The first time I went to Venice was in May of 1984. I was a college junior, fresh off my semester working for Geoff Lawler, a Tory Member of Parliament. That was one of the greatest experiences of my college days, and, indeed, of my life.
Never having been overseas before (two prior motorcycle camping trips to Canada doesn’t count as “overseas”), I traveled around England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland on weekends and spring break. When my internship wrapped up, my dad came over and visited for a bit, and then we went off to Ireland, where I extended my pub count to over 150 (but who’s counting?!).
So, I’m embarked on a train/hitchhike month-long tour of Europe, going to Paris, Nice, Monaco, Pisa, Rome, Florence, Venice, Lucerne, and Bruges.
I loved Paris, Rome, Venice, and Lucerne, and liked the rest. Traveling by myself, I found myself talking to lots of other American college students (and some Aussies, of course) who were traveling (mostly in groups). I was able to do what I wanted each day, not having to negotiate with others not as enthusiastic about what a budding Iron Tourist would want to do.
Not all of the groups that I talked did so, but many were getting on each others nerves and envied my freedom. Some, in fact, after talking with me, decided to split up for a week or more and meet again in a distant town. In a way I took that as compliment, that they saw how much I was enjoying myself and wanted to find the joy in their trip that had gone missing.
That’s a long intro to my story from 1984 in Venice. I was filled with wonderment at Venice. It’s one thing to know about the canals, it’s another to walk amongst them. For forty years I’ve called Venice “the most unique city in the world.”
(Editor: You should never qualify the word “unique.” If something is the “most unique” it’s the same as calling it “unique.” Writer: Okay pal, but I’m sticking with the phrase “most unique.”)
It’s the quietest city I’ve ever been in, with Amsterdam having earned second place. There are no cars. But not only no cars, but no motorcycles, scooters, or any other motorized vehciles. Delivieries of food and good are done on hand-pulled wheeled carts.
Anyhow, these other Americans I met hated Venice. They thought there was too much litter, graffitti, and dirt. It turns out they had come from Switzerland, where the government wipes your butt after you do a number 2. I obviously could overlook the litter and graffitti. (Yes, it’s a disappointment, but amazement that Venice evokes far outweighs the the downsides.)
Then we came in 2007 on our grand tour of Italy with the girls. Julia was 14, Maddy was 12, and Torie was still a single digit midget at age 9. I loved it the second time, and I was pretty certain I would love it the third time.
And I do love Venice. I get that it’s a bit more messy than a typical western city, but they have significantly cut down on the pigeon population since my previous trips.
Pro tip: In case you are wondering what happened to the pigeons, don’t order the chicken.
I have come to the conclusion that the best thing you can do in Venice is just aimlessly wander the back alleys, crossing random canals, coming to a backstreet where the line for gelato is well out the door (and yes, when you see such a line, get in it – there’s a reason for the line), giong over a canal bridge and watching a gondola with a happy couple travel past.
I could continue poetically rhapsodizing about Venice, but then I wouldn’t get the blog done, and you, dear reader, would say “enough!”
Anyhow, I’m back and Venice is as fabulous as I remember.
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