Roppolo to Venice

Roppolo to Vercelli 15 October 2010

Well, Roppolo was pretty special. The friendly, funny meal with the family round the kitchen table, then breakfast with freshly cooked biscotti di lombardi, apple cake, toast, cheese. Photos at the gate and general warm feelings all round.

Straight up, past the castle and into misty scenery. A few hills then flat, flat , flat. It's rice country and it is dead flat and as a result rather tedious to walk through. On steep mountain slopes it can be hard to believe it wouldn't be preferable to be able to walk along flat ground. There are also some cornfields, with corn being harvested. But we are just going from A to B. The Roppolo B&B owner's daughter Neva is a pre-school teacher in Santhia, our destination - how tempting to ask her for a lift, but it would have blasted our credibility into outer space, so no, no, no, we plod along instead. Temperature nice, feeling fine, but just dull.

Get to Santhia and, as planned, catch the train for the last section to Vercelli, avoiding the miles of suburbs on the outskirts of the town. The next train was due in 10 minutes, we hopped on, got off 20 km later - how easy! I can see touring by train in Europe in the future, it works well.

When we get to Vercelli station we buy our tickets to (gasp with excitement) Venice for our little interlude! Tomorrow!! 39 euros each, it seems ridiculously easy and cheap.

I had hoped to connect with a parcel sent from home (thanks Jess) in Vercelli, but we cant find the guy's address and have to abandon the attempt. Lucky there was nothing valuable in it, just conveniences.

The town looks seedy and dreary until we walk through the old town, past the 13th century cathedral and into a maze of mediaeval streets. Wonderful vistas of alleys, lanes, grand buildings, little terraces, churches and towers. Georgous! Vercelli redeems itself.

We try for the restaurant in our hotel - full - so go to a pizza & pasta place nearby and have just finished a great meal, cheap, cheerful and tasty, recommended by the vivacious ladies at the next table. Renato lashes out to have a wickedly rich and sweet canoli to finish.


Vercelli to Venice 16 October 2010

Italy does uniforms really well. The policemen look so snappy in trim outfits of black and red with a white leather chest strap and a jaunty gun on a slim hip. Even the ticket collectors on the trains look sharp.

Now here is something interesting - the last place on the mainland before Venice is Mestre. And Renato is descended (and thus also our girls) from David and Sarah Ramsay's eldest son David jnr and his wife Kate de Mestre. I don't know the lineage, but there must be some Italian blood in the family.

We're up at 6, sitting on the station in a chill wind, waiting for the train to Venice. The train is so full there are even some people sitting on the floor, but it's quick and convenient and on time. We arrive at St Lucia and - what's this? A Grand Canal! I feel like jumping up and down with excitement. Little boats are zooming up and down. We catch a little ferry like a bus and after a bit of confusion due to an inadequate map, find our way to the right stop - Rialto - aah, isn't that just too too evocative! Over the next few hours, in the little space around our hotel, between the Rialto and St Mark's Square, we get lost 3 times. A maze of little alleys, little canals, little bridges, none of them named on our map.

Rather to our surprise the hotel is ok although the room is minute. If I tell you that between the ensuite and the bed is a metal strip on the corner because there's no way to get into the bed without bumping past it, does that give you a clue? But the water is hot, hot, hot, a rarity and the heater is on, on, on, so the first thing to do do in this city of dreams is the washing, and get it hung up on my little don't - travel - without - it clothesline.

Then out to discover the most beautiful city in the world. Is it? Sydney is definitely a contender, San Franciso is lovely, Siena is wonderful, never been to Rio, but Venice is absolutely right up there, and all in the space of a pocket handkerchief.

We go into a shop to buy some cheese and olives and a woman comes in with an umbrella. The shopkeeper, very agitated, calls out to her to "Close the umbrella!" He's prepared to lose the sale, which he does, but he is clearly alarmed at the bad luck it would cause. I think there's still a lot of mystery and magic here in these dark streets.

We see a poster for La Traviata and go to investigate. Just around the corner and over a little bridge in an old church. It is hilariously rather like a very high quality school performance. The man trying to make people line up in the foyer later appears in the chorus on stage. The door to the wings opens and closes in quiet bits with snatches of conversation off stage. The soprano is working absolutely to her capacity and chickens out of the final high note at the end of Act 1, but it is immensely enjoyable. "They've got the accent really well," whispers Renato, and we almost laugh out loud.

Ther's a tiny orchestra, and sitting in the front row we are so close that we have to pull in our toes as they go in and out between acts. The musicians are all having a good time and seem very friendly, and the one on front of me has clearly stepped stright off a Roman coin and picked up his flute.

We like a lot of operas, but I have a special fondness for La Trav because every time it brings back a particular memory. We went to see it when Zoe was 6 weeks old and I still remember sitting there thinking how happy I was to have this lovely baby. There's one part that brings the memory rushing back every time.


Venice day one 17 October 2010

It really is true, I was born 100 years too late. I should have been in India in the Raj and I definitely should have been in Venice on holiday for the season, taking a house on the Grand Canal for 3 months and going in a gondola every night to balls.

