Bella Venezia!  What a place, what a smell!

I confess that I carried a fanny pack on this trip.  Yes, it is a completely outdated and thoroughly unfashionable accessory, but for the purposes of travel to Italy, it was highly convenient.

I traveled alone to Venice by Eurocar from Firenze (Florence).  It was January, and the temperature was chilly, but nothing like the snow-infested days of Chicago.  Suffice it to say I was cozy in a fleece pullover and jeans. 

After doing the usual rounds of Venice, of which you can read much elsewhere, it was time for the long-awaited gondola ride.  Now as you know, gondolas are those long, graceful, flattish boats that seem to show up in every Venetian tourism picture. 

I had been waiting to ride a gondola since I was about 10 years old, when my Aunt Anika had first introduced me to the Regency world through the works of the incomparable Georgette Heyer.  This had sparked an interest in the crumbling palazzos of La Serenissima (the Serene), as Venice is otherwise known. 

James Bond then featured in my imaginings about Venice.  I forget which Bond flick it is, maybe Moonraker, in which he floats down the Venetian Lagoon in a lovely gondola, as music sweeps away the sounds of real life.  This, I naturally, supposed, was how my first gondola experience was going to be.

WRONG.

THE VIRGIN CHAIR
So I was alone.  Not for much longer, as luck would have it, but at that point, I was very much alone. 

There’s a myth that abounds on one of the islands a hop away from Venezia.  I believe it was either Burano or Torcello.  Outside one of the many lovely churches on one of these islands, I forget which, there is a stone fashioned into a chair of sorts. The myth goes that if a virgin sits on the chair, she will be married within the year.

And so as I made a side excursion to the islands, feeling quite aghast at my loneliness in the midst of all that Italian splendor, I sat in the Virgin’s chair on the island of Burano or maybe Torcello, under a canopy of pomegranate trees, hoping the old myth about being married in one year from that date would turn out true.

For all you non-virgins reading this, let me just say that virgin or no virgin, the myth proved kind of true in my case, if you count a highly unexpected engagement within the year and a marriage within two years.

But back to my single days in Venice. 

HIRING A GONDOLA

The gondoliers are neither tall, nor handsome, but very much Italian and male. I believe that in 2009 the first ever female gondolier, Giorgia Boscolo - daughter of a gondolier, was inducted into this very tightly knit community.  Otherwise, it is a career that men espouse and ladies eschew. 

I had been salivating over the gondolas since my arrival.  They were much larger than I had expected, maybe 20 feet long?  And they were very uniform looking, other than the coat of paint on the top that distinguished one from the other (or one fleet from the other).

When I got to one of the gondola booths, I found myself looking at a ridiculous price tag - something like US$150 for 40 minutes.  So I chose the less expected option, that of sharing with some other tourists, some of whom had already done the negotiating of price - a task that is necessary with the law-unabiding gondoliers. 

Definitely not the start to the romantic ride I had expected.

We climbed in as the boat rocked gently, the waves lapping softly against the black exterior.

There were four of us in the boat, a lovey dovey budget-pinching young honeymooner couple type, a guy carrying a harmonium or whatever that instrument is that you play like a topsy turvy wind-up hand piano, and me, ALONE.

MAGIC
And then the magic began.

The gondolier, whose name I can’t remember, put the forcola (oar) into the green waters of the lagoon and we were off.  He sang as he rowed, a guttural, throaty but deep voice, used to singing sad ditties about love and longing.  The harmonium guy accompanied him and the soulful sounds of the water mixed with the singing and the instrumentation put us all under a spell.

We were soon past the little bridge under which the other gondoliers waited with their mobile wares, and on our way through the canals.  Even in the early afternoon the canals were crowded with other gondoliers and watercraft.

The honeymooning couple began kissing hungrily, but I had plenty of distractions.  I watched the beautiful palazzos and bridges float by, and I smiled at the other tourists in the boats we crossed.  There was a sense on bon homie and camaraderie brought about by our lovely adventure.  Very exciting.

At one point there was a cacophony of sound as the bell tower of some church struck four.  I sat upright in my seat, shielding my eyes from the weak January sun, clamoring for a sight of the church. 

My favorite part of the ride came when we entered a particularly crowded portion of the canal.  There were several boats trying to move past all at once, but there was one boat in which the gondolier had a booming voice.  He was singing O Sole Mio, a song our gondolier and musician had already graced our ears with, but when the booming voiced gondolier sang, we all turned to look.  And next thing you know, the other gondoliers were joining in.

It was unbelievable.  As the voices of men joined in the chorus, I smiled blissfully.  Maybe there was an echo, maybe there wasn’t.  What I know is that in that setting, as all of Venice smiled down on us, I felt transported to a storybook setting that even my wildest imaginings had not prepared me for.  So while it wasn’t the romantic experience I had expected, it turns out, it was more.

VAPORETTO

So I know I was supposed to be talking about vaporettos here, (the boats that shuttle Venetians around) - but really, my vaporetto experience was not nearly as exciting as the gondola experience.  So I wrote about the gondola instead.  Venice by Vaporetto has alliterative qualities that appealed as a title, which Venice by Gondola did not.  So sue me. 

Now go read about one of my other adventures, and happy adventuring!

HKV