Venice Realized

In my Venice Imagined essay, I did not lay out any real expectations I had for Venice, but rather questions I wanted answered. Namely, I wondered about how the culture of a city changes when you take the cars out of it. The answer to that was, no surprisingly, everything slows down. Dinner takes two hours instead of fifteen minutes, and as we heard from our guide to the clock tower, time is significant only to the hour, not the minute. What most stuck out to me, however, was how normal the lack of cars felt. Walking around Venice for a week was a reminder of how natural it is for humans to move no faster than they can run and just how different our lives are from this natural state because of the vehicle.

            While walking around Venice, I noticed that I felt much calmer than I normally do. I thought that the cause of that might have been the sudden relief from the massive amount of homework that comes along with being an engineering student, but at the same time, I knew that it was still looming for next week and thus eliminated that as the cause. I realized that the particular calm I was feeling was not something I felt every day, but something I had felt before. Namely, it was similar to how I felt while hiking well into the backcountry of Yosemite or Rocky Mountain National Park. From that observation, I was able to identify the common thread that I think was the cause – in both cases, there are no cars.

            I think that cars cause us more stress than we realize, particularly when we’re walking near them. Consider running a race. If I was cruising along at whatever pace I’ve set and suddenly someone passed me, it would likely shake my nerves a bit. I’d likely think that my pace wasn’t fast enough, and I’d run a little faster. If it happened again, I’d try to run even faster. This would continue until I was running too fast for me to maintain the speed I was running at.

            Life is not a race per se, but I don’t believe we’re immune to the effects of cars constantly zooming past us. Unconsciously, we walk a little faster. We work a little longer. We spent a little less time relaxing. We are confronted with the fact that someone else is doing more with their time than us every time we are passed. Whether we realize it or not, simply being around cars quickens the pace of our lives and raises the amount of stress in them.

            Then there is Venice. No one is going anywhere in a hurry because no one can. There are still jobs that need to be done and places to be, but nothing is quite as urgent. Sitting down and having a three-hour long meal with friends no longer seems like a time drain, but rather something that is desirable, even necessary. I didn’t find myself constantly thinking of what needed to be done next. Rather, I focused on what was happening in the present.

            Additionally, Venice is much quieter than any other city I’ve ever been to because of the lack of cars. This struck me the most when we were walking back from dinner at Osteria alla Staffa around ten at night. I thought about how noisy Chicago is at the same time of night. The rumble of the “L” can be heard periodically, buses whoosh by, and cars honk. The background noise is virtually indistinguishable from that of the daytime. In Venice, however, there is near silence. Boat traffic seems to die down to nearly nothing, and it disappears once you’re far enough inland. All the noises of people out in the streets working during the day have died off. The only sound is of the footsteps of the group your walking with and perhaps of running water if you’re close enough to a canal. To think of Chicago ever being so quiet is unimaginable.

            In the “On the Exotic” chapter of The Art of Travel, Botton suggests that what we are attracted to abroad is “what we hunger for in vain at home.” In Venice, I found a slower pace of life that simply isn’t possible in any part of urban America along with all of the resources, such as museums and restaurants, which can be found only in cities. I am glad I was able to experience this beautiful lifestyle, if only for a week.

Blog Post: The Food of Venice

I think my number one reason for traveling is the food, so after spending a week in Venice, I think its about time to talk about the food. It's safe to say that its been a good week. Highlights have included prosciutto e funghi pizza from the little place over in San Elena, the little fruit-filled pastries that can be purchased for a euro at the bakeries scattered throughout the city, and the seafood risotto at Sotoportego, which I would definitely say is the best risotto I've ever eaten. I've also had at least one gelato every day I've been here, which I know I'll miss once I get back home. I've been posting a photo of each gelato on Facebook for the entertainment of my family, and I'll include them at the end of this post as well. The biggest surprise for me was probably the polenta. As it turns out, Italian polenta and the American version of it bear almost no resemblance to each other. 

