And now I have to say good bye.

(Andras and Katherina)

I get gifts of Swiss chocolate for my grandkids. It's that kind of place. Remarkable. Really remarkable.

Andras drives me to the train station. I am so glad I can say "see you next year."

 

*     *     * 

I hesitated about my trains today: I have 4 of them and though most of my connecting times are good enough (about a half hour), the first -- in Interlaken Ost, going to Zurich -- is tight. Only 6 minutes. I asked one of the hotel brothers about that -- is the train from Grindelwald ever late, thereby making it an impossible transfer? But he assured me that even his older father, who doesn't move so fast, has always been able to make the connection. I'll be fine.

My train pulls into the station at Grindelwald on time. And leaves on time. 8:17, on the nose.

But it's a single track, and it pauses going down, waiting for the oncoming train to pass at the exchange point. As a result, it pulls into Interlaken Ost three minutes late. I see my Zurich train. I know half the people will be making the same transfer. I don't feel the need to run. I push my suitcase down the ramp, then up again. But I know, too, that the long distance trains do not open doors in the minute before departure. And my wagon is at the very end. I ask the conductor -- will I make it to my wagon? You've got two minutes, he tells me.

I run, suitcase, backpack, bag, camera dangling.

And in the end I say the hell with it and I get onto an earlier car. It's off season, not at all crowded. You don't need to sit in your reserved seat. Panting, I climb upstairs. Was it close? Might I have missed the connection? Probably not. I can't believe that they'd close the doors in my face if I tried to make it to the last car, but who knows. Swiss punctuality (my little train's lateness notwithstanding) is formidable. I'm not going to tangle with it. The train does leave punctually at 8:59.

(ride to Zurich)

Two hours later I am in Zurich. Only I don't know it. Somehow in my head I had it that we arrive at noon. We don't. -- we arrive at 11, pulling into the station as I sit comfortably in my upstairs seat, laptop out, bags scattered over various racks.

What? This is Zurich already??

I throw everything together, hoping so much that I leave nothing behind. 

I needn't have panicked -- the train pauses in Zurich for a good five minutes. But I didn't know that. 

Once off the train I take many, many deep breaths. I check to see that my bag and passport are with me. Phew. Exhale.

 

It's weird to be at the Zurich train station (is a behemoth!) now, after the six days in Grindelwald. I feel less like a stranger here. Less a neophyte. I have a half hour before my next departure to Milano Centrale, but I'm still regaining my composure. I watch the crowds around me and think -- wow, I'm in a big city again.

Milano Centrale? Is that where I'm heading? I think about how much time I put into this decision in the months leading up to the trip. I have three nights to kill before I have to be in Paris. Where should I go, after Grindelwald? I booked Baden-Baden Germany. Weeks later, I changed my mind. I booked Lausanne Switzerland. I changed my mind on that one too. I booked Zermatt, also in Switzerland. And again I changed my mind. Only recently, against the backdrop of the tumult at home, did it hit me: I want those days to be in Venice.

Oh, how this reminds me of my youth! (Isn't that a senior thing -- where everything connects to something that happened long ago?) When I finished college in New York (it was February, 1974), I packed my bags and traveled to a rented room in the Italian Alps. I had booked it for a month. I asked my best college friend to come visit me, but she chose to go to Israel instead. I asked my secret lover to come visit me, but he was entangled in another relationship and didn't think she'd like his absence. In the end my sister came from Poland for a few days, but before she did, I grew bored. It was March, there was no snow for skiing. Solo hikes? Good for a day or two. I was just 20. I was restless. I needed to get out.

I took a convoluted combo of buses and trains to Venice, for an overnight there. It was wet. It was cold. It was beautiful! The next day I returned to my prepaid room in the Alps. But four days later, I did it again. An overnight in Venice. And then again. And yet again. The hotel owner in Venice laughed at me: the police are getting curious about your travels here! -- he said. (You always have to register with the police when you stay at an Italian hotel.)

How I loved those March trips (the hands-inappropriately-in-the-wrong-place-on-my-body hotel owner notwithstanding)...  I would have stayed longer, but my part time job savings were dwindling. Still, I soaked up the mood of the city then. It fit mine so well!

All my subsequent trips to Venice -- with my friend Diane, with Ed, with Snowdrop -- have been in at this same early spring month. It may rain, it may be dark and serious -- it doesn't matter. My Venice is the off season Venice. In an off neighborhood, far removed from Piazza San Marco. 

The train to Milan is at the Zurich platform early. 

 

 

 

That's so good for a person who has a heavy suitcase and apparently a scattered mind set. I settle in for the 3hour 17minute ride (really truly! I'm paying attention now!). 

 

 

And by the way, a good many minutes oof this segment are spent deep inside an Alp, as you cannot get from Switzerland to Italy by train without going through a tunnel that seems like it hasn't an end point. Ever.

