Charlene and I took the vaporetto to Salute, and I showed her around the inside. There were no fantasie costumes today. Santa Maria della Salute is an interesting church in that it looks like a dollop of fancy Baroque icing on the bank of the Grand Canal. It is an octagonal church with a circular nave topped by a huge dome, and the façade has lots of whorls and doo-dads, scrolls, leafy Corinthian columns and statues. A good part of it is under scaffolding for restoration, but I can forgive that, as long as it keeps the place standing.
(Exterior of Chiesa Santa Maria della Salute)
It is named after Mary, “our lady of health” due to its consecration after one of the many plagues that hit Europe. In 1630 after yet another wave of death where Venice lost over one third of its population, the populace vowed to build a church in her honor for interceding and sparing them further suffering. Even today, the city celebrates with the Festa della Salute, where a pontoon bridge is built for the worshippers to visit the church, say a prayer, light a candle for friends and relatives, eat a particular feast dish of castradina (a mutton stew) and celebrate another year of good health.
If there was castradina around that would assure me not getting a full-blown cold I would take it right about now. But no…on we went to San Zaccaria just south of San Marco. We crowded in with the rest of the cattle herd to pass in front of the Bridge of Sighs surrounded by plastic wrap for a restoration on the Doge’s Palace and take photos with everyone under the sun. We then sidled up to the front of the belltower to stand in line with everyone for the elevator to the top of the Campanile.
(Bridge of Sighs, shink wrapped for your viewing pleasure, temporarily.)
(The Campanile and the Basilica)
This is a copy of the original. That one fell in 1902 after standing for roughly seven hundred years, supposedly only killing the bellkeeper’s cat. This one has been standing for almost one hundred years and if it’s shape seems familiar to those of us in the East Bay area, that’s because it’s the very similar to Sather Tower, the Campanile at UC Berkeley. Cal’s is granite over steel rather than red brick, which is a smart idea considering we’ve been known to have earthquakes.
While waiting in line (or in the mob, I should say – Europeans just can’t get it together to queue up properly) for entrance, there was another one of the masked “fantasie” creatures posing on the wall at the Campanile. People were mobbing up to snap photos, as per usual. This sparked a conversation with Charlene and a self-realization about my personality. I am somewhat extroverted, a little less so now that I am growing older and wider (yep, I said it!) but I have always been a social butterfly of sorts. I speak my mind and enjoy doing things not entirely expected of me in contrast to family and friends, but I am missing the chip these people have. I have never been a peacock – these people are human peacocks, after all, preening and posing for the cameras and making certain they are seen. Sure, the costumes warrant being seen, they are beautiful pieces of work after all, but the people behind the masks are particular in making sure they are caught in the right angle and are in the middle of everything.
I made the decision at the last minute not to bring my costume. Herr Scheffler (my little German host for the balls) was not coming due to his wife being ill, and while I wouldn’t be going to the parties and the balls I could certainly still have worn my costume in the streets and paraded in the Piazza San Marco. Only I didn’t feel like going through the hub-bub of it all. Granted, my costume is a historical period costume and not one of these “fantasie” dealios, but everyone is stopped and photographed. I am more of an action kind of gal. I want to wear my costumes while having fun at a party, not for the pomp and circumstance. So if that makes me a stick in the mud, so be it. I don’t like being stared at when I don’t want to be stared at or stopped at every turn when I just want to go dance a minuet in the square with random strangers. But my costume still beats the snot out of a good lot of these silly people in the Piazza, even if it is at home!
We made it up top and took photos, even though the air was a little thick with smoke and fog – I could smell it but could see nothing burning. Back at the ranch I made a feast of balsamic glazed chicken with rosemary and garlic, spinach salad with a warm pancetta dressing, and toasted tortellini. One of my favorite things to cook, mmm! Later, Luke went back out roaming the streets while Charlene and I went to mass at Saint Mark’s Basilica. We had to brave the waves of crushing crowds in the streets along the way on the bridges and in the arcades of the Square, but we would make it eventually.
(Charlene overlooking the city to the north)
(Overlooking the Basilica of San Marco)
From the outside the church looks like a twisted Dali fairy-castle on acid. The oddly shaped exterior is a mix of east and west added upon for a number of centuries, with roman arches, five Muslim-inspired domes, byzantine mosiacs, gothic pinnacles and spindly spires. Mark Twain called it a warty-bug, most likely on a bad day. I prefer Goethe’s attitude that it “can only be compared against itself” for there truly is no other place like it. It glitters and glistens in the afternoon light, the mosaics on the outside shimmering in the fading sunlight. But inside is truly a marvel. I love coming to church here, because everywhere you look are millions of tiny pieces of golden tiles about an inch square, background to the millions of colored glass creating the scenes on the walls, arches, ceilings, just everywhere.
(The Basilica of San Marco)
As we were rounding the front of the church to go around the side, in the midst of the goings-on in the Piazza, I saw there were groups of young adults on the low steps and in front of the alcoves, hunkered down with their bottles of drink and trash. This really bothered me and I noted it to Charlene. Couldn’t they wait to hang out on the steps of the church until after the services were over for the day?? It was just all kinds of wrong to me, and I’m not Catholic, or even religious. It was just terribly disrespectful in my eyes. We made it inside and took a seat. It so ethereal inside I can’t give it justice in a description. While St. Peter’s in Rome is certainly huge inside, and certainly ornate, it’s ostentatious; it doesn’t have this mystical feel to it that this basilica does. It is definitely eastern in feel. Once the myrrh and frankincense is burning I feel truly transported to feel a part of the ritual performed centuries ago in this spot, as they are today. Except for the cheering and music outside during this particular mass.
After mass we tried to get on a vaporetto to head for a restaurant for dinner, but the crush of bodies was massive, at the stop and in the streets, so I decided we would go somewhere close by. I opted for Ristorante al Teatro, next to the opera house. It was crowded out front of the theater, as the grand ball was being held that night, and photographers abounded to catch the partygoers on their way in. This is definitely a place where the period costumes were in fashion, rather than the fantasie and the oddball. People pay serious money for these tickets and wear what is deemed appropriate to be there. And to think, I was almost one of them…sniff…
But then again, we had some dinner to eat. I like this restaurant because of the service. All these handsome men in their white jackets dashing about. They can debone your fish at the table with flair and present your flambé with the grandiosity it deserves. I’m happy to see time and again the same staff with very little change over the years. We shared a pizza for mushroom and prosciutto with a soft thin crisp done to perfection. Our second dish was divine – a risotto nero en seppie, black with the cuttlefish ink, a Venetian specialty. And so creamy. One would expect it to taste fishy, but it is not. I love risotto of any kind!
We stopped at ”the Consulate” to check in and have a glass of wine with Giorgio and Aldo at the helm. The music was supplied by a guitarist with a lovely voice and it was a nice respite from the crowds in the streets outside, even at ten at night. After arriving back at the house, Luke and Charlene decide to go back out to the streets and rage all night. All I asked is that they have their bags packed for departure. For Luke, 4:30 is awful early. Charlene wasn’t leaving until about 8am, but both were ready to go before they went a-carousin’…
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