Most of this post, however, deserves to be devoted to one meal. A few of us decided that we needed to have a proper multi-course Italian dinner before the end of the trip. On Dr. Felluga's recommendation, we headed to Osteria alla Staffa on Wednesday. We arrived promptly at 6:30, but being on Venetian time, the owner didn't open his doors until 7 or so. Upon going in, it was immediately apparent alla Staffa didn't cater to tourists so much, as evidenced by the Italian-only menu. 

Virtually helpless in our efforts to understand the menu, we told our waiter, who was also the owner, our desire to experience a full Italian dinner and asked for recommendations. As a passionate restaurant owner always is, he was delighted to help us out. He wanted us to experience the most Venetian meal we could, so virtually everything we ate was seafood based. He had us start out with two antipasti: one a platter of all things fish and the other something resembling a crab cake.

There was a small raw octopus on the seafood platter, which didn't phase me much as a sushi lover. However, it was a source of apprehension for the others. Erik Swan was brave enough to eat the head. When I had a scallop, I realized that this was probably going to be the start the best meal of my life to date, and I was right.

For the primo, the owner gave us half portions of two different pastas. I know one had some sort of cod based sauce, but in truth, I have no idea what they were. I have eaten nothing like either of them before, and the only description of what they tasted like that I can give is really, really, REALLY good.

At that point, I thought it couldn't get any better, but then came the secondo. It was a fish similar to flounder along with some baked vegetables. I thought this dish was a good example of how really good cooking makes a collection of ingredients come together to be one food completely different from its constituents. It had vegetables in it, but was if they had ceased to be vegetables. They had seemingly become something completely new, and this new thing was delicious. 

Then there was tiramisu. This tiramisu indisputably proved that Plato's idea of universals not physically existing to be false. It was the perfect tiramisu. It was the perfect texture, it had the perfect balance of espresso and chocolate, and it had the perfect sweetness. Thankfully, the owner gave us an American sized piece of this life-changing tiramisu. It certainly ruined all other tiramisu for me. 

We finished up with macchiatos, which were quite nice. Upon looking at time, we realized that we had been happily eating and socializing for nearly three hours without anyone looking at their phones, along with everyone else in the small restaurant. I took two things from that observation. One, the Italians know how to enjoy a meal, and through that process, their friends, a lot better than us. I wish that dinner would always be such a grand affair for us as well. Two, with the hours that alla Staffa operates, they essentially have a single party per table for the whole night, in contrast to the American standard of frantically turning tables. 

Eating in Italy makes me appreciate just how beautiful it is to sit down over a meal with your family or friends. There is perhaps no better way to simply enjoy the people your with. 

Chocolate Hazelnut on the first night

Lemon

Pistachio 

Pistachio , cherry, manicotti cheese (I was skeptical about the manincotti, but it was awesome)

 i

Peach and strawberry

Green apple

Mixed berry (heaven)

Blackberry cheesecake (heaven again)

Mango and strawberry

Tiramisu 

Tourists: A Thick Despriction

In my time here, I have rediscovered the existence of two contradictory Venices: one inhabited by locals that have often spent their entire lives here and another by a constantly changing flux of tourists that spent only a couple of days here. I find the latter to be a particularly interesting group. Venice is of course extraordinarily unique, but this group is completely indistinct for tourists mobbing any other famous location anywhere else in the world. The tourists in Venice, as well as anywhere else, are incredibly homogeneous in their habits, and the services catering to them are roughly the same everywhere as well.

 The tourists come to Venice from all corners of the world, and arrive there by many different means. Their paths almost all seem to converge when they step off the vaporetto at the San Zaccharia stop just a short walk from Piazza San Marco. They wander off the boat, wander out of the station, and wander onto the island. They are greeting immediately by a vendors from an incredibly varied mix of nationalities. Some of them may sell souvenirs specific to Venice, but often times, their wares consist of products that could come from anywhere, such as knock-off sunglasses and purses and t-shirts that display mildly crass messages . The tourists eyes wander from stall to stall, and among all of the magic of a city floating in a lagoon, they decide that their first order of business will be to buy a fake pair of Ray-bans.

