The People Meet the Movie Set

As I sit in Strasbourg writing about Venice the whole experience seems a very long time ago, when in fact it was only 7 days. Under the bitter disappointment of not finding George Clooney we left Lake Como, one of us somewhat subdued. Our drive south was rather quiet for the initial 20 mins as we pondered what could have been. The Bald man soon snapped out of it, I think he realized he was stuck with me whether he liked it or not.

The drive to Venice was reasonably easy, the amount of trucks on the road however wasn’t and queue after queue of trucks sat beside us as we made our way west. My directions were simple, follow signs for Venice and once we hit the water, it should be in front of us. And a couple of loops around varying industrial areas there it was, one huge Historians play ground. No matter how underwhelmed I was trying to be, it really is spectacular.  We parked the car in super huge garage, told the man behind the glass where we were going and a bloke in a babygrow with “Porter” on the back took our bulging suitcases, flung them on a sack barrow and took us to a waiting Daygo Whop in a very flash private taxi. The private taxi took us gently around the lesser canals, opened up on the Grand and within 15 mins we were at the prettiest hotel on the street and it felt like we were on a movie set.


80 Euro later he was after a tip, but was ignored. We checked in, was given some directions to restaurants, shown the sites on a museum map and the nicest concierge in Italy took us to our room. 20 mins later we got rid of him after he had expressly showed us how to use every gadget and device. Tired and somewhat thirsty we crossed a bridge and sat at the first bar we got to where our two beers were served in glass boots, don’t ask, they just were.

Our plans were simple, walk dinner walk and sleep.  So we walked to find some food and ended up on the waterfront (proper not canal) of the lagoon looking out over one of the other islands in a restaurant called La Piscina (or something similar) So imagine the setting, waterfront, caramel and terracotta coloured buildings all around, great domes over the top and boats everywhere. Stunning right? So in the restaurant we were herded in to a couple of seats and deposited with two menus. At that point we realized the staff were all in fact security guards and we were VIPS being treated to something amazing……….. or not! This was the start of the tourist debauchery that I was going to end up loathing about Venice.

The menus were read and discussed, some exceptionally dry bread was dumped on the table and 10 mins later  our wine appeared beside me courtesy of Grumpeo, our waiter for the evening. Grumpeo got up my goat pretty damn quickly when I was trying to put Olive Oil on my concrete bread.

“non, non, non, plate plate plate.” He snapped at me pointing at the table cloth

“well get me a plate plate plate then” I replied

Something Italian was spat at me, translations to be left to your imagination, but a while after a plate plate plate was thrust in front of us and the wired up waiter stalked off to get our starters. Mine was a mixed eraser salad which I mistook my school girl Italian in translation from Mixed Seafood Salad.  Some vinegar soaked sliced and curls of pencil eraser were delicately thrown over some gritty green salad with a similar vinegary sauce. The sauce unfortunately spilt a little of the plate plate plate….. shame. The Bald man can’t remember what he had so it can’t have been any good.  My main was rabbit parpadelle, of which I have had better in Auckland. The sauce from the pasta however splashed a little on the tablecloth too…. Shame. The Bald man had “meat on potato I think” memorable obviously.

We discovered why everyone was cabled up to the 9’s when our starters were cleared and the mains were called away into the waiters collar where a mic was placed. So there we were in an industrial restaurant of crap food and rude waiters. Welcome to Venice.

The following day after a good sleep we enjoyed a slap up Venetian breakfast of hard boiled eggs and ham and decided on a visit to the Murano glass factory on one of the other islands which was an easy and free trip on a taxi boat from our hotel. And free it was. The hard sell on some stunning glass however wasn’t free and as the salesman told us explicitly that we couldn’t afford the pieces we were interested in and showed to a seconds room I was beginning to lose my rag. As we missed the shuttle back to Venice we were politely (not) shown the door to the rest of the island as it was slammed behind us.

Murano is a beautiful island, with equally lovely canals and much better value food. We sat next to a canal for lunch and I enjoyed the best plate of spaghetti Vongole I have ever had. The Bald man went for Lasagna and a mouthful later, I agreed it was pretty fantastic. An English couple sat next to us and as we recommended what we had they ordered it and were equally as enthused. They were both journalists and he worked in Khabul. I felt a little humbled as I listened to their exploits.

After a lovely morning we felt fed and watered enough to brave San Marco, which we did. And then left. 40,000,000 tourists in one square with 1,000,000 Nigerians selling knock off Louis Vouis’. “Fuck you and thanks” was their phrase du jour if you paid no attention to them, bloody charming.

We ate next to our hotel that evening in a little restaurant which served simple food with simple flavours. Calamari that tasted of calamari and prawns that tasted of prawns, no accompaniment just that! We had booked the Venice Jazz club that evening which was absolutely brilliant. A bottle of Chianti, amazing jazz and beautiful surroundings, who could ask for a more perfect evening. A little wobbly we had a great nights sleep!

Day two what to do! Well we were bloody lazy and spent half the morning in our room catching up on the joys of email and work. By 11 it was time to head to the Rialto bridge and the markets in order to find some of the much raved about delights of the Cichetti bars. It took a while and then we found one on the corner of a couple of streets. Cichetti is a little like Tapas and Mezze, little bites to be eaten, enjoyed and move on. The first we found had about 25 different options from big crumbed meatballs to lots of different bruschetta type nibbles. We had a combination of Tuna, anchovy, ham and chicory with cheese along with one of the meatballs. Individually they were sublime, tasty mouthfuls that were light yet filling, washed down with a small glass of wine or beer. It was a sophisticated and simple experience and even though we were there less than 20 mins, people came and went quickly – satisfied and off.

The second one was a little more tucked away, but one of the oldest in the area. Big barrels of house wine sat on their sides waiting with bright copper lids. The food was behind glass or on top of the counters, morsels of taste bud explosion just waiting to be picked. My favourite vegetable, globe artichoke hearts were sliced and marinated in a little olive oil and vinegar, enough to taste but not to over power. Luckily the Bald man curled his lip up at them, all the more for me.

I was jealous as all hell of these places, little glasses of beer and wine, enough to wash the food down and some light meals…… could we reproduce in NZ? I don’t know.

Next on the tourist trip was the Bridge of Sighs……… covered in scaffolding and not viewable, waste of a trip and meant to a backwards and forwards through San (“would you like a fake handbag? No! thanks and fuck off”) Marco Sq. Back to the other side of the Grand Canal and a quiet beer. Dinner a bowl of crap Bolognese and a pizza, the service was good though!

We finished the two days off with an evening of Vivaldi in a beautiful concert hall. Behind us was a stunning American with 3 perfectly dressed boys, the youngest of which was heard to be saying “Mommy, I don’t like this we have to leave immediately, do you understand? I don’t like this already Mommy I want to leave right now, do you hear me, right now!” Poor Mommy! They left (thankfully) after the first movement.

As we drove away from Venice, I know I’ll be back some day and will just have to accept the fact that the Venetians are abysmally rude and as I was warned, the restaurants do not serve great food. In all I thoroughly enjoyed our stay though and the amazement on the Bald man’s face made the trip completely worth it.