In looking at the schedule of events while with Jamie, I saw that they are playing Puccini's “La Boheme” while I'm here. I've always imagined the tickets to be incredibly expensive or hard to obtain the cheap tickets since they go so quickly. I resolved to attempt to get some tickets while Luke & Char are here, whether they want to go or not. To be able to see the inside is what's important. I know Luke would be interested. He was here with me in 2006 when the theater reopened, and I know he has read John Berendt's “City of Falling Angels” - a book about the process and bureaucratic nightmare that it took to do it. Berendt is a great writer, he also wrote “Midnight In The Garden of Good & Evil” which spent four years on the NYT bestseller list and Clint Eastwood made into a film starring John Cusack and Kevin Spacey. Berendt has a way of getting to know the people of a city and really getting the details down. I recommend the book about La Fenice to anyone who hasn't read it, he tells the stories of real people who are great characters in themselves and digs under the surface for his stories. I can relate; the people I know in this city have fascinating tales to tell, just as the city itself does. Venice is a seductive mistress who gets you to keep coming back to her, no matter what the cost.
So this morning I went online in search of tickets to La Fenice. They had tickets available for the Tuesday afternoon matinee in the section “solo ascolto” - listening only for 11E each. If you wanted to have a full view seat it jumped to 130E per. I figured we really wanted to see the theater itself – I may
know opera but friends aren't really into it, so we would at least be able to take in the experience of going into the theater and seeing it as we walked to our seats. That and if I only hear the music, I'm good.
I announced to the troops that tickets had been purchased and we went out for a late “breakfast” at 11AM of pizza over at Campo Santa Margherita. What goes with pizza? Beer of course. An excellent way to start the day in my opinion. We didn't get out of there for two hours, so it's not like we were complete degenerates...
Later on in the day we went around the corner from the house to a mask shop for them to shop. The man makes the masks by hand with papier mache and molds – it's definitely not like the Made in China fare found at most souvenir shops. Venice may be overrun with tourists and crappy souvenirs, but it isn't very difficult to find mask-makers still doing it the traditional way. There are plenty of artisans still working in this town, and I'm happy to throw business their way.
Both Char and Luke found masks they like, but only Luke pulled the trigger and made a purchase right then. It's a great mask – a jester crown with blue and crimson points and gold trim. With Luke's white hair, the colors are even more vibrant. Charlene is looking for a mask to compliment her New Orleans mardi Cras crown she got there last year and the mask-maker has a one that's perfect but she wasn't ready yet.
That evening we got all dolled up after dinner and went out. I was in my black velvet “gypsy” ware and my new lace mask I purchased a few days ago, Luke had his new mask and Char was being royalty from New Orleans. We are an odd trio, but it works!
How do I learn not to take the most craptastic photos of myself?
We made our way to Piazza San Marco to check out the festivities in the “Gran Foyer” at the stage set up for Carnevale. The stage is reminiscent of the stage at the Fenice, with opera boxes for VIP access (upon paying the fee, of course) and most of the stage shows are interactive with the boxes. Well, good for them.
There were the sounds of a drum circle playing in the gated area in the center of the piazza – I immediately thought I was at Burning Man or UC Berkeley on a Sunday morning. But the crowd was having a good time. There wasn't much going on except people-watching for great costumes and stepping out of the way of hooligans and dropped bottles (and more than a few firecrackers thrown at our feet.) Asshats.
It was a bit of a letdown after the fabulous show with European dragqueens two years ago. Oh well. What can you do? Just like Lollapalooza, it “misses” every couple of years in terms of true entertainment.
One guy nearby was wearing a Jedi outfit and I pointed him out. “Hey look, it's Luke Skywalker. Or Ben Kenobi.”
Luke's response: “Or it's Jesus.”
Char's response: “Jesus doesn't have a lightsaber.”
And this threw us into fits of giggles. Yeah, we're idiots, but we have a good time with it.
We decided to strike out for the Rialto area to check the goings on over there. A few turns away from the bridge I made the decision to stop in at Bar Torino in Campo San Luca. My friend Davide had taken me there a few times in October and I know they tend to have live music and djs playing. If they do that at other less festive times of the year, they must have something going on during the Saturday before Carnevale.
