A Complex Simplicity

You might say, and of course you would be right, that it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that a trip to Venice is not complete without a visit to the doge’s palace or to St Mark’s, and that if one has enough euro’s stashed away a lunch at the Gritti would be, if not the obvious choice, at least one of them. The truth is though that your tramps stayed in Venice a month. A whole glorious month, and they would have stayed longer were it not for their commitment to be in Rome for Christmas and the thought that the weather might not stay quite as welcoming throughout the winter. And while the palace and the basilica were not our daily fare, they informed everything we saw.

The two great luxuries of the tramps’ simple life are flexibility and time: to go anywhere and to stay for as long as one wants. When one carries a carapace, the only meaningful cost is opportunity cost: would I rather be somewhere else. This completely changes the way one views travel. One looks on a new city as a new home, not as a list of things to see or places to visit before one moves on to the next city. The ability to go anywhere anytime, actually, paradoxically, increases the propensity to linger. And lingering makes one feel at home. So the tramps wandered around Venice with ideas, but no fixed programme. They wandered into churches they had never heard of, walked around neighbourhoods that were off the beaten track. Visited the places that other people before them had settled as non Venetians, or as aliens. The two most interesting were the ghetto (who has read Shakespeare and could not visit the ghetto here?) and San Lazzaro degli Armeni, the island, as the name suggests, given to an Armenian refugee in the 18th century, but before that a hospital island for lepers (as the name also suggests, Lazarus being the patron saint of lepers).

The ghetto is easily visited, being in the Cannaregio, and the walk to it can, if one is in a wandering mood, pass by some intriguing stops along the way: the house of Tintoretto – not very imposing on its own and not open to visitors but is distinguished by being in the Fondamenta dei Mori where there are four unusual and amusing (in the case of one) stone carvings of Moors, one in the façade of his house the others in the walls of the little campo at the end of his street.. These are not free standing sculptures but are carved into niches (their elaborate turbans pressing against the carved arch of the niche). The “moors” were 12th century silk merchants from the Peloponnese who took refuge in Venice and built a large palazzo (again distinguished by its unusual exterior decoration of a bas relief of a camel). One of the Moors has had his nose replaced (in the 19th century) with an exaggerated rusty metal one –and is now referred to as “signor Antonio Rioba” the butt of Venetian jokes. The ghetto itself is a small area – it was originally one small island where, in 1516 the Council of Ten decreed all Jews should live. Interestingly, the word ghetto comes from the Venetian “geto” which means foundry, since a foundry had originally occupied the site they were being confined to. Later, of course, the name was given to Jewish enclaves everywhere. The first tall buildings were built here, force majeure, as the population grew to over 5,000 in the 17th century. While only a few of the Jewish families that remain in Venice live in the Ghetto, it is still a centre of Jewish cultural and religious life with synagogues, museum, kosher food shops, a baker, and shops selling religious artefacts. After exploring the area, the tramps found a small restaurant, unpromisingly empty but promisingly simple in its offering and decided to try it. It was wonderful! The tramp ordered a soup to start and when the trampess tasted it she asked immediately for a second spoon but the waiter insisted that it would not take more than a minute to make another portion for her! Dear reader, Italian waiters always want to please, and it was worth the wait (a fresh, and I do mean fresh, zucchini soup), but a minute was a serious exaggeration. Still one should not complain about perfection and your trampess did not! It was followed by a simple grilled fish, which was fresh and tasty, but the soup (helped by it being a cold day and so welcome for its heat alone!) was memorable.

San Lazzaro was another matter. Being a lagoon island it must be reached by boat and being a monastery it is only open to visitors at certain times of the day and then only for a limited time. Logistics were always against us: the opening was from 3:30 – 5:00pm which meant that if we caught the last boat from the island to Venice and then ran across Venice to the Dorsoduro we might just make the last boat back to the WLW. Still it sounded worth the effort: Byron had studied there and declared that it convinced him that not only was there a better life than this one, a better life could be had in this life. Well, if the monks were still doing their work, who knows what the effect would be on the tramp! In any event, after a long walk along the Riva degli Schiavoni and through the Castello (and, of course, the discovery of a small family run fish restaurant that was packed out with locals – excellent fare, simple and inexpensive – in the middle of an area that looked decidedly touristy and unpromising – we won’t even mention the restaurant that we left after a brief discussion with an unfriendly waiter), we made our way to the small boat to San Lazzaro, passing San Servolo along the way (formerly a lunatic asylum for the upper classes– one of the advantages of all these islands, is like Alcatraz, nature is a protective barrier when one wants to use them as “safe houses” – until Napoleon declared the island should be free for all lunatics), an island now used for conservation work and not open to the public.

It may have been an effort to get there, but it was definitely worth the trip and the consequent rush home! The orthodox church was small but a jewel. The lay guide who took us around (us, being all those who were on the boat, a surprisingly large number considering but probably not more than 30) was effusive in his enthusiasm for the beauty of the church, the breadth of the museum’s collection (which includes one of the best preserved Egyptian sarcophagus and mummies in the world – not his favourite but the one the “tourists” come to see), the extensive and important archives (some of the folios are truly breathtaking and as we were enthusiastic, he kept showing us more and more beautiful and important works), and the polyglot printing press which produced works in over 36 languages 200 years ago. The monastery, which is still functioning, is a centre for Armenian culture and there are now more students coming to study with the monks than there are monks. The refectory had some important frescoes and was a reminder that the vows of poverty and obedience are still serious: the table was laid for dinner and it was simple. The monks do not talk during the meal but prayers and readings take place while they eat. One wonders if Byron ate with the monks. The gardens were beautiful and we were left to wander for the few minutes left to us before the sun set and the last boat back to Venice came to fetch us.

Two rich and wonderful days – but so much more to see. Is it any wonder then