People
Who Live on Glass Islands (cont'd)
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Venetians
brave the hellish weather to make a pilgrimage here with clutches of candles
firmly in hand, ready to surrender them inside the church to a member
of the altar boy squadrons. The altar boys' job on this day is to dash
about the pair of tiny, candelabra-filled corrals flanking the stairs
to the high altar, grabbing up those prayer candles from the faithful
and lighting them from already-burning ones.
They
place each fresh candle in an empty
holder on a heavily laden, industrial-sized candelabra before yanking
out several others after the smoke has had a few moments to carry
the supplicant's prayer (for the health of a loved one) up to heaven
so as to make room for the next prayer in the candle queue.
These
adolescents work feverishly and with precision, bathed in the sort of
soft, warm, orangey-yellow candle glow that illuminates Flemish paintings.
Their prayer candles successfully bivouacked in a candelabra, the faithful
in their fur coats and wool scarves shuffle around to attend one of the
standing-room-only masses that are held, back to back, for the duration
of the Holy Day.
But
I didn't find the most telling window into modern Venetian life in that
religious Festa, or in the experience of the Acque Alte, or even
in the innumerable churches, museums, and cichetti bars I visited.
It was actually at Venetian inns, on those excruciating but all-important
hotel tours, that I dug up the most dirt on La Serenissima.
At the
hotel where I spent most of my stay, Ai Do Mori, the young owner, Alessandra,
and I chatted quite a bit. One day we were discussing which restaurants
were still good in town or, to be more specific, which were those
where you could still eat well, and find friendly service, for a reasonable
price. When the subject came up of the frightening inflation on menu prices,
I started to bemoan my former favorite little trattoria, where just three
years I enjoyed full meals for....
Alessandra
interrupted me, "...30,000L; and now it costs seventy or eighty thousand
lire." Exactly, I agreed, that's precisely what's happened. She shook
her head and, after artfully talking a seedy-looking (not to mention slightly
tipsy) potential guest out of wanting to stay here with his eleven friends
(had they brought the whole team?), she returned to the subject at hand
and lay down the rule on dining Venice.
"These
days, you either have to find osterie well off the tourist routes,
or go to the brand-new ones, before they realize how much they can make
by taking advantage of the tourists and quickly sell out," by which she
meant turning to high prices, low quality, or more often both. (All this
from a woman who operates the one hotel closest to Venice's main sight,
the Basilica San Marco, and yet still charges some of the lowest prices
in town.)
Yes,
it's easy to look at the evil in Venice, the overpriced Canalside Disneyland
impression many tourists unfortunately leave with, especially if they
stop here for only a day or two.
Those
who stay a bit longer start to uncover the magic of Venice, rooting out
those unspoilt osterie and getting to know some of the city away
from the well-trod roads where signs point tourists down the quickest
(read: most overpriced shop-lined) route through the arcane twisting street
pattern from San Marco to the Rialto to the Accademia and then out of
town again.
(I still maintain that the route along Calle dei Fabbri should be renamed "Rio dei Touristi," or 'Canal of Tourists,' for the unending flow of visitors along it, the same way the bridge just south of the Ponte dei Sospiri should be officially identified as "The Bridge of People Taking Pictures of the Bridge of Sighs," but urban planners never consult me before labeling their maps.) more >> |