Whatchawearing
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Europeanvaction1979/27
My father was in the USAF. We spent nearly nine years in Europe. We lived in Greece, Italy and England. Every few years my Grandparents would come to visit. When they did, we were off for a five week journey across Europe. My grandmother kept a journal of our travels. Recently while cleaning out a closet, my Mother came across the journals. The memories came flying back! I decided to share these journels with you. Each day I will post a chapter as she has written them. I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I did.
The first Journal was in 1979. We lived in Hellenikon Greece.
Ponte Della Liberta Causeway
Ferry
Grand Canal
Buildings of Venice
Gondola in Canal
Venice has Trees
St. Mark's Square
Rialto Bridge
Inside St. Marks Church
Pala d'Oro
Bridge of Sighs
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Day 27-Thursday, June 21 1979
"Now I've seen everything!" I remarked to the family. I had just returned from meeting a man in the ladies' rest room. He was a good-looking German lad about twenty-five years with blue-gray eyes and blonde hair. He walked in as bold as you please, and stood waiting his turn for a free W.C. Women using the showers sauntered about in all stages of dress or undress, but no one paid any attention. No one, that is, except me. As for the rest of the women, it seemed a man in their midst was nothing unusual. When he saw the expression on my face he said, with a heavy German accent, "Ladees side more comfortable." I was dumbfounded. Apparently this is accepted practice so I smiled weakly and dashed into the cubicle being vacated at the moment. Clutching my roll of toilet tissue, I made certain the door was securely locked. For all I knew, the toilets would be cohabited also. The general subject of elimination and the European attitude towards it needs more contemplation on my part. Some day I'll give it serious thought.
The camp store had a small cafe where cappuccino and pastries were ordered for a hurried breakfast. The non-English speaking proprietor was able to furnish directions on where to get a bus to Venice.
Taking off in high spirits, our walk to the bus stop took us past hotels, an outdoor market where fresh produce and fish was offered for sale, busy streets, as well as shops, to a bustling city square. Traffic was dense with buses, cars, motorscooters and motorcycles going in every direction. Thoroughly confused, we eventually found the crowded bus we wanted and managed to get on before the impatient driver sped on his way.
The half-hour ride took us through Mestre's bumpy, cluttered streets, unplanned suburbs, past ugly factories spewing smoke and pollution, and across the long Ponte Della Liberta Causeway to Venice.
Purchasing tickets for the bus ferry, we stood on the dock awaiting the next departing boat. It was hard to believe that we were about to see the famed city about which so much has been written and many movies made.
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Forming a broad "S", the Grand Canal was a beehive of activity as we journeyed the "Main Street" of Venice. Since most traffic must move by boat, there were numerous bus ferries, such as the one we were on, gondolas, motor launches and other besets moving in all directions carrying everything from tourists and cargo to garbage.
How shall I describe these on hundred and seventeen islands, divided by canals, known as Venice? It is unlike any other city anywhere in the world. Buildings stand out clean and clear as in a painting by an old master, with their image being reflected in the water of the canals. I thought I had never before lived in so wondrous a moment as I caught my first glimpse of stately old buildings and palaces, flanking both sides of the wide canal, arising majestically from the water as if some seeds had been planted then sprouted and grew, tall and proud.
Our cameras clicked incessantly capturing pictures of the black gondolas slowly being steered by the gondolier with his long oar-like paddle, and the great arched bridges spanning the waterways. The oldest of these bridges, the Rialto, dating from the 16th century, has more than fifty steps up it and, therefore, more than fifty down again.
Don't say Venice has no trees! An aquatic forest lines the canals; however, it is a forest without branches, without leaves, without fruit, a forest of frail skeletons between which gondolas glide. These gaily colored mooring posts are becoming as outdated as the iron rings to which people once attached horses. The posts are being replaced by rough poles inside which motor launches and gondolas are moored. This is part of the face of Venice hung with clothes drying at the windows.
