When in Venice

Roaming Italy's capital of romance

It was 2 A.M when we arrived in Venice. The sharp glow of the train station faded into the dark night as my best friend Colleen and I pushed the exit door open. The air was calm and its stillness proved to be therapeutic. We had left the hectic city of Rome, with its speeding mopeds and ringing cell phones, for a world where cars were unseen -- or heard -- and the slower pace of life reflected on Venice's residents, who strolled through the cobblestone alleyways and stopped to wave to the gondoliers.

This city, unlike any I had ever visited, was a refreshing break in my two-week journey through Europe. We had already experienced the towering cathedrals of Antwerp, the forward Parisian waiters, the ritzy French Riviera, and of course, bustling Rome. Our Eurail passes were our tickets to new experiences. We had paid the $400 and could now enter any town trains passed through. In other words, Colleen and I had the means to visit anywhere we wanted in Western Europe. Our decision prior to our airplane landing in Antwerp was that we would remain flexible and see where we ended up.

When we left Nice, we had originally planned on visiting Genoa and then Rome. However, this changed when we arrived in Genoa. We saw only factories and run-down buildings from our train window. Quickly consulting our guidebook of Italy, we realized that there wasn't even much to be seen in this industrial town. Within five minutes, the last exit in Genoa had passed and we continued our long ride to Rome.

The ancient, yet modern city was full of excitement. Gladiators posed for pictures in front of the coliseum with tourists, cafes served up the finest pizzas anyone could imagine, and the pillars surrounding the city gave off a sense of majesty. Yet the mellow person I am, I had a hard time adjusting to the fast-paced lifestyle. All I know is that after a couple of days of constant cell phones ringing and having to hold my breath for dear life as I crossed a busy intersection, I was ready to heard north to a city that claimed to have no cars.

Colleen and I made our way to the bus station (note that when I say bus I mean water bus) and examined the schedule for the one we would need. We had called earlier in the day and made a reservation for a hotel in the central district of San Marco. That way we would be conveniently situated the next morning in the center of the tourist district.

We noticed that the last bus departed at 2:15 A.M and were relieved that we had arrived in time. However, by 2:30 we began getting worried that either we had read the schedule incorrectly, or that there wasn't any bus leaving the station at this time. Colleen and I were both exhausted at this point and just wanted to crash. However, when we realized that no bus was forthcoming, we strapped on our weighty backpacks and began our trek to the other side of town. We really had no idea where to go and it's amazing we arrived at the hotel at all. The labyrinth of streets all resembled one another and the canals intersecting them winded around in a disorganized fashion. Some streets even had the same names minus a letter or two. This did not help.

A view of teh waterways of Venice, Italy. photo by Tami Miller

I awoke with a ray of sun streaming on my face and for the first time since entering the hotel room, examined my surroundings. There were two full beds in the room, a closet, dresser, and a gold-trimmed mirror that looked as if it had been taken from the 1700's. We even had an adjoining bathroom with a bathtub, sink and toilet. It was classy and I knew that we had been lucky in finding this place. I was about to lay back down for some more slumber, when I noticed something on my right arm that momentarily stopped my heart.

In the crease of my arm was an entity that resembled a collection of maggot eggs. While I can say I have never seen a nest of these creatures, I can imagine what it would look like. These things had found their way to my body. I couldn't look at my arm. I couldn't even bend it for fear that this mass would burst. After inhaling a long breath, I fearfully whispered "Colleen".

She rolled over, opened her eyes, and seemed to jump up as if some unknown midget invisible to me had poked her butt with a sharp needle. "What the hell is that on your arm?!"

"I don't know," I whined. My vision was beginning to blur and I had to consciously control my breathing.

"Are you ok?" Again I didn't know. A deadly insect could have bit me while sleeping and now the virus it had injected into my veins was creeping into my vital organs. Soon my lungs would collapse and my heart would flutter and eventually stop. This may seem like an overreaction but I don't take foreign objects being attached to me well.

Colleen comes over, takes my outstretched arm, and inspects it. "Hmm...this doesn't look good." No shit. And thanks for the comforting words. "We should go look for a doctor or something."

An hour later after showering, we headed outside in search of someone who could help. A few blocks away we noticed a green cross and knew its symbol as a pharmacy.

We entered the medicine-filled room and made our way toward the counter where several men and women dressed in pressed lab coats were busily filling prescriptions. I warily asked the pharmacist nearest to me in English if she knew what this thing on my arm was and if there was medication for it.

"We pop it. It must be bite of sort, no problem. Come with me and I fix it." Nu uh. There was no way in hell I wanted to pop this thing. While I didn't enjoy its presence in any way, the thought of yet another needle entering my body was making me feel queasy. Colleen must have noticed my hesitation and asked if there was anything else that could be done.

"We can put medication it and bandage and it will heal in a week." I nodded my head yes to affirm that I would rather do the latter and paid for some white bandages, which the patient pharmacist affixed to my arm, as well as a small tube of white cream. I don't know what this was, for the box was only labeled in Italian.

We were finally ready to start our day. This inconvenience had set us back a few hours, but I wasn't going to let this ruin our tour of Venice. After all, there was nothing more I could do about my arm but wait for the bubble to go down with time and medication.

