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From Pesaro to VeniceA taxi takes us to the railway station. The driver knows some German words, and the trip costs "sieben" Euro. He is obviously proud of his ability to communicate in German, and I don't have the heart to tell him that we are Danish. On the train two men obediently move from our window seats. A couple of stations later they must leave the compartment. We're happy to have reservations. The furry man next to Helle has a breath like mustard gas. He goes to the toilet and changes from T-shirt and shorts to shirt and trousers. The breath remains unchanged. The train arrives to Venezia San Lucia at three. Venice has an efficient tourist industry. At the station it costs 0.7 € to visit the toilet. At Pesaro's station it was free. There is a ticket office for the water buses outside the station. I buy two 72 hours passes, and we get on vaporetto #1 to San Silvestro by the Grand Canal. It is only a short walk to the hotel, Ca' Arco Antico. The hotel rooms have artists' names instead of numbers. Three years ago we stayed in "Tiepolo", and this time we're in "Tiziano". The room has golden tapestry and a nice bathroom. The air cooler is put to work immediately. SpritzWe stroll to the small square before San Tomà and have a spritz at Ciak. The clientele is international; to our right Americans drink beer, in front Venetians drink beer and to the left two Danish women talk about taking someone to court. To St. Mark's Square via Canal GrandeWe get on a #1 and sail on the Grand Canal to St. Mark's Square. The afternoon sun shines on the basilica's front and makes the gold glow. Twice I am asked to take pictures of smiling American families; I use their disposable cameras. There are thousands of pigeons and they smell. The orchestra in white jackets plays in front of Florians, but there are no guests outside. A seagull sits on the winged lion's head. In a shop window with gold and silver a sign says: "Special Prices" - ambiguous.
Back to San Polo
We sail to San Tomà and go to ristorante Il Giardinetto on Fondamenta del Forner, where we dined several times in 2004. We make a reservation for nine o'clock and go to Bar ai Nomboli where you can sit outside. This is a good spot for watching. Tourists pass by reading maps, trying to find their way through the maze. Locals return home with shopping bags and say: "Ciao Francesco" to the landlord in the doorway. A tourist couple comes dragging their suitcases. He is heavyset, and his grey T-shirt is drenched. They turn the corner and then return looking lost. The girl asks Francesco if he knows where they can find Hotel Alex. Francesco explains that they must turn right, right and then left. Four workers get a quick drink by the bar and leave. At half past eight I sense closing activity and ask Francesco when they close. They are in fact closing now, he says, but we can take it easy. Supper at Il Giardinetto
At Il Giardinetto's we get a table under the fig tree and order a cold fish plate for starters - one portion for two ("uno per due"). For main course Helle orders Venetian baccalà and I liver ("fegato") Venetian style. The waiter's handheld computer doesn't know Venetian baccalà, and fegato is only Wednesdays (or whatever). However Helle can have baccalà with tomato and polenta. She accepts, and my plan B is a bistecca with fries. With this a vernaccia from San Gimignano. The fish dish arrives, and I have to ask for two more plates - we don't want to share like The Lady and the Tramp. The food is alright, although a third of the steak is sinew. Helle's baccalà is good. Service has gone from good to worse since 2004 (new staff). In 2004 they had birds singing in a cage, but now pop/rock leave the loudspeakers like acoustic dum-dum bullets. Two women sit down at the next table. The waiter asks: "Eat or drink?". They answer: "Eat" after which he says the kitchen is closed. They get grissini and wine for comfort and are surprised when a fig drops right next to them. We all laugh. "You asked for food!", says Helle. They are in an orchestra and have a bad conscience because they are drinking wine, but what to do when the kitchen is closed?
Wednesday 20th June 2007 Morning in Venice
Breakfast is served at eight. I am up 6:45 and after the bath I go out for a smoke. The Grand Canal is some 30 metres from the hotel. A multi-coloured cat is sleeping in a flower box on a garden wall. The cat wakes up, yawns and begins its morning toilette still sitting in the flower box. By the canal a big seagull has managed to pick a hole in a black plastic bag and messes with the garbage. Pigeons keep a respectful distance. By the baker's on the corner of Calle della Madonnetta locals are having espresso and cappuccino before going to work. They all seem to know each other. An espresso enjoyed standing costs 80 cent. Murano
Vaporetto #1 sails slowly to Ferrovia from where the DM-boat ("Diretto Murano") goes to Murano. Murano is the island of glassmaking and has many glass workshops. We get off at Faro and enter a big glass shop. Most artefacts have no price tags, but one rather simple carafe costs 450 €. A soprano could splinter a fortune's worth with one dedicated aria. Next door workers are blowing precious air into new artefacts. The way along the canal towards the centre is in shadow, but when we cross the bridge the sun strikes with no mercy. We return to the shaded bank and cool off with espresso and water. In a window we spot a nice glass pendant and inside yet another one. 16 € is reduced to 15 because the lady has no change. We had planned to have lunch on Murano, but it is so hot that we cannot bear the thought of even looking for a place. Lunch in Castello
Vaporetto #42 returns to Venice by the eastern route towards St. Mark's. We get off at S. Elena in Castello. There's a park, and compared to central Venice this district is amazingly spacious. Osteria al Granghelo on Via Garibaldi has tables in the shadow, and we order spaghetti for lunch. The portions are small and explain the waiter's surprise that we did not want anything else. The ragú is tasteless, and the spaghetti is overcooked and overpriced. For this plus a Coke and a beer we are billed 28 €. Evening in San PoloThe area by the Rialto bridge is an anthill of tourists and souvenir shops. Back in our own neighbourhood in San Polo we cool off outside Bar ai Nomboli. Just across the street is a shop with Murano glass and souvenirs. Helle goes on a quick raid. Later we make a reservation at da Ignazio in Calle Saoneri. Trattoria da IgnazioDa Ignazio is recommended in the book "Chow Venice", and we want to try it. I ask for a table at 20:30, but somehow the young waiter talks me into eight o'clock instead. He asks for the name, and instead of "Bentzen", which always creates problems, I say "il danese" (the Dane). The young man in his spotless white jacket writes slowly: "il Danesi", and I get a smile from his older colleague. We return at eight. It is just five minutes walk from the hotel. The older waiter takes us to the atrium and steadies the table with a wedge. A green pergola covers the atrium. White plastic chairs and tables with yellow tablecloths. Nice. In the corner below the kitchen window a woman is cleaning small fishes. Her glasses balance on the tip of her nose, and looking over the rim she watches silently. The waiter is kind. He looks spent, but I don't think he is really old. A bit crooked he shuffles about with a closed left eye behind the glasses. We have a glass of prosecco and the first course, ham and melon. The ham is delicious and the melon super. Helle has ordered a steak, and I have liver Venetian style (Fegato Veneziana). With this a salad and the house red. Helle's steak is thin and dry. The liver is tasty, but on the dry side. The two tiny cubes of white polenta are bite-sized. Most of the guests are Americans, but at two tables close to ours are single Italian men. One of them has brought a dog with curly grey fur. It lies peacefully under the table most of the time. The breed is unknown to science. The older waiter is kept very busy in the American corner, and his younger colleague tries do to as little as possible. When I catch his attention and ask for a dessert menu, he points at his colleague and puts on his invisibility cloak. Two abandoned tables are not cleared. He does nothing to help his busy colleague and should be fired on the spot. When the older waiter gets a free moment we order strawberries with ice for Helle and sgroppino (lemon sorbet with vodka and prosecco) for me. The bill says 83 €. Venice isn't cheap and I ponder the fact, that the size of portions is usually inversely proportional to the price.
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