But, here we are in 2010, and yes, here we are. We are always lucky with the weather, it's a constant affirmation, and we are lucky again today. It's raining when we wake up and, we think, "Great, that will thin out the crowds." I had been thinking hmmm, Sunday, every alley will be thick with people (if Venice is sinking as they say, I think it is because of the weight of the tourists, it's busy now, I can't imagine what it msut be like in summer) . But it is very cold, blowing a stiff wind, and there are gowing piles of broken umbrellas in the corners. So now they will huddle in the bars and cafes morosely eyeing off the rain.

We set off and at the first turn come to a surprise - the canal has risen and flooded the alley. Looking ahead St Mark's Square is under water. Suddenly the stacks of things that look like low trestle tables make sense. They have been transformed into walkways above the water.

We retreat strategically, put on our wet wether gear, boots and gaiters and re-launch. No shuffling along walkways for us. We wade through to St Mark's Basilica. It's Sunday and Mass is in progress, tourists walking quietly along the edges, the seats full of devout Catholics there for the service.  But, oh, the inside is startling. From about 4 metres up every inch is covered in mosaics in gold leaf and bright colours. It all looks a trifle dusty, like most cathedrals but it's, well, a bit high for the maid to reach with ehr duster. The architecture is rather Byzantine, but after all it is nearby, the East, I mean. We stand, staring up in astonishment and listening to the choir until the service finishes.

Then we splash out into the square again. There is a faint whiff of, how do they do their drainage under water, but no don't think about that. The view across the Grand Canal to the beautiful domed church and along the bank, lined with gondolas and those postcard buildings, is so so pretty. What is it about the light in Venice? Maybe it is because there is water everywhere and it lightens and brightens everything.

We move on to a trio of museums, all linked. It's rather overwheming - icons, paintings, historical itmes from Venice in the middle ages, Roman relics. After a couple of hours Renato begs for mercy and we retreat to the hotel for a bread roll followed by a siesta.

Then out to the Rialto again on the other bend of the Grand Canal, the famous bridge with the merchants shops on it. We catch the ferry to the stop for our evening's entertainment, a concert, Vivaldi 4 Seasons and violin concertoes by Corelli and Goldoni, in a church in a very graceful piazza.

We fill in the time waiting for it to start at 9pm in a little restaurant where we are having minestrone, pizza and salad. Then off to the concert, with the mellow silky sound of baroque instruments. Stradivarius came from here, along with stacks of musicians for hundreds of years. It seems that any night you could just pop round any corner and hear fantastic chamber music, opera...aah.


Venice day two 18 October 2010

Burp - 'scuse me! Venice is such a rich diet.

A feast, actually. All day it's like looking at all the pictures you've ever seen of Venice. Those famous views of the Grand Canal with the Doge's Palace, St Mark's Square, domes and spires. And little waterways, alleys just wide enough to fit a gondola, usually with a gondola gliding along. Tiny, arched bridges one after another.

And it's not kitsch, despite all the tourism. There are plenty of shops and street stalls with tacky souvenirs, but most of the shops have beautiful silk, glass, jewellery, leather. And lots of art. It's a classy town, managing to milk the tourists and yet stay oh so cool. And oh, so beautiful. The buildings are delapidated and grubby, but so very atmospheric, so very confident of their elegant lines, their impeccable pedigree. And I'm amazed that, although there are hotels everywhere, so many of the waterfront palazzos look as if they are still privately owned.

There is scaffolding covered in hessian dotted around St Mark's  square. Even half of the front of the basilica is being restored and hung with hessian (of course!). I might come back to see it unobscured one day. One tower in the square cracked and 3 days later collapsed. There seems to have been pretty constant renovation going on for hundreds of years, so it's no surprise. The amazing thing is how it all continues to stay up at all.

We head straight for the Doge's Palace and emerge reeling from the ceilings loaded with gilt and paintings. Tintoretto and his studio must have been working overtime in this town, they're everywhere, and they left a big mark on the Doge's digs. The Doge was elected for life by the group of wealthy families and the palace has a measured air of solemn power and prestige. But the building is light, lacy and delicate, with pale stone and fretwork and all the detail on the inside. How far are we from the East again? The two Moors striking the hour of the great bell  at the top of the tower in the square give a clue.

We're pretty comfortable with the buses now - the ferries, that is - that run up and down the Grand Canal, so we hop on and hop off at a stop called Accademia, to visit a major gallery there full of Bellini, Tintoretto, Tiepolo etc etc. Not to mention the earlier icons, the later landscapes. Renato was excited to get there but has now officially seen enough crucifixion, martyrdom, beheading and related scenes and way too many annunciations. Oh dear, it's Italy, there's going to be more. Even in the churches here, it's everywhere, massive paintings covering big slabs of wall, by famous names. "So different to Spain," I say, "they don't do gold much." "They didn't have South America to rip off," says Renato. Oh yes, of course.

We cross the Grand Canal to the point opposite St Mark's, quiet, warm and sunny. The church with the beautiful dome is disappointing close up, but we wander leisurely all the way back through the little streets and bridges back to the hotel. Late in the day we take the ferry to the last stop, the Lido, to see another view of the town, then back for dinner.

At the end of the evening we can't bring ourselves to end the day, so we walk back to the Grand Canal to see the lights on the water, then back for a final look at St Mark's Square. Three groups of musicians are playing, people are standing around watching and clapping. Renato buys me a long stemmed rose. I keep staring at St Mark's Basilica, trying to capture the memory of its delicate beauty.

But we've been here 2 and a half days now and haven't been invited to any balls - it's time to move on.