Where We Lay Our Scene

“There is no world without Verona walls.” And being one who likes world, I felt that I'd have to go explore that for myself. And I assure you that within those city walls, there is a world. A world unlike any you would have expected.

Verona is an honest to god Italian town. It's not the Florence, Venice, or Rome crowded with tourists (sure there are a few, but they keep to their prescribed paddock mostly.) And it is full of surprises. Let me tell you of this town, shall I? Verona is built within the bend of a river. On three sides the water protected it throughout history, and a city wall blocked off the other. The toll booth that was used to allow and prevent access to the city still stands in its original state. And before it stands a Roman stadium. The third largest Roman stadium. In terms of size there is the Colosseum, then some other one, and then the one in Verona. Could you picture two star-crossed lovers meeting there to take is a show? Or some sort of extravagant event?

And unlike the Colosseum, this stadium still get regular use. There's an opera festival held there every year. Once you hit Verona, you'll notice something – or maybe you won't, but you'll feel it tugging at you, there just below the surface, and suddenly it will strike you. The sidewalks, that which your feet have been clapping against for the last little while, are not made of anything as pedestrian as poured cement, concrete, or asphalt. No, for this is Verona, and the sidewalks – some roads even – are made of marble. Looking for the serpentine fossils that impregnate some of the tiles can be a fun way to pass the time during a midday wander. Almost like watching for shooting stars overhead – but more prehistoric.

As you wander the streets you'll eventually make your way to the big open air market. You'll know it immediately by the large statue of a lion overhead. I'm told this lion was placed there hundreds of years ago to let the people know that they were a conquered city. More than that though, is a mystery. In the middle of the market a stone canopy stands, which once held the official scale for the weighing of all goods sold here. Today it make for a place to sit, and watch others buying sparkling masks, chestnuts, and an assortment of tasty treats.

From the market there are two obvious destinations, but we'll take the one less touristy for now. Over one of the streets hangs a giant whale bone, brought back many generations ago, and suspended. Story has it that it was placed there to remind the citizens that there was a whole wide world waiting to be explored. Maybe Shakespeare had it wrong, and there was in fact more outside the ancient walls.

You'll find yourself face to face with Dante in the next opening. Well, a statue of him, anyway. In any other city this would be a well known area, that people would flock to for their picture of he who was exiled here. But no – those tourists have gone the other route. We'll get there eventually. First we need to continue our walk down to the river. There is a church along the way, and it's apparently quite beautiful. And if you haven't seen enough churches yet, then by all means go inside, poke around, look at the little hunchbacks.

The water, as is often the case with this life giving element, was beautiful. Reflecting the yellow leaves, turned by the arrival of Autumn made for a most picturesque view, as the hills grew higher in the distance, with every closing step. From the bridge, a view of the waterway makes for a perfect place for two so very in love to pause and share in each others embrace. But what might their warring families think?

And it is for that reason – for those two – that Verona is so well known, that Dante is so ignored, and why the tourists are all condensed into one small area.



Back to the market, the other road leads to the street where the hat makers once lived. The Capulets – if you will. And it is here that some say Juliet once lived. Looking up at the balcony overhead one might almost start to believe this, most likely constructed, fantasy.

Juliet's balcony extends from a building covered in climbing ivy, as beautiful as you could have imagined. And to get to it, one need pass only through an archway, covered in the scrawls of lovers come to leave their mark behind. Notes, and names, and hearts paint these walls on route to the fictional young girl's house. And they are not left only by teenagers. Bring an extra market, for a couple in their fifties, young daughter being dragged behind them, may ask to borrow one so they too can leave their mark.

And then there is the statue of the young lady herself. People clutch her breast in order to find true love. Or so the story goes. Nevertheless, stay there for more than a few minutes, and you will see the statue of the thirteen year old girl inappropriately touched all number of times. And if you happen to be there as a tour passes by, well then – won't you be in for a treat.

For one euro you can listen to an audio guide of the house's history. For one euro both connected phones are allowed access to the message. Once more, lovers connect here.

Yes, it's touristy – yes, it's cliché – yes, it's lovely.

And after three hours exploring the town, and taking in the sights, you can leave – having seen the local life, the small markets, the large markets, and everything in between.

From Venice, Verona is a mere one and a half, or two hours by train (depending on what line you take.) And at only six euro ten each way, it's quite an affordable escape. Even cheaper if you, like myself, happen to arrive at the train station on a day that the ticket machines are down. Just hop on and buy a ticket from the man who checks your ticket – you may be told. However, when no one comes to check said ticket during the hour and a half journey, off you hop – having travelled free of charge.

Back in Venice, I was allowed the delight of wandering through the darkened streets back to my hostel. This was something I'd wanted to do for some time, strangely never having gotten around to it. The number of times, and ways, I got lost are best not discussed. But, after all, it's Venice! And after all, that's just part of the charm.