Milan has never been my favorite city and Milano Centrale is not my favorite train station. The chaos here is aggravated by the fact that there are pickpockets galore. I've seen a purse snatcher do some snatching! Too, I have nearly an hour to kill. It cant be helped -- I need a cafe bar. And I find the one that was here when Ed and I last traveled in Italy together. I was searching for a glass of wine. He wanted a slice of cheesy focaccia. We shared it. Man, I miss that guy!

(Train platform announced. I can board.)

And at 3:45, my last train of the day leaves the station -- with me and my packs and suitcase.

 (not the cleanest window...)

(passing through Padua: school's out for the day!)

 

 

*     *     *

Venice, at last.

 

 

 

There's some humor to be had here: it is going to be warm in Venice the days I'm here. There will be no rain. Venice is not presenting her serious gloomy face at all.

I booked a room at an unusual hotel, one that isn't even called a hotel -- it's the Madama Garden Retreat.  It is tiny -- just 9 rooms, each named after a flower. It calls itself a retreat because it sells the idea of quiet (to that purpose, they limit it to adults only -- never my favorite strategy, as I've had more adults be noisy in hotels than kids, but I suppose it really is all about peace and serenity here, so I forgive them). 

By the time I decided on this, there were only a couple of rooms left, but among them was one I would have chosen judging from the photos - it's called Iris. A spring flowered theme, shades of blue and importantly -- with a view toward water.

The hotel itself is in the Canareggio neighborhood of Venice -- about as far as you can get away from the visitor hub. I'll eat all my dinners here. Well, let's not pretend that this is a total neighborhood immersion -- I'm only in Venice until Friday. Still, I'm staying with the idea of a quiet trip, in a quiet neighborhood.

 

The first technical issue in Venice is always this: how will you get to your hotel? Almost always it's going to be a combination of Vaporetto (the main "bus" running up and down the grand Canal) plus walking. Over bridges that have steps. I wasn't going to try this. I'm no longer 20. I book a taxi to take me straight to Madama Gardena.

The owner, Signora Mara,  greets me, explains the ins and out of the room, of coming and going. But my eyes are on the fantastic lay out of the place. All rooms have a sitting area and mine looks out on a canal (as does the bedroom)...

 

 

 

... but also onto the little garden that she has to the side. And you have to be impressed with what's blooming there right now -- an iris!

 

 

Is that some kind of a sign or what!

There's little time left in the day. The train came in promptly at 6:12 p.m., the taxi (by boat) was late, by the time I dumped my bags and plugged in all that has to be plugged in after a long trip -- it was after 7. Dinner time and yes, I am very hungry.

And still, I pause to talk to Signora Mara. However did she come to own and run this place?! It's fairly new -- a project she took on after she felt the need for a career change. And yes, it's in the neighborhood where Venetians live. Not those who own houses for a vacation, but those who work and go to school here. I see that she is right. On my walk to the restaurant I see kids, going home. Adults, with shopping bags, going home. People, speaking rapid fire Italian on smart phones, going home.

 

 

 

My restaurant choices are again a combo of hotel suggestions (I'm going for the "local" vibe!) and internet searches. For today I go with the nearby Anice Stellato -- a ten minute walk even deeper into the Canareggio corner of Venice.

 

 

 

 

They offer me a fabulous seat at a bar like table, only it faces the room rather than a bar. Another woman comes in and claims the seat at the other end of it. From our places, we can look out at all the guests.

 

 

Here's another good thing: they offer me a tasting menu. I seize it! For one thing, I'm starving, and, too, I have a hard time selecting dishes when everything sounds new and rather, well, amazing. Only, I tell them, I don't eat red meat. The new me!

No problem! Just sea food and veggies and pasta!

Oh, is it good stuff. First comes an assortment of appetizers (including white and green asparagus!). Next, these gnocchi which are so fabulous that I have to inquire about the ingredients so that I can try to replicate them at home. (The secret is in the ricotta and parmesan, rather than potatoes.)

 

 

 

With this, the proprietor suggests a lovely Italian natural wine. Poured from a bottle with a lovely label!

 

 

 

Then come the secondi -- the octopus, a fried sardine, and a celeriac cutlet which I had doubts about, until I tasted it!

 

 

Delicious, all of it. But no room for dessert. I do take a box of chocolates from a local chocolatier home with me. They offer it as an alternative to dessert.  My chocolate stashe is accumulating!

The walk back to Madama Garden is atmospheric. Venice has that going for it -- every building here is significant. To be recognized for doing the nearly impossible -- standing in water, delivering electricity, internet services, potable water, not giving in to an inhospitable environment -- brackish water wearing away at every surface. Mountains deserve humility, but so does Venice. 

I'm not sure how my two full days here will look. There isn't a plan. There's just Venice.

with love...