That midnight bell started tolling as I walked past the Teatro Goldoni.  Finished about the time I was by the monument in Campo Manin.  It was a beautiful, great day.  I didn’t get those crucial, last-minute gifts bought.  The ones I wanted to buy fresh and not a week ahead of time.  (So don’t expect any bussola or parmigiano reggiano from me.)  I did however have a marvelous, over-the-top meal of fish at Fondaco dei Pescatori.  Capilunghi (a revelation), the orologio (crudo, of course), a risotto, and then for good measure some tuna, also cruda (or practically so).  If I were a foodie, I could and would describe in loving detail all that edible goodness.

I walked home from Cannaregio.  Decided to skip the Piazza.  Decided to skip the Rialto.  Decided to skip the other random detours I considered.  No point really.  I took my usual, well-worn path. The path that used to lead home (in Campo S. Angelo), then past S. Stefano, over the Accademia bridge (pausing to note the scaffolding coming down off the Salute and the lone figures at the vap stop below), past where I got my photos taken for the Questura last October, over to the Zattere,  Then a short boat ride home to Palanca.  All I have to do now is take out the trash and bed down.

Luckily it’s not a terribly early start tomorrow.  I’m planning to take the 2 instead of the 42 — my gift to the locals who would not appreciate someone loaded with massive quantities of luggage getting on the little, fast boat.  Plus, to get to my bus I have to leave at 8:00 anyhow, so i’m not really saving any time with the quicker journey. And, hey, I get to see Tronchetto one last time.  Woohoo!

Oh, and lest I forget — I was party to a fabulous interview for the documentary on the voga I’m working on with Nan.  What a fabulous, compelling story it makes!  More later.  www.vogadoc.org.

The breeze has kicked up.  I hear it in the trees outside my window.  Winter is cold and dank here, and the Giudecca is the worst of the lot.  Perhaps I’m getting out while the getting’s good.  My ducks are more or less in a row.  Next stop, Chicago.  Much love to any and all who are reading.  xoxox

What a gorgeous day it is!  Cloudless skies, cool breeze, full sun.  The sheets are drying out on the terrazza.  I’ve cleaned and mopped.  I’ve packed.  I’ve shipped a box.  (And realized, for the last time this trip, that no information found online regarding anything here is to be trusted without a call for confirmation.  The cheap way of sending books to the US?  Only possible from some post office near the airport.  If I’d gotten this far last week, perhaps I’d have done it.)

The light has changed so much in the last weeks.  The narrow alleys really accentuate the seasonal change of light.  The city is like a great celestial time piece.

Clean laundry put out to dry scents the entire calle.  That’s at least true here on the GIudecca, where the houses are mostly two stories and everything feels very small and close.

The campo near my grocery store was full of kids riding bikes overseen by some grandmas in chairs they’d pulled outside. The first time I tried to find the grocery I came through that campo –and thus from the back way.  The only obvious thing I saw was a shop front with three carrelli parked in front.  You never know, so I poked my head in.  Hairdressers.  Just around the corner is the Coop, with its big, bold signage.   Compare this to the Prix which is down the fondamenta near the Redentore, which has no outside signage, meaning it’s only visible when open.  I still wish I had a photo of that hairdressers with the carrelli out front.  It’s one of my favorite mental snapshots of this year.

I’m packing.  It’s a state I’ve been in for about a week, but I’m now to the point of getting ALL the stuff in actual bags and making final decisions.  I have a little box to ship home.  Another bag of stuff to stow away for my inevitable, not-to-distant return (knock wood), and another bag of stuff to give away wholesale.  Not bad.
It’s a beautiful, sunny day — defying the prediction for heavy rain.  Hurrah!  Let’s hope for more of the same tomorrow.  As for Thursday, well, that’s too far in the future to consider.

We’ve had some terrific rain and thunder storms in the last few days. It’s made for much cooler temperatures as well as some pretty dramatic visual effects, most of which cannot be captured on film (at least by me).

I’ve have been making a concerted effort to set aside my debilitating politeness and take photographs of people. If I can’t do it here, where every other person is armed with a camera (meaning I don’t really stand out), then I can’t do it anywhere. I’ve started to experiment a little with shooting from the hip — taking shots without looking through the viewfinder (a trick of street photography I just read about). Of the dozens of nonchalant clicks I took this way, just two or three are interesting. I’ve included those in the slideshow posted below. They’re the random, off-kilter ones. There are a couple in this batch that I’m very proud of, and I’m getting just conceited enough to think that I shouldn’t be publishing these without some sort of copyright watermark. On the other hand, I think I may have taken just about enough photos of soft light filtering through church windows onto pink-and-white checkerboard floors. That and cool shadows. They’re so damn beautiful every time, though!

