I had first been to Venezia (aka Venice) a decade ago with my sister. We were backpacking through Europe and the strongest memory I have, aside from the striking scenery, was that my sister hated Venice. Maybe it was getting lost in the tiny twisty corridors. Maybe it was the heavy backpacks and summer temperatures. More likely still, it was because when she tried to run away from me in Paris I chased after her and made her continue our trip.
Returning to Venice after ten years, this time with my parents and Stefano, I hoped my sister's distaste for this strange city would not be shared by the rest of my family. I shouldn't have worried. Immediately after descending from the train station, there was a continual thread of ooh's and aah's that continued right up until our frenzied last minute run to the train station.
What you've heard about Venice and water is true. It flows through Venice, crisscrossing the neighborhoods like monsooned circuit boards. The waterways are gorgeous and strange, lapping at mossy boat landings and tall wooden poles that serve as handles back onto land.
There are no cars in Venice. The streets are water and when you can't find a bridge to cross the water, you must find a boat. Large boats, low and wide, travel the main canals as buses pace through regular cities. There are also gondolas that cross the width of the Grand Canal in a few short minutes. For the low cost of 50 euro cents you're entitled to the wobbly freedom of sitting on the tiny boat's side, watching the gondolier dig deep into the canal, turn the boat around, and deliver you to the canal's other edge.
Not all canals are grand enough to warrant public transport - many are small thoroughfares that curl and dig into the residential spaces. Small bridges cross these waterways and families park their boats along their edges. These small canals trace their way through Venice's innards.
Along with the veining of water there are the myriad passages and pathways for pedestrians - far more so than the watery spaces. The passages are thin and mysterious, with character laden buildings rising tall at every side. Think of an English garden's botanical maze of 10 foot hedges spiraling inward. This is Venice but in Venice you can't peek through the shrubbery to cheat a glance. You must simply turn down the next corridor and see where it brings you.
Venice's pedestrian corridors are telescopes stretching into dark shadow. A simple look down a walkway promises a fleeting story; a wedge of light, a couple in arms, a dog trotting just out of view. Venice is a city of knots and gnarls with soft touches of life and history at its ends.
Light becomes a treasure, something that burrows in from above and buries itself deep in the dark spaces. It catches the lace on curtains drifting out of apartments and rests on laundry lines darting past bricks and stone. Light is always around the next corner, promising that out of the current shade and mystery, you will pass into certainty and shine.
We had pizza slices on a piazza that burned white with sun. It was in the Dorsoduro area of Venice, away from the tourist throngs and pigeons of St. Mark's. There were a few trees, a few benches, and only a few people who looked like out-of-towners.
As we stood under the pizza shop's awning, watching dogs come to lap at the water fountain in the center of the piazza and a little boy ride his miniature motor scooter alongside his Grandmother, we could see that real people lived in Venice. Real people who work at cheap pizza places and play Bob Marley CDs to make the work day go by.
It helps to see that this place is not a Disney World where the employees turn off the lights at night and go home. It's a strange city filled with strange sights; where history climbs up out of the water and makes you wander its paths. But it's also where people listen to reggae CDs that skip. This city's veins may be filled with water but it's alive all the same.
So little sister, you going to give it another chance?
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