We stepped ashore at the historical and artistic heart of the city, St. Mark's Square which, as a matter of fact, is not a square, nor even a rectangle. The Piazza San Marco was glistening with gaiety as international travelers outnumbered Venetians. Artists were at work with their water-colors, sketching the
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scenes that surround the square. Pigeons we numerous. When not posing for pictures or being fed by tourists, these docile, somewhat stupid and completely blase birds did fly from time to time. For centuries their "calling cards" have been put on St. Mark's domes, the proud horses atop the basilica, and on the heads of statues. I think Venice owes a little of its grayish-green color to them.
I did not notice at first the buildings that flank the longer sides of the square. I was vaguely aware of the charming clock tower and could not fail to see the Campanile standing high with its summit glittering in the sun. But my glance was momentary - for my attention was concentrated on the church itself.
The Basilica of St. Mark is built in the form of a Greek cross. It has five huge domes, to say nothing of six smaller ones above the facade, divided by the loggia, where four sublime golden copper horses, cast in the 3rd century B.C. and brought fifteen hundred years later from Constantinople, look down from their lofty perch.
Just in front of the main door is a large rectangle of rare red marble with a small square in the center marking the spot where the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa kissed the toe of Pope Alexander III.
The interior of the church is rich in colored marble columns, contains two pulpits, and has a series of glittering golden mosaics in the arches and cupolas, ranging from the 12th century to the 18th century, illustrating episodes from the Old and New Testaments. There are also various episodes from the lives of Venetian saints, particularly that of St. Mark.
Behind the high altar, we were awed by the majestic Pala d'Oro. This magnificent gold altarpiece was placed in its Gothic frame in 1345 and brought from Constantinople where it was enlarged with additional enameled gold panels. At this time, we needed no knowledge of history or dates to admire the
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elegance of this extraordinary golden work of art.
Our tickets to view the Pala d'Oro also included admission to The Treasury. We entered through a Moorish horseshoe arch to see a fantastic collection of sparkling gold, silver, onyx, rock crystal and enameled glass. No wonder it was called The Treasury. This hoard of treasures contained some of the finest examples of Byzantine art.
An easy ride in an elevator, designed for fifteen passengers and jamming in twenty or more, took us to the top of the Campanile. The first campanile was built between 888 and 912, rebuilt in 1329 and given another story after an earthquake in 1512. It collapsed in 1920 but was rebuilt as an exact replica.
The view from the top is fascinating in several ways. It was amazing to discover that, from this high point of vantage, we could not see one of the hundred or so canals that serve as the city's streets because the canals are so narrow and the buildings that flank them so high. It was amusing to watch the pigeons running after or away from their shadows in pursuit of the food scattered by tourists. It was interesting to see Venice literally swarming around far below us with the tangle of narrow streets, the crowding up of churches and bell-towers, the multitude of palaces, and red-tiled roofs contrasting with the blue water of the main canals and sea.
Since it was the noon hour, we strolled leisurely down the narrow streets, many of which are canals that have been filled in and paved, looking in shop windows, and searching for an inexpensive eating place. Al caught sight of an amusing display in a restaurant window with sea delicacies lying on a bed of ice. The center of attraction and main feature was large shrimp propped up in human-like positions. The arrangement was designed, no doubt, by a Venetian with a tremendous sense of humor and, if meant to be an eye-catcher, it accomplished its goal one hundred percent judging from the crowd it attracted.
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Finding a small cafe on the off-beaten track, we dined on the usual Italian dishes, then took the bus ferry across the Canal id S. Marco and Laguna to visit another island.
We criss-crossed between islands until late in the afternoon. When our legs absolutely rebelled and refused to carry us one step further, we abandoned the plans to see Venice after dark and ferried through a back canal to our starting point. Bidding Venice farewell, we traded the water bus for one with wheels pointing in the direction of Mestre and the campground.
It was seven when we arrived back in Mestre. The day had been exhausting so a quick supper of soup, Italian bread and bologna sausage - sliced paper thin and eight inches in diameter - was all we felt like eating before taking hot showers (no men in the ladies' rest room this time) and tumbling into sleeping bags.