Time to get out there and explore Venice. The thing is, I'm not really sure how to describe exploring Venice. There are a lot of streets, and even more alleys that the people here like to pretend are streets, even when they dead end at water, and there's nothing down there – you know Venice? It must have the most named streets of any pretend city out there. Seriously. Go around and name all the alleys in your city, then you can compete – but until then? Venice has you smacked down from left, right, up down, and any other which way you want to take it.

Now I say it's a pretend city it that it's not all built on real ground – a lot was man-made. Though, so was a lot of Toronto – that historic Fort York wasn't always guarding more and more land stretching on forever until you hit the lake.

But unlike Toronto Venice is sinking. The planks are still on the road from when it rained last week. It's cute that the city floods all the time. Cute in that, I didn't want furniture on the first floor anyway, type of way.



I did all the tourist things in the city today. Both of them. I went to the big bridge – which is just that, a big bridge. And not a particularly pretty one either, all things considered. But still, people stand there snapping shot after shot. The view is kind of alright if you catch it in the right light. I got a picture taken of me there by this charming lady in her seventies. She knew how to pre-focus, and move me out of the middle of the frame. I could have kissed her – but she was Canadian. No one wants to kiss a Canadian. Gross.

And then I went to the big church. There are lots of churches here – maybe seventy? They're all over the maps. But believe you me, you'll know when you're at the big one. In fact there are signs all over the city pointing to both the bridge and the church. If you happen to know where your hotel is located in relations to these two landmarks, you will never get lost. Even the most barren alley will point the way.

And this church? It's pretty alright. I was excited enough by it to take a picture or two. Ah church pictures – just like parade pictures, zoo pictures, and museum pictures. You can't not take them, but odds are you'll never look at them again.

Unless you collect them.

And why not?

Maybe you'd check out a zoo picture again. Especially if it was of a cassowary.

And that was that – the hot spots, hit. But I had more hours of sun to photograph under. And so I headed to the extremes of the map. North, south, east, and west. To the east was my favourite. There was a school there, and no tourists, and people going about their daily lives. The streets are mostly empty, and it's lovely.

To the north there's not much, but on your way there, odds are you'll pass through the Jewish Ghetto. The first, the original, and (the best? awkward.) ghetto in the world. The ghetto from which all ghettos take their name! Just like the geyser in Iceland. Except less uplifting.

Today it's the are most likely to provide you with potato pancakes, that – by all that is holy – don't you dare put ketchup on. Yogurt only. You'll also find the local synagogue. Only one to balance against the ungodly (ironic?) amount of churches.

Then you go south, all the way to the water, looking out at – well another island. But it's not a bridged island. It's a water taxi only island, and I don't want to discuss the prices for those (16 euro for 12 hours, 6.50 for one way trip.) So that's as south as I went. It was full of the tourists, and the little shops, and the overprices restaurants, and the benches made of stone, because all the wooden ones have planks ripped off of them.

But let us address the tourist shops for a moment. They are largely located in these areas, but they are also hidden amongst all of the little back alleys that no one would ever walk down, and if they did it wouldn't be so they could grab a little shiny mask, or something like that. So my question – Venice is not cheap – how do they stay in business? If McDonald's can't do business in Iceland, how can these tiny little shops that no one can see – no forty meter tall poll with golden arches indicating the position from the interstate, here.

Still – when wandering through the darkness it's quite delightful to see them every few steps, reminding you just where you are.

And that is perhaps the only downside to Venice. It is a dark dark city. All the buildings are tall, and the alleys narrow. Unless it's noon, you're in the shade. And not the fun, trees in a grassy park, shade. They “we get the sun for one hour a day, otherwise it's cold and distressing” shade.

But then you hit the little bridges and the light, and it's all just wonderful.

I really do enjoy the lack of cars, and bikes. I did see one unicycle today. I wonder if he was breaking laws.

There's a port over to the west as well. The docks. And that's a good place to be, for a little while.

Wandering done, I decided that I'd just take a break of things, relax, and read – watching the world go by. This was a fantastic thing.

Tomorrow I'll go visit the home of who-lee-et! WHO-LEE-ET! Nothing like a good day trip to get the travel juices going.

I know I had more things to say. I know because I told myself time and time again that I'd remember to say them. And I said – no, I don't need to write them down, because I'll remember. I remember that I'm supposed to remember – but as to what I'm remembering? No idea.

On the plus side, I booked my hostels through Switzerland. So that's done. Not an inexpensive country, that one. And why can't they use the euro? I mean – honestly now.