This business taken care of, they set off to undertake the mission they came to Venice to accomplish: to take pictures of everything they are told is famous to proudly display to jealous family and friends. They move in mob with a sinusoidal velocity. The mob clusters together in a slow crawl as it passes the Bridge of Sighs, the Doge's Palace, the columns guarding the entrance to the piazza, the campanile, and the Bascilia San Marco as the tourists frantically take pictures of these famous landmarks from at least twenty-seven different angles. They take so many photos many of them probably don't ever see the city except through a camera lens. This accomplished, they move quickly to collect their photo of the next destination, and the mobs thins out for a while. This succession of points of interest mark a path follow by every tourist in Venice. 

  

After taking a respectable number of photos of all of the critical famous landmarks, the tourists set out to find a restaurant selling "real" Italian food. These restaurants conveniently line the streets immediately bordering the Piazza San Marco with a safe view of the escape route back to the tourist's hotel. The tourist can be certain that these restaurants are authentic as they proudly display "Real Italian Food" in twenty languages other than Italian on their menus outside, which also offer several languages. After having an Italian hamburger for lunch, its time for authentic, British-made gelato at the gelataria next door for the low price of five euros. 

When you are in the heart of one of these tourist mobs, you feel as if all of Venice must be a sea of tourists with no trace of actual Venetians. Then, you turn off onto a side street, and you almost instantly find yourself in a different world. Signs are suddenly only in Italian. People walk as if they are going somewhere, and they don't point cameras at everything. Gelato is now a euro fifty. This is the local Venice. It exists merely feet from tourist Venice, but it is a separate world. It seems hard to justify the coexistence of the two, but, paradoxically, one cannot exist the other. Venice's economy relies heavily on the money the tourists bring in, and the tourists would not have a city to visit if the Venetians weren't there to care for it. When one considers this, it seems a little less like the presence of the tourists doesn't violate the traditions of the locals. Indeed, as a center of trade, Venice has been a place that outsiders have passed through frequently for its entire history. 

The tourist world of Venice is exactly the same as the tourist world of any other destination. It might be the Eiffel Tower instead of the campanile of San Marco, or the Vatican instead of the basilica, but there are invariably things to take pictures of and a mob of people attacking them with cameras. There is always the same vendor selling the same cheap sunglasses. All these other worlds are just like that of Venice's in that they are easy to escape. One wrong turn, and you just might actually experience another culture. It's lucky for us that such mistakes are easy to make.

Dogs of Venice- Wednesday Blog Post

            In my few days in Venice so far, I’ve noticed that while all of the Venetians seem to enjoy life, none of them enjoy it quite so much as their four-legged companions. With the number of dogs I see out with their owners, I am convinced that owning a dog must be a prerequisite for being a real Venetian. The dogs of Venice are living the good life. In fact, if I were a dog, I don’t think I could imagine a better place to call home.

Venice belongs to the dogs. They can be found just about everywhere: you see them out for walks, in cafés while their owners have an espresso, and even on vaporetti. They enjoy the company of the rest of the many dogs of Venice, occasionally needing an “andiamo” from their owners when they socialize for a bit too long. Although they seemed not to come in a pack of seven, something about the attitudes of these dogs was reminiscent of those in the movie Moonstruck in my opinion, and sometimes, I can’t help but hear that peppy song that always goes with the appearance of the dogs in the movie.

This high density of dogs seems to make for a different culture towards them than anything I’ve experienced before. Before going to Venice, the idea of bringing a dog into a restaurant was not only something I’d never consider doing, but also something I might not have believed to happen anywhere.  I’m not sure that it is explicitly against the rules to bring pets on public transportation, but it’s certainly something I just don’t see done. Really, the only two places it seems completely acceptable to have a dog is in your own house and outside. Anywhere else would seem a little off, if not somewhat illegal. Many pet owners in the United States might say they think of their pets as just strange looking humans, but the Venetians take it a step further. It seems like their society as a whole has accepted this idea. A “No Dogs” sign seems to be something you simply don’t see in Venice.

