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We'd returned to the hotel and had imbibed a few beers in the bar with Peter Gibson before turning in. Beer was both good quality and inexpensive and we'd discovered that the hotel staff understood French better than we could speak Italian and so we could order whatever we wanted in French with no trouble. However, we had to leave the bar before it became too late, since we were meeting the coach at 8am. It was with great regret that I asked for our ten to seven wake up call, even though I could now manage to communicate this sentiment - albeit in a different language (at least I know enough French to get by in Italy!)..
In the morning, we discovered that Venice is actually written Venezia, which does rather beg the question "Why do we call it Venice?". Still, at 8am these questions are best not asked and we were soon on our way to the city of water. Our minds were cast back to the letter from David, which explained the order of events of the wedding-party and pointed out that we'd be able to get a more than enjoyable meal at the motorway service stations en route for only a couple of pounds, rather than the disgusting crap at many pounds which are served at our native service stations. We also remembered the David Cowley tip of the year - don't buy a drink or meal in St Mark's Square in Venice on Easter Sunday - you WILL be fleeced.
After a brief stop at a service station, where we bought something to drink and our co-travellers bought an array of sandwiches and biscuits, we eventually arrived in Venice at a sort of park and ride at the outskirts of the city. This was called Tronchetta and was the terminus stop for the water-bus service which runs on the Grand Canal. Our journey had taken around three hours, which had flown by with conversation and the process of waking up.
David got us each a day pass for the water buses and a map of the routes they take. People got into groups and Caroline and I decided we'd head towards St Mark's Cathedral. After our success at getting to the top of Il Duomo in Milan, we thought we'd add to our collection of cathedral rooftops visits. We got the water bus with David and his family, who were heading to the other end of Venice where the glass factory provides entertainment - apparently.
Venice is too big a place to tour in just a few hours and we had no intention of flying around everywhere we could, just to try and cover a large percentage of sites and sights. We found St Mark's Square easily enough and joined the queue for entry into the cathedral. Since there is a huge, sky-scraping, bell tower in the square, it really isn't hard to miss - even for the foolish English-abroad types. Standing in the queue in the square gave reasonable opportunity for photographing this bell tower or Campanile (which is not a gay bar in Egypt) and the surrounding buildings.
For some reason, they'd built a sort of ramp in the Square. You queue up to the ramp and then queue on the ramp which leads you into the cathedral building above the floor area. We were not allowed into the actual worshipping area, which is fair enough - it was only one of the holiest days in the year… We were allowed to climb the multiple stairs to the higher floors - I LOVE stairs. Up in the gallery, one gets a view of the ceiling, which is entirely mosaic. At a glance, you see a bunch of slightly wonky letters in Latin around some dim pictures. When you realise that it's mosaic and take it in further, you can then appreciate the genius behind it. The only way to grasp how it all looks is from ground level, yet the people making it had to be up close to put it together - either they spent all day up and down ladders or they had a back-seat mosaic-er at ground level telling them where to put each piece, or they were quite clever - I go for the latter. It is vaguely possible that they put the pieces up using a very long pole, but I'm really going to have to just stop worrying about it!
The gallery we were in lead to an outside veranda at roof level, where we got a great view of the square. As you stand there looking out, it seems like you're about to see a scene from a Bond film - there is this remarkable vista of impressive architecture and you get a feeling that something is about to come racing across it.
After our second roof-top victory, we went off in search of food. We avoided the square as we had been told to do so, although we would probably have worked this out judging by the fact that the restaurants had string quartets or similar classic instrument combinations on little stages outside them, playing well. It looked a bit above our means. We headed out of the square to find somewhere to eat.
There are many canals crossing each other which make up the definition of streets on the outer parts of the island we were on. Leaving St Mark's square involved crossing a few of these water-streets on bridges. In this city, there were also people selling rubbish, but it was the turn of the black underclass to try and sell fake hand bags. I refer to these underclasses as such, because that is how they are obviously placed in that country. In England, you would not expect Orientals, Asians or Africans to be relegated to poor street sellers - in this country of ours, ANYONE can sell the Big Issue! In Italy, things are different.