Ah yes! It comes back to me now, as I sit going through my pictures from the day. By the big fancy tourist church, there are lots of pigeons. Lots of pigeons that are not scared of people. And why aren't they scared? Because people are fools. They will pick the birds up, place the on their shoulders, heads, hands, arms, and just hang out with them. These are not nice parrots or anything like that. They're flying rats. That want to give you all their terrible diseases. You see parents laughing and smiling as their young child gets covered in live pigeons, oh isn't it cute – see how little Lucca likes it so? No! This is not o.k. But please, carry on.

In another bird note, I was pooped on twice in succession today. What's up with that? Twice – in one five minute period. My Tilly hat protected me. Gross.

Venice

The morning started early – I packed my bags, trying to fit all the new books into my already full pack – headed for a breakfast of iced tea and three cheeseburgers at McDonald's (bay-bee) – jumped on my train – and started the ride from Florence to Venice.

I'm still not sure why we feel the need to change city names around. Firenze isn't anything like Florence. No amount of terrible Anglicizing can be blamed for this.

Yesterday when I was buying my train ticket I nearly collapsed, twitching on the ground, trying to decide between one train or the other. On the one hand there was the InterCity train for only twenty one euro. On the other, there was the EuroStar for thirty six. This seems a simple decision, especially when the InterCity line would give me a brief stop at the station I hit coming in, which was covered in all the beautiful graffiti. But, the IC train wouldn't put me into Venice until five, which is when the sun starts to set. The EuroStar would let me loose around two.

Three hours can make all the difference, so I paid the extra money, and was done with it.

After my dinner last night of stale bread dipped in pasta sauce (look I thought it was a cheese dip – it said salsa – I have vowed that I will start spending money on food. Maybe not a lot of money on food – but I'll try to double my food budget. I'll need to look at my funds, and figure out if I can make this happen. But the difference between a day with a full and happy tummy, and a day on stale bread and pasta sauce – well there's no comparison.

So there I was on the train, and across from me a man was using his laptop. No big deal. But then I noticed it was plugged in! I've been riding InterCity too long (their first class ticket was cheaper than this second class ticket so it goes to show there will be a difference) for this train had a plug socket for all passengers.

I quickly threw open my lap top, and got to typing things up. The last two posts were done uup on the train. And having the time and being relaxed enough to write up the reflections post really does make me feel fine about the difference in price.

I also wrote up a number of emails that I'd been meaning to get to for a while now.

Just because everything seemed to be coming together so well today, I also got two long emails from friends back home this morning. So i was able to read and respond to them on the train as well.

Two hours of travel all without going through a single page of my novels, thus keeping them around for yet another day!

Well, the train has just stopped at Padova, and we're about thirty minutes from Venice (running about ten minutes behind, but that's alright.) And I notice I'm most alone now. Few people, it seems, are riding all the way to Venice Santa Lucia. Which is fine by me, I'll take the extra space. But man did it get a wee bit chillier when all those bodies just flooded off.

The Italian countryside is delightful – lush hills, quaint farms, suburbs that don't look like sprawl to me, because I'm not used to their design. I wonder if when people from Italy see the burbs here (the same for white roofed villages in Greece, and red roofed ones in Spain) they get the same chill and feeling of disdain that we North Americans tend to feel. Or if these really are picture perfect communities – hard to hate.

I guess they don't have the paved lots every few meters here though – and the whole community is designed differently.

i was noticing that grocery stores in Italy were expensive, but restaurant were relatives inexpensive. Strange how a little change like this can force a community to grow together, going out more often, and interacting with one another rather than hiding being their own four walls.

And because houses are smaller, backyards are limited, and public parks are well maintained and abundant, people seem to be visible rather than hidden. I'm not sure if this is just the ideal fantasy of a tourist, or if it really is how it seems. Urban planning – so much control through such small changes.

I stepped off the train – and there I was. In Venice. And yes, it really was as spectacular as I had imagined. My expectations did nothing to destroy my first sight of the city. The water is everywhere, and the way it caught the afternoon sun? Just spectacular. Of course, I had sixty pounds of stuff on my back, and that wasn't making for the best time to explore – still, I was grinning ear to ear like a little boy whom was just rewarded a whole box of cookies!

The directions to the hostel suggested taking the water taxi, but no thank you sir – I'll walk if it's all the same. I can understand how people get lost here, but there was nothing to it provided you follow the directions, or get yourself a map – ripped from, say, a copy of Let's Go: Europe.

When I arrived at the Museum Hostel (I don't know why it's called that. Perhaps I'll ask – probably not) I threw my bags down and discovered that I had booked a bed in the female dorm. Did this mean I was screwed? Was I doomed? No. They had seen my name and transferred it properly. Fantastic! But it did mean that I had to pay the male dorm price, which was ten euro more a night. I don't know. I don't question. I knew Venice would be expensive and it is – forty euro a night. A night! To stay here. But then again, I'm in Venice, and that really is doing wonders for my caring.

