Venice is a daydream.
As a child, it seemed the most
magical of cities, a place of awe- like another planet. It is a city that
defies all of the realms of normalcy and probability.
A floating city
An ancient city
A hidden, secretive, winding city
I had always wanted to travel
there.
This
past summer, I had my chance. I chaperoned a group of 10 teenagers on an EF Tour of Venice, Florence, and Paris. In the months leading up to my trip, I
obsessed over Venice. I stalked her like an obsessive lover on Google Earth.
Watched Anthony Bourdain eating his way through the hidden cobblestone streets
on No Reservations. I picked up the
mystery novels of Donna Leon who writes Venice in a way that makes you feel
like you were there. I had a big fat crush on Venice.
We
approached Venice by boat in early June, coming from the wholesome beaches of
Lido di Jesolo. The water of the lagoon was bluer than I had imagined. It
smelled salty and clean. When the boat docked, I believed we were there, in the
city of my dreams.
Turns
out we were in the old Jewish ghetto, the island of Giudecca. I did not know
this right away. We were ushered into one of several product demonstrations
that we would be held captive in on this trip. I guess EF makes trips
affordable by herding you into a labyrinth of wares, hoping to sell you
products, like a time-share spiel. This one was a glass blowing demonstration.
Having just read Donna Leon’s Through a Glass, Darkly, I was amazed at the skills of the man who twisted hot, molten,
glass into a horse. I knew from her novel that this was not a working factory.
There were bleachers along the wall for students to sit and watch. The lights
were bright, and the heat not as intense as it should be in a place where glass
was melted and formed. There were several men in high priced suits that watched
us by the door, like a fishbowl within a fishbowl.
We
watched the young, handsome glass blower, one of the only Venetians we saw in
Venice, and then we were herded into a sparkling shiny room. It was like a
three dimensional cathedral wall full of color and shape. They showed us their
unaffordable cups and bowls and then we were free to look around at all of the
beauty none of us could afford. We were followed by the men in suits like we
were kids from the wrong side of the tracks. There was no exit to be found.
After
searching along the walls for a door that led outside, we went back out through
the ovens, where another group of teenagers were assembling in the bleachers.
We sat in the courtyard, restless, still thinking we were in Venice proper. We
baked in the Venetian sun, next to a yard of gondolas in mixed states of
completion and repair. The air smelled of lacquer, salt, and sun. I felt like a
caged animal, believing that the city of my dreams was just around the other
side of the glass prison, and yet I couldn’t get to it. I paced, I wrote, and
waited.
Finally,
our tour director came back for us and we boarded the boat again. I felt
cheated. I lost two hours of my fantasy for a sales pitch. The boat took off,
and we headed to the floating city.
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