On one of the bridges leading away from the square, you can get a view of the Venetian version of the Bridge of Sighs. We had a look at this. Unfortunately, it didn't seem as impressive as its Cambridge counterpart. The sighs in question seemed to be those of disappointment. There are possibly two explanations for this. One is that the surrounding architecture is so much more impressive in Venice that the bridge is relatively normal-looking. The other possibility is that we only saw it from a distance, since we were not prepared to pay for a Gondola ride to see it up close. Apparently a Gondola will not cost anything like as little as the punt ride we took in Cambridge; they'll charge you for anything. They'll charge you to get on, sit down, move and - of course - to be returned safely to the shore. Quite honestly, the Gondola looked relatively unimpressive - it's just a boat with an ornate front. Maybe, when the being-fleeced bothers us less, we shall go on one another time.
Walking along further, we found a café to have lunch. And a good honest lunch it was too. More postcards were written and the gnocchi and pizza were absolutely perfect.
The day was progressing rapidly and we followed the meal with a general wander around the streets. This wander soon turned from a sightseeing expedition into the search for the only public toilet in the area. Italians don't believe in toilets. If you want to go, you've got to search. We started by following signs for public toilets and found one which had been closed. Then we decided to follow signs for McDonald's, thinking that their toilets would do - when we eventually found them, Caroline found that they would NOT do at all. So we followed some more signs for a toilet to find that they led us down an alley with a post office on the corner. The post office had helpfully put up a sign on its alley-facing door saying "This is not a toilet" and so we were no better off.
By this stage, my cheerful banter was not helping Caroline take her mind off the urgency of need for basic hygiene facilities and we merrily argued, while walking more aimlessly round the streets. The internal streets of Venice are a veritable maze and we found all sort of shops and buildings, even a large church among them. Eventually, we threw ourselves at the mercy of the concierge of a rather plush looking hotel, expecting to be told where to go when we asked for toilets. They took pity on us and told us to go down the hall and to the right. With that emergency over, it was time to do some more looking round.
After some vacant wandering - the only sort of movement allowed for us, since we were incredibly lost - we found a bus stop. It was getting late in the day and it was decided to travel on the bus for a bit - maybe around the islands and then return to the place where we'd meet the bus. We waited and waited and discovered that the buses which might take us in the joy-riding direction were all full. So, we took a bus back in the general direction of the park and ride. As it turned out, this bus, with its on-board heaving mass of a crowd, was to take us back at such a speed that we arrived back with only minutes to spare.
Our fellow travellers had had varied experiences between them. The glass factory had been well visited and many people had bought gifts and souvenirs - we'd bought nothing. We realised, however, that most of those who had gone to town when they'd gone to town were also leaving a day or so later and so were peaking in their holidaying. We had kept respectfully calm - this was to serve us well in later trips.
Good old David. A lot of us would have been quickly fleeced without his helpful hints about where to avoid and where to go for food. Of course, while wandering through St Mark's Square himself, with uncle and grandmother, they'd stopped for a break and sat down at one of the tables outside one of the restaurants in the square. They didn't go overboard - just a couple of coffees a couple of beers. Nothing else. Sixty quid!
It took a while for everyone to return to the coach and then we set off. It turned out that Debbie and Steve (different Debbie than the one from the bus, earlier), who were sitting across from us, were also planning on staying on and going on to Florence after the wedding. They asked us about trains and I proudly told them that we'd sorted everything, as you're supposed to, in advance. It was suggested that we could perhaps meet up with them in Florence and it sounded like a good idea.
Looking around the coach, it was clear that the mix of people was very unique. You just don't get that range of ages and occupations in one place in any normal situation. David, through knowing lots of folks, had brought us together and I don't think that any of us will forget the diversity of personalities and the entertainment it brought with it.
After a speedy return to the hotel, via a motorway service station for an evening meal, it was time for the last sleep before the wedding - David's last night as a single man.
Written: May 1998
Posted: 01 November 2001
Ashley Frieze