Breakfast and dinner are included here, so my mission to start eating more will be off to a good start. And since I really don't plan to do much more than wander around, for three days, Venice won't really end up costing all that much. Time for a budget check though.

The guy who works at the hostel was a good chap, when I asked where to buy a map, he told me that someone had just stolen the hostels one, and he needed to replace it anyway – so he grabbed his jacket, and we were out the door. I had a guide to the map store. And for two euro, it was one of the wisest investments I have made on this trip.

I don't normally buy maps – actually I have done everything I could to avoid it so far. But, this is Venice. And Venice is huge. It is also shaped like a fish. Sure I had my little map, but if there's one thing that a real map offers, that free ones don't – and believe you me, it's needed in this town – it's a street index.

You see, Venice is a city that you get lost in. Everyone gets lost here. Locals get lost here. They know the vague direction they need to head, and then just set off hoping for the best. I think that's a lovely strategy. And it's one that I've employed.

But at the end of the day, you need to find your way home – and rather than searching the small print of hundreds of streets, you need only go to the index, and discover, ahh, you need to look in grid C4. And it's easy peasy from there.

After dropping my bags, the first this I did was walk in a random direction and start to maneuver through the streets. I tried to stay where the light could reach. Hey, you gotta take a few pictures, right?

I need to pause here to explain that I hate daylight savings. Seriously. I want my extra hour of exploring. Now, sure, I could just go out earlier. And this would be a good plan anywhere else, but this hostel serves breakfast from the reasonable hours of 9-10 and as such, I can't be out much earlier than that. I want my light!



But off I went exploring Venice, and this tactic of choosing a vague direction and walking towards it worked quite well for urban exploration. Sure I dead ended against the canals a few times, and wove my way into twisted back alleys from which there was no escape, but that's all part of the beauty, and the charm. And that's what I plan to do for the next two days. I'm kicking myself for not budgeting more time here – but I say that at every stop don't I? Whoever said Venice was a day trip – I see where they're coming from, but honestly, you need far more than a day if you want to see anything more than one or two canals. If you want to feel the life of this city, you need to spend nearly a week here. It's – just – so – big.

I saw gondolas, and I saw boats, and I saw a near boat collision – and that's when it hit me. There are no cars here. There are no scooters here. There are no bikes here. I can walk around in safety without fear of being run down, and that's great. You have no idea how great it feels to not worry about being run over, until you actually feel that relaxing feeling. Venice is like a massage after a long day of hard work. All the tension just disappears.

But you do need to be prepared to walk. And you do need to be prepared to go up and down steps, because all the bridges include steps. And if you have more than one suitcase, let me tell you, you're in for a treat.

I helped one guy get his bags up and over, and then headed off into my exploratory quest – good deed done for the day.

I don't know when I picked up on the American accent – because I didn't used to hear it. I couldn't tell the difference between Canadians and Americans, unless they had the Boston, New York, Southern, or Eastern Canadian accents. But now – now it's all I hear. Though it seems to only exist within girls, aged 18 to 24. It's that little raspy whiny twang? And the worst thing is, that after having a lot of kiwis tell me how much it annoys them, it has started to annoy me.

That, and it's mostly only Americans who choose to start singing “country roads – take me home – to the place – I have know – WEST VIRGINIA – blah blah blah blah” and then they break into laughter.

This has happened four times.

In twenty minutes.

That's all I'm saying.

The only thing that bothers me about the [oh they're singing again... goody!] American guys is that they're all from New York, or Philadelphia. And they're all so overjoyed about the World Series. Man – hostel to hostel, everyone is pleased as punch about this baseball series [again – again the sining occurs. I can't make this up. Not even a full paragraph written!] except for me. I think I'll have to back the team that makes the most people I'm near miserable about.

Honestly, and I feel dirty just thinking it, I think I have to root for the Yanks.

[... ... ... when will the singing end? How can they keep starting up. Why isn't someone, I don't know, throwing their shoes at them? My shoes are upstairs. I have an excuse.]

Now it's just a wait until dinner. And I'll need to pick up the wifi signal. Which is proving to be quite difficult in this hostel. Maybe if I stand up and do the little wifi dance, to appease the gods, I'll get something going. All I need is to upload this blog and five pictures. Please work, oh mighty guardians of the wifi.

[The singing has ended. Instead someone has decided that we would all like to hear their iPod play. Let me tell you something – and I'm guilty of it too, when I drive around, even if you think you're doing a public service by filling the silence with music that is just so totally rad, you are not. And everyone but you hates it. Ahh, silence once more.

And I'm not grumpy! I just – I just want to relax, and hear the sound of no street traffic. Is that so much to ask? Clearly not – because this is Venice, and Venice? Venice is awesome!]