I’d like to credit this difference to a fundamental difference in what Venetians and Americans as a whole value. Americans follow the rules. They stop at traffic lights even if there isn’t another car within a twenty mile radius, they generally treat “Keep out” signs practically as a tangible boundary they physically cannot cross, and they certainly don’t bring their dogs into Starbucks with them in the morning for a coffee. I don’t think this is really the case with the Italians. It seems to me that rules are accepted only as suggestions in Italian society. Italians seem to more do what makes sense to them. There’s probably health codes that would strongly discourage the presence of dogs in places where people eat, but by Italian logic, an espresso needs to be had before work and the dog needs to be taken out, so why wouldn’t one combine the two? I very much appreciate this attitude.

Campo Assignment

The Campo San Stefano is located in the heart of the glass making district of Murano. The church associated with it, S. Pietro Martine, sits across a mid-size canal from the campo. With its massive size and plain exterior, it is clear that the church was built in a medieval style. It seems to have a greater than typical number of windows for a church of its time period, which might be explained by the fact of its location in Murano. The lower windows, which take the shape of the Roman arch rather than the ogee arch common throughout Venice, are covered with a thick iron lattice. This, along with the towering height of the church, gives it a powerful appearance. On the clerestory, there are four round windows resembling those one might find on a ship, and indeed, the long tall shape of the church does bring to mind that of a ship.  

The inside of the church is wooden and not terribly ornate. The two exceptions are the few Renaissance era paintings, including a Tintoretto, adorning the walls and 6 massive chandeliers hanging in the front, serving as another reminder of the church’s location. The front door of the church is framed with an aedicule, which is of more of a Renaissance style than the rest of the church. Because of all of the windows, the church is much more light than the typical gothic church.

Taken from online (No photos allowed in church)

            The campo itself features a campanile of a modest size that clearly matches the gothic architecture of the church. The design of the two are tied together by the small arches along the top of each that serve as one of the few features meant purely for aesthetic value. The campanile is topped with a machicolation, and the size facing the campo has a clock face.  The tables of a restaurant take up a large chunk of the space. The campo is of a reasonable size, somewhat smaller than Santa Maria Formosa. The most unique feature of the campo, however, is a recent addition. The artisans of Murano make huge glass sculptures for decoration that can be found throughout the district, and the campo hosts one of these pieces. This piece, which is very modern, stands out in stark contrast to the gothic architecture of the church and campanile.

            Two bridges in the immediate vicinity cross the canal cutting the church and campo apart. It is picturesque spot, with many tourists stopping on the bridges or next to the glass art for a photo. Additionally, the canal itself is quite busy, with boats lining both sides and frequently passing up the canal. There seems to be a fair number of locals around in addition to the tourists.

            The space is a great case study for how the Venetians and tourists use the same space so differently. When a person enters the campo, it is easy to tell if they are a tourist or a local. The tourists wander with no sense of purpose, walking with a slow pace and stopping frequently when something catches their eye. They amble in, admire the glass sculpture, snap a photo to post on a social media site later in the day to impress friends,  then wander on to buy cheap Chinese glass in the more questionable shops in Murano.

The Venetians, on the other hand, look like they have a destination in mind as they enter the campo.  They don’t necessarily walk quickly, but not aimlessly.  They seem to simply go about their business as if the tourists aren’t even there. Delivery boats come and go, and the waiters prepare the restaurant for a siesta between lunch and dinner. Indeed, since Venice is so permanently overrun with visitors, the Venetians probably have learned to turn a blind eye to them.

Despite still being very close to the main island, Murano feels much more like a vacation destination than a bustling city, even in the Venice sense of the phrase. Among the group, it was agreed that the island had an almost tropical feel to it, despite the relatively chilly weather. This shows how little distance it takes to give a place its own distinct identity.  The campo reflected this atmosphere, and as I sat there, I had the feeling that nothing was urgent.  Certainly the church and the campanile had no concern for the passing of time, and that attitude seemed to spread throughout the area.

Venice in the Details

The Museo Correr is one of Venice’s many museums and is home to many pieces of art that tell the history of the city. The story of how the museum’s collection came to be is a unique one.  The Museo Correr is named after Teodoro Correr, who was a Venetian nobleman in the late 1700s.  Early in his career, he followed the typical path of someone of his stature – public administration. However, his real passion was collecting, and he went to extreme measures to pursue this passion. In order to rid himself of his duties as a public administrator, he went so far as to become an abbot.