Colleen and I strolled past the picturesque houses, all painted shades of pink and melon. After spiraling around corners and through alleyways, we noticed a modest café with a few chairs and tables set up outside. Since the weather was already climbing to 75 degrees at 11 A.M, we thought it would be refreshing to eat brunch outside. We could watch the well-dressed Venetian men and women (though the men kept our attention much longer than the sophisticated women) as we sipped coffee and ate fresh fruit.

Colleen and I were seated and asked what we wanted.

"Can we just have coffee, croissants, and fruit?" I wanted to know. No problem. Within minutes, a couple of plates of grapes and warm rolls were set before us. Our miniature coffee cups were also filled and we ate our meal at a slower pace than usual. The atmosphere here was so lovely that we didn't want to be rushed. We weren't.

However, our calmness disappeared once the bill came. We were unknown to the fact that Venice is one of the most expensive cities for tourists, and the area surrounding Piazza San Marco is the height of expensiveness. We owed the waiter $40 for the two coffees, two croissants, and a bowl of grapes. What could we do? We hadn't ordered from a menu and had just assumed that we wouldn't have to pay more than $8 each.

HSU student Tami Miller rests at an outdoor Venician espresso shop before exploring the ancient wonders of Italy. photo courtesy of Tami Miller

It was originally completed in 1094 to hold the body of St. Mark, Venice's patron saint. Over the nine centuries that followed the church's completion, Islamic, Byzantine and European influences contributed to the church's interior, creating an exotic mix.

The inside of the basilica was cold and dark. The line of people, comprised mostly of nuns and tourists, shuffled silently into the church. Signs stating "Quiet" and "No Talking" faced us from all angles and as I whispered to Colleen that it was awfully silent, I received dirty looks from the workers. I didn't enjoy the stillness. This wasn't a peaceful, respectful quiet, but the taciturnity you'd notice before taking a test or when sitting in a hospital waiting room.

Fifteen minutes later we rushed outside and breathed sighs of relief. Here again I felt the warm sun and the lightheartedness of the Italians eating ice cream and chatting. There were pigeons all over the piazza. Literally. If you were in the center of the square you'd step forward and the birds would move to let you pass. For a dollar's worth you could buy seeds, put them in the palm of your hand, and flocks of pigeons would sit on your arm to eat. I was cautious at first, thinking that it might be painful if the claws broke my skin. However, I quickly forgot all about my fears when I raised my hands filled with seeds high over my head and was welcomed by birds from all directions. Most of the pigeons lined up on my arm and sat for a few minutes after the seeds had disappeared. They then moved on to the next person offering a fare of birdseed. A couple of flock even remained long after I had nothing more to offer. I felt a closeness to nature as these birds looked at me from my arm. When they departed, I glanced at my scratched-up arms. This didn't bother me at all. The bond with the birds was now imprinted on my body and would remain for a few days.

We found a water bus route from the San Marco district to the other side of Venice and decided that we would go to the end of the route. On our way back we would get out at the stop that looked the most interesting. This was the mentality of our trip.

I wanted to stop in the Cannaregio district in the northern part of Venice. This was where the world's first ghetto was created for the Jews in 1516. I didn't even know that Italy partook in this overt discrimination so I was shocked to hear that they had created this crowded section of town. It was easier for the Christians to seal off the area and prevent the Jews from roaming the streets at night if they were all forced to live in one area.

Facing the ghetto from a café by the waterfront, I almost began to cry. Here I was, a Jewish girl travelling freely while my ancestors had been segregated and harmed for their religion. In Venice of all places. That a city so calm and romantic could have harbored such hatred created an inner-conflict for me. While I have no Italian blood, Italy is the melting pot of who I am.

In the 14th century A.D, most trade within the Mediterranean and from Europe to the East went through Venice. Venice, the center of the world in the past and now the center of my heritage. The mid-point between my grandparents in Western Europe and my cousins in Israel. I was physically standing in the middle of the cultures that make me who I am. This touched me in a weird sense, because even though I am comfortable in the U.S and have friends here, I don't have a true sense of identity because all my relatives are scattered across the globe. I'm a mutt, an assimilated woman who has picked up bits and pieces of culture from my worldwide experiences. Venice was where everything came together.

We spent the afternoon walking through the web of alleys and admiring the local wares in Murano. Especially eye-catching were the glass vases and bottles, which stood out like the sun peeking through clouds on an overcast day. This district of Venice wasn't as tidy as the rest of the areas we visited. The run-down shops looked as if they had been in business for fifty years and had yet to be remodeled. Dust lay patiently on the ground, as if waiting for someone (or something) to disturb it so that it could move just a little bit. Even the motionless men and women at the counters of the shops were aged. These inhabitants were not chic and modern like the younger Venicians I had been intrigued by in the other parts of town, but had a unique charm. Instead of cellular phones and boisterous babble, they were equipped with sincere smiles and the knowledge that the following day would be similar to this one.

As I boarded the train to Switzerland two days later, I felt a certain emptiness I had never felt before. This tranquil city had reminded me that time is too valuable to rush through and that I should pause every once in a while to smile. On a more serious note, I had also found the center of who I was and where I had come from. The balance between east and west was here, in an unassuming city with no cars called Venice.