Marco was waiting for me on the left side of the Basilica, in the Piazzetta dei Leoncini in front of one of the purple-red porphyry stone lion statues worn down by generations of children hugging and playing on them. These are friendly-looking lions with long sad faces. There are many winged lions around Venice; it’s a symbol for the city as it’s also the symbol for the patron saint, Mark. They are overhead as bas relief on the buildings, in mosaica, in paintings, carved into the bases of statuary, wherever they can fit one. Some of the lions are scary – in Campo Manin there is a statue of Daniele Manin, a local hero who fought against Austrian occupation and at his feet is a larger than life lion, winged unfurled. In the paintings and mosaics (and the t-shirts) you will often see the front paw on a book. If the book is closed, it indicates the time of the work as during wartime, if it’s open it will read “Pax” for peace. Kind of like the eagle in the great seal of the US on the carpet in the Oval office, the direction of the head indicates if we are at war or not. I’ve read that, but haven’t looked any pictures recently – is the head facing a different direction than 10 years ago?
We got inside just as the service started. I almost tripped and fell while walking up to a seat, and gasped as I caught myself, causing a couple of parishoners to turn and look at me. Hi there, I’m a klutz, how are you today? The floors are seriously warped in the Basilica, not just from feet treading on them for more than a thousand years, but because of the fact that they’ve never been 100% even in the first pace. When you lay the foundation by hammering thousands of treetrunks 12 feet deep into the marsh, then paving over it for a few layers, there are bound to be inconsistencies in your levels. The terrazzo floor inlays, similar to those on Torcello but much more intricate, swirl about like kaleidoscopes.Rick Steves has talked about rolling a marble on these floors to watch it catch and veer off. I liken it to one of those tabletop labyrinth games with the knobs on two sides to keep the ball from plopping in. I can imagine there have been many people falling on their face in San Marco, though; it’s hard to pay attention to the heaving floors when you have the mosaics all around you. I’ve talked before about the mysticality I feel when in the church, so this time I will concentrate more on the physicality.
The interior of the church is based on a Greek cross, each arm is divided in three naves and emphasized by a dome of its own, which is why there are 5 if viewing it from the belltower outside in the Piazza. This is based on Justinian's Basilica of the Apostles in Constantinople, which is no longer standing. The floorplan is also similar to the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. The majority of the interior is completely covered with bright mosaics containing gold, bronze, and the greatest variety of stones. It is absolutely dazzling, even in dim lighting. Both Byzantine and Gothic influences can be recognized, for example in the Saints between the windows of the apse. In the vault above is a mosaic of Christ as the Pantocrator, or all-powerful creator. Even though it is one of the most widely used religious images of Orthodox Christianity, the earliest remaining examples are all in Italy.
The domes from east to west depict the history of Salvation: the Prophets, the Ascension and the Pentecost, while the dome over the transept are depicts stories of St John the Evangelist and St Leonard is in the center of the other dome surrounded by the other saints. In the vaults between the domes are episodes in the life of Christ.
Over the high altar is a baldacchino on columns decorated with 11th-century reliefs. The altarpiece is the famous Pala d'Oro (Golden Pall), a panel of gold embedded with gems. It was commissioned from Byzantine goldsmiths in 976 and further embellished over the centuries. Napoleon stole some of the precious stones in 1797, but there are still plenty left, gleaming behind protective glass.
The mosaics on the walls are from the12th & 13th centuries, showing events of the New and Old Testaments, in particular the books of Genesis and Exodus. Interwoven are the story of the Virgin, the martyrdoms of St. Peter and St. Clement, and events in the lives of St. John the Evangelist, St. John the Baptist and St. Isadore - the important saints celebrated by the Venetians. And of course, the cycles with the legend of St. Mark.
Mass over, we stepped outside to a beautiful morning with a clear blue sky and made our way across the Piazza San Marco to a cafe near his work for a caffe and cornetto. He went on his way to work and I made my way down to the vaporetto to go across the Guidecca Canal and say goodbye to Mamma. I would be leaving on the train to Milan at 6pm so this was my last opportunity to spent a few minutes with her. I stopped at a stand and purchased some flowers to bring her on this last visit to the house.
She was surprised by the flowers and put them in water, all the while chattering away about the mass she watched on the television, the broadcast from the Vatican. She doesn’t even need to leave the house to get her homilies – do we have regular broadcasts in the US? I don’t even know. I stayed for an hour or so, and then bid her goodbye, all the while receiving hugs and kisses from this tiny wonder of a woman. I am so thankful I have been able to forge a relationship with her over the years and to become a part of her family.
Making my way back to the apartment, I stopped on the Strada Nova and picked out a few tee-shirts for Mark. His souvenir Venice shirts from years past are getting rather threadbare so it was time to replenish his stock. I also stopped at the Co-op market and picked up a few bottles to pack in my suitcase. For the first time I am not bringing wine home. I decided to bring the focus on aperitive and after-dinner drinks for this trip. I had tried a number of Aperol spritzes at different meals, and my nightcaps with Giorgio & Co included the liqueurs of Cynar, Amaro, Zucchero and Fernet Branca. I opted to bring back a bottle of each. The brand of Amaro and the Zucchero aren’t even available in the US, and the the others I’ve seen in BevMo for 5 times the price I paid at this grocery store. I lugged them home to finish packing.