Not pictured are the fabulous singers of via Garibaldi I met and sang with today. I finally happened down that way when the guitarist/ singer/ restauranteur (whose name I now forget, of course) was singing, and an entire table of buddies was joining in. I stopped to listen. Then I sat down and ordered a glass of wine.

The Singer had me pegged: he wagered that I was a singer, and why don’t I join them at their table and sing with them. Once again, my familiarity with “El famegia del gobbon” came in handy. I met everyone by name. The famous Umberto — passionate and nearly toothless — serenaded me. I was offered a glass of good red (and discovered later that my first glass of white was also already taken care of). Lunchtime was over and these guys had to get back to work, but not before coffee across the way, to which I was invited. They were wonderful people and perfect gentlemen and are apparently there for lunch (and song) every day. Oh, and I ran into Gabriele, the formaggio specialist, a few minutes later as he opened his shop. After trying several cheeses I wanted to buy a little something — a gesture of goodwill. “You can pay for it next time.” It’s a long trek to via Garibaldi, but so worth it. And now I have several reasons to go back again soon. Maybe next time I’ll ask if I can take some pictures.

2008 agosto — ferragosto

For better viewing, go directly to the slideshow.

Between starting to row (alla veneta, y’all) and living on the Giudecca, I’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time on boats. When people ask if I like living on there, my biggest complaint is that I feel detached…to which at least one of my friends has helpfully pointed out that I am.

Since my rowing club and my buddies are all in Cannaregio, I’m getting to know all the vaporetto routes that connect that far flung corner of the city with my own.The 41/42 is a direct shot, but stops running after 8pm. The 51/52 means a traghetto ride from Palanca (my stop) to Zattere or vice versa. The 2 takes the long route around the west edge of the city, as does the N (night) route. The first two are low-slung, sleek boats built for speed — they circle the city and are more no-nonsense than the big sluggish vaps that cater to the tourist trade. The latter have their charm, when the tourist tide is low; it can be wonderful to score a seat near the prow.

The 2 arrives at Palanca

The 51 seen from the 42

Enter the Night route. At first I dreaded this ride home. It doesn’t really save any time — it’ll take 45 minutes by foot (to the Zattere) or on board all the way — but if I’m tired, a ride is a welcome alternative. Depending on the weather and day of the week and time, the N can be jammed when I pick it up at S. Marcuola. Workers headed home, locals finishing an evening out, tourists straggling home. A few get off at the station, but most pile off at Piazzale Roma where they catch a bus for the terra firma. The vap now has very few passengers, and we start the slow rounding of the west end of the city. Past the Questura office. Under viaducts that carry car and train traffic to this part of town. Past dozens and dozens of moored topi – the big, prosaic boats that move everything around the city. Past the industrial-looking Mercato Ittico (fish market) and Capitaneria di Porto. The water path we’re following, as always, is marked with large bricole (three posts driven into the soil below) with a light on top. We are rounding the enormous dock where the cruise ships moor, and as we make the left hand turn those behemoths hove into view and shimmer in their obscene, over-the-top lighting. At Tronchetto, the very few who had parked their cars here for the day (Italian and German tourists mostly) get off, one or two get on (where are they coming from? who are they?), and we set off for the lagoon and the Giudecca canal. There are five blinding lights on the left that are part of the cruise ship area. They seem to be aimed horizontally rather than towards the ground. They stand out because everything else in front of us is a calm, black void.

This part of the journey is magic. Across the black void, there are tracers of lights — streetlights on the Lido or Malamocco, the breakwater islands of the lagoon. The sky is full of stars, if it’s clear, and if the moon is out it shimmers along the clouds and the waves. There is very little traffic. A water taxi or two, racing by, or a police boat, blue light shouting its warning and making psychodelic patterns on the boat’s wake.

Our boat is big. They always use the big tourist vaps for the N: there’s plenty of standing room in the middle and there are usually outdoor seats at the prow and stern. If I can, I get the very front seat, and usually I’m the only one sitting there. The wake of the passing taxis rolls towards us, and the pilot turns into the wake, sending our big boat bobbing. The water crashes and sprays on the prow.