I was so right in my assumption. We arrived at the campo to hundreds of people dancing in front of the bar to a stage and four djs spinning old 70s and 80s funk and R&B, and into 90s hiphop. We grabbed some beers inside and went back out to dance. Dance we did – for more than two hours. It was a great time. The mix of people was great, the vibe was frenetic. People dancing and laughing. I'm not a huge fan of hiphop and rap, but I definitely know my way around the genre. And when you start playing House of Pain's “Jump Around” in a campo in Venice Italy and everyone knows all the words, it's a great scene.
I am by nature a people-watcher. I can't help it. In airports, while shopping, at restaurants, I just tend to see things going on around me and access things pretty quickly. I kept seeing this man standing near me who was looking in our general direction. He was alone but that's not odd in a crowd like this. Late 40s, handsome enough. He was bopping along in time to the music like the rest of us, but you knew he wasn't familiar with the music even though he was having a good time. He would stand near me for long periods and smile periodically, but he wasn't overly freaky or anything.
I got separated from Luke and Char at one point. I had a phone call come in on the mobile, saw that it was a call coming in from the Europa hotel (is it sad that I know their phone exchange numbers???) so I mouthed to Char “I'll be back in a minute” and moved away from the music of the campo. It was Serena at the bar – she was trying to eject a drunk and needed some help with an English translation. She kept me on the phone for a few minutes and when the call was complete I needed to find a bathroom. All that dancing created an urgency, let's say. I knew that the Bonvecchiati hotel wasn't far away and the night doormen have seen me enough times when I've gone to visit Marco (on nights he's called in to help out there) that they wouldn't trip if I used their facilities.
I came back out into the street and saw that guy. He didn't say anything or acknowledge anything, and I found it a little weird. He let me walk past and I could hear him behind me as I walked back to the campo. Okay, so he's escorting me, just stay back, buddy. I have a scalpel in my bag, after all. The loud music had ended since it was past 11PM and the scene at the campo was breaking up. I didn't see my friends so I checked inside. Still no sign. I tried calling the numbers for the phones I had given them on arrival – no answer. Now I had to use my brain and try to remember their US phone numbers. I called Char and she picked up – whew! My brain works after all. As I was standing on the street a few blocks from the bar I saw the “gentleman escort” nearby in a doorway looking in my direction. I stared directly at him and he left the doorway and moved past me. I see you sucka, what are you doing?
Char and Luke were making their way back to the house. I told them I'd meet them there in about 20 minutes, I just needed to catch the boat at the Rialto stop. I picked up the phone and called Marco, since he would be leaving work about now. He had mentioned earlier in the day that he would try to meet up with us. It also gave me the opportunity to let the “gentleman escort” know I could possibly have an assignation and his escort services were not needed any longer. But Marco let me down – he was going to have to stay longer at the job, until 1AM so he would go straight home afterward. In the meantime, I saw the man walk past me again and down the street while I was hanging up with Marco.
I have said before that I have never been scared of walking alone in this city, no matter what hour of the night it is. It is a very safe city. However, as I have also said, I have some trepidation when it comes to Carnevale time – there's a huge influx of people not from Venice in town, lots of drinking and incorrigible hooligan-types that are not usually here. Let's just agree that I make myself more aware of my surroundings at these times. Knowing the city as I do, and all the shortcuts to be had at every turn, I decided not to take the marked route to the Rialto vap. If the guy had heard me on the phone which is pretty safe to assume, I at least hadn't said which route or direction I was going once I got to Rialto, or which stop I was going to in order to get home. I ducked down a side street and passing a bar, I found myself face to face with a priestly-costumed guy in the alley.
“Sorella, mi sorella. Dammi un bacio e poi si può passare attraverso.” Sister, my sister. Give me a kiss and you may pass through.
No harm in that – I gave him a peck on the cheek. And then five others came outside for the same. Six men, six pecks on the cheeks, and at the end of the kissing gauntlet, as I had been doing my random pecking, my gentleman friend had passed by me and joined the crowd. Ugh, really? I went in to kiss his cheek and he turned his head and it landed on the mouth. And it was an actual kiss. Dude! No tongue, please. I don't know you and I don't share your last name that I am aware of. So I pulled away and said “Buona notte, signori” and walked on to the vap. He was behind me and as I stepped out into the crowd on the bank of the Grand Canal I called Char again. This dude was creeping me out now, and I didn't want to take the chance he would follow me home, so I told them to bring a bottle of wine from home and to meet me in Campo Santa Margherita at the flagpole.
He didn't get on the boat. I made my way to meet up with my pals and we elegantly sipped wine from the plastic bottle procured from the neighborhood vinaria across the street from house, people-watched, ate pizza and went back home for a good night's rest.
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