I cleaned the kitchen and bathroom thoroughly, completed my packing and took a short nap. I left the key on the counter for Maria and Leo. I really enjoy this little apartment but it does have a few drawbacks. There is little phone reception on the ground floor, so I would have to sit in the doorway to talk on the phone. Also, the acoustics were too good in the place – I would often wake up as people walked by outside at night, thinking in my haze that someone was in the room. While I genuinely enjoy the neighborhood and am now recognized on each reach return by the locals in this sector, I think I will opt for another apartment next time. I want to cut down the trip over to the Guidecca to spend time with Mamma. It’s almost an hour to get from door to door, and I don’t want to end up falling asleep over there again if I’m dead tired. I think I will scope out a place that is either on Guidecca or in Castello, just south of the Piazza San Marco, so I can cross back and forth more quickly. Since I plan on coming back for Carnevale I also won’t have to wend my way through crowds of revellers drinking deep into the night in order to get home.
I haven’t even left yet and I’m already planning my next visit.
Three minutes away from the house (and cheering that I had no bridges to haul the luggage over), I was on the Fondamente Nuova to catch the vaporetto to the ferrovia, the train station. Rather than haul my very heavy suitcase up the steps into the station, I went around the right side of the building to the handicapped access / delivery door. I bought my ticket from the automated machine and out to the tracks to binario 8 – track 8 to Milano on the FreschiaRossa, a high-speed train. In under 2 hours 25 minutes and only 3 brief stops I would be in Milan. Marco called me to say goodbye and I told him I would call when I landed in the US. He hates plane travel and always marvels at my ease of hurtling through the air 30,000 feet “above the firmament.” His problem with flying is that so much of it is above the ocean, which he is certain trying to suck him in. For a guy that lives on the water he has an irrational fear of falling into it.
The need to go to Milan was not the preferred way to end my vacation, but I couldn’t change my airline ticket. I had bought them in an online airline auction and the airfare was only $400 – an absolute steal – but the drawback is that I had to fly from San Francisco to Milan and back. My trip back included leaving from the other airport in the Milan area. I flew into Malpensa, but was leaving through Linate, which I have never been to. It’s actually closer to the city, on the southeast side, and is the hub used by inter-continent flights. Since I was going to change planes in Amsterdam, this was my route. Don’t have any idea why it wasn’t on the way in, but oh well.
Giorgio had recommended a hotel to me, as the owner is a good friend. The cab dropped me off in front of a building that didn’t look like a hotel, an office or even a townhouse. It looked like a closed up warehouse. The buzzer panel didn’t indicate “Room 4You” or the owner’s name, so I called him on mt phone. Giorgio had written the address number incorrectly. I was standing at #4 and I needed to be at #14, a block down the street. I hauled the baggage down the block, met the owner and checked myself in.
It is a great little efficient hotel. No frills – seems to thrive on the businessman trade but when I need to stay in Milan again (which I try to avoid as it’s not a pretty city or a destination favorite for me) I will definitely call on Carlo. He told me that Giorgio was also going to be staying there that night, as he had a day full of meetings starting early Monday morning, but that he wasn’t arriving until 11pm. Carlo recommended the Japanese restaurant next door for a meal. I was starving.
Side note- people in Milan are crazy drivers. Especially in their street parking. Not only do they park exceptionally close on the street, they drive onto the sidewalk and park the cars off-street two deep. It’s kind of insane. How anyone has side mirrors intact I will never know.
Although the menu was in italian I managed to find the standards from the descriptions – gyoza dumplings, miso soup, tempura veggies, California and Maguro tuna rolls. Once completely stuffed I waddled back to my room and checked my email. Giorgio messaged me on the phone that he was arriving late and he wouldn’t wake me by calling, but he would love to have coffee in the lobby together before I left. I told him to meet me at 7am. There was satellite tv where I watched David Letterman (a show two weeks behind the US airing) and CSI and drifted off to sleep at last.
In the morning I did meet with Giorgio for pastries, coffee and a quick hug goodbye. The cabride was only 9 minutes to the airport – wow! An hour later I was saying goodbye to mia bella Italia as I lifted off the ground.
The remainder of the trip was eventful only in that on my flight from Amsterdam to the US I honestly didn’t know if the marshals were going to meet me at the plane. Some IDIOT French woman thought it was perfectly ok to start doing her nails right after takeoff. Nail polish remover on a plane? An enclosed area with recycled air? Anywhere in proximity to other people? Are you freaking kidding me??? I was the only person who apparently had a nose and any gumption to ask this woman NOT to continue. The flight attendant kind of had a problem with me confronting the woman.
Unbelievable. I’m the bad guy?!?
I made amends with the attendant staff and promised to be quiet, when an hour later the braindead woman takes out the nail polish! So nailpolish remover=bad but not nailpolish, apparently. Holy crap – I hit the roof again. This time I was vocal with the other passengers – Are you Kidding Me? None of you have any desire to speak up – it’s just me that can smell this and it bothers??? – I had to make nice nice with the attendants again, but the woman was told (finally) NOT to open anything else up that would irritate fellow passengers.
Walking off the plane I really didn’t know if there were going to be people waiting to talk to me in a secluded area. The cluster of flight crew at the door did smile at me and thanked me for standing up for myself, although I finished their sentence by apologizing for being a disturbance myself. There were no air marshals, and I was free to make my way out of the airport without it being in the back of a police car.
Welcome home. I’m ready to go again.
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