This same effect happens on the ride from the Zattere to Palanca, that is across the Giudecca Canal. This waterway is one of the city’s busiest, and it is a battered by moto ondoso – waves caused by motor boats. In the vap, at night, after everyone has boarded, the mariner unties the rope from its mooring and shuts the big gate. Then the pilot turns off the outdoor lights. If, like me, you’ve gotten on board and crossed right to the other side of the boat where you’ll get off in a few minutes, you’re poised on the edge, with the wind and moon in your face. The lights go off, and it’s a perfect miniature of the transit on the N from Tronchetto in the middle of the night.

vaporetto

Or go directly to the slideshow.

I may not have been “processing” (read: blogging about) my experiences of the past couple of months, but I have been documenting them with my camera. No, “document” isn’t right. I don’t really chronicle my experience: the people I’m with, the places I’ve been. Sometimes I make some gestures in that direction, with a certain audience in mind (i.e. Mom), but usually I’m looking for the makings of interesting photos. I end up posting a mix of the two, though.

Anyhow, all this is a preamble to posting some slideshows of photos taken earlier this summer. This first, short volley focuses on a freak hailstorm and a gorgeous sunset, with a couple of odds and ends thrown in. In the first photo of the hailstorm, you can see that they are beginning to construct the pontoon bridge for the Redentore. These were taken in early July.

2008 luglio — 2

For better viewing, go directly to the slideshow.

The sultry weather finally broke last night with a good, long rainstorm. Anzi, thunderstorm. Today we awoke to brilliant, crystalline skies and cool temperatures. It was absolutely intoxicating. I have the luxury of air conditioning at home, but that didn’t hamper the thrill I felt at being free to roam the city without suffering from the heat. So, where did I roam? Started with S. Giorgio Maggiore, including the campanile — which gave spectacular views of the Dolomites and the hills around Padua (the colli Euganei). From there to S. Zaccaria, which started out strapiena di tourists, in groups small and large, but they cleared out quickly and left the coro and the crypt to the few willing to pay one little euro to go in. From there to the Pieta’, where my friend Elvira works. We haven’t seen each other in a month or so and ended up having lunch and then doing further wandering through the city.

The weather is just perfect and lovely. It’s as thrilling as the first warm days of spring! I hope it stays this way for a bit so I can get in some rowing. That’s something I haven’t gotten to do in a few weeks. Alas, my little, incipient callouses are now gone. Between the killing heat and the fact that almost all my rowing buddies are out of town (as I was, too, for a couple weeks), voga hasn’t been in the offing. Want to get back out there soon, though, if only as prep for the big Sept. 7th corteo. (More on that later….)

2008 agosto

For better viewing, go directly to the slideshow.

Yes, I’m working backwards.

2008 giugno — part 3

For easier viewing, go directly to the slideshow.

Here, at long last, are a few of my Redentore photos.

2008 luglio – redentore

For easier viewing, go directly to the slideshow.

I don’t know why, but several different Italians have told me so, so it must be true.  A couple of months ago, a Venetian barista thought perhaps I was from Bolzano.  And just today the owner of a little osteria here in Florence gave me a knowing smile and nod when I reminded her that I’d been in the other night with the German girls who are regulars.  “I can tell by your accent,” she said.  I asked her if I really sound German, and she and the other guy at the counter agreed that I did — albeit a gentle one.  This must be something deep seated since, now that I think about it, I was mistaken for German once when I was here in 1990, just months after starting to study Italian.  What the heck is going on?  Gotta get some coaching from my Italian friends!  (I’m repenting a little of the pleasure I’ve always taken in “Matona mia cara” and other 16c-century songs that mock German inflection.)

In my long stint of not posting I have

• been to Florence, Ravenna, Pesaro
• rowed with my club to Lazzaretto Nuovo and S. Francesco del Deserto
• heard “Death in Venice” and a concert drawn from the Faenza Codex
• celebrated Redentore

I have a thousand photos; don’t you worry.

The concert season is over, so there are no more rehearsals.  Everyone is gone on vacation, leaving very few other rowers to go rowing with (heck, very few people to do any kind of anything with).  Meanwhile, the library closure season is upon us, so I’m scurrying around the peninsula trying to tie up loose ends (that is, see manuscripts) while I still can.  Just as well, since I need to get into a WRITING routine, asap.

One of the loveliest things about this trip to Florence is the weather.  The days are warm, as you’d expect, but the nights are surprisingly chilly.  Makes for fabulous sleeping.