            Correr’s collection was unusual in that it was collected at a time at which most of Venice’s nobility was selling off their collection rather than expanding. He collected during the time when Venice lost its sovereignty to an invasion by Napoleon. During this unstable time, most of the nobility was happy to be selling off their collections and reaping the large sums of money that their priceless collections demanded. Correr took advantage of this, buying up many of the collections and saving them from being taken from the city by wealthy foreigners hungry for a piece of Venice’s rich artistic tradition. He was known to be ruthless in gathering his collections and was not above extorting and strong-arming his way into ownership of a piece if he wanted it enough.

            The collections of the Museo Correr are significant because from daily life to naval achievements to public celebrations, its paintings represent a huge part of Venetian history. Most importantly, this collection never left the city. At the time that it was gathered, many of Venice’s artistic treasures made an exodus from the city at the hands of the Napoleonic invaders. Although many of the works have now returned to the city, the Correr collection never left. Because of this, as well as Teodoro Correr’s belief that his art should be for everyone to enjoy, the collection has been on display for the public since Correr’s death in 1830. The museum is now open to the public and is run as a civic museum by the city of Venice.

            The building itself also has an interesting history. The part we see in front of us is the Napoleonic wing. It was built as a palace for the ruler put in place by Napoleon when he conquered Italy. Since it was in fact a palace, the museum itself is a work of art. If we were to step inside, we would find an ornate interior that was designed by the Venetian artist Giuseppe Borsato, and above the main staircase, we would find an impressive fresco by Sebastino Santi. Despite the fact that it is a museum itself, the Museo Correr could still be said to follow the Venetian tradition of art staying where it was in the first place rather than being moved to museums.  The architecture of the building reveals a neoclassical design typical of the Napoleonic Period that stands out in constrast to the Venetian Gothic style typical throughout the city.

            This difference in architecture is what struck me the most upon seeing the Museo Correr after getting a feeling for the rest of Venice. Despite the mix of architecture present throughout Venice, to me, the Museo Correr simply did not seem to fit. It looked like a piece of Paris had fallen out of the sky and imposed itself on the Piazza San Macro, which isn’t far off from the truth. This, along with the horses of the Basilica San Macro being taken to Paris, are reminders of how difficult it must have been for a people of such a proud tradition of independence to be conquered by Napoleon. Consider how earth shattering it would be if America was to be invaded and lose its independence. It simply isn’t something we think of as a possibility—America seems unshakably permanent. It has only been independent for 200 years. How much more permanent much have Venetian sovereignty seemed to the Venetians, whose independence dates back for so much longer a time period?  Seeing the intruding architecture of the Napoleonic Wing of the Museo Correr on one side of the Piazza San Marco and the basilica without its iconic symbols of Venetian freedom must have been a painful reminder to the Venetians of what they had lost.

Bibliography

"Building and History." Museo Correr. Fondazione Musei Civici Venezia, n.d. Web. 13 Mar. 2014. <http://correr.visitmuve.it/en/il-museo/museum/building-and-history/>.

"Museo Correr." Lonely Planet. Lonely Planet, n.d. Web. 13 Mar. 2014. <http://www.lonelyplanet.com/italy/venice/sights/museums-galleries/museo-correr>.

"Museo Correr." Google Cultural Institute. Google, n.d. Web. 13 Mar. 2014. <http://www.google.com/culturalinstitute/collection/museo-correr>.

"Museo Correr: A Fascinating Insight into the Art and History of Venice." My Art Guides. Venice Art Biennale 2013, 2013. Web. 13 Mar. 2014. <http://www.myartguides.com/venice-art-biennale-2013/art-spaces/foundations/item/486-museo-correr>.

"Teodoro Correr." Museo Correr. Fondazione Musei Civici Venezia, n.d. Web. 13 Mar. 2014. <http://correr.visitmuve.it/en/il-museo/museum/teodoro-correr/>.