Writing Venice

Once again I found myself killing time in an Airport, given that I can’t afford an overpriced and let’s face it gaudy Burberry or Louis Vuitton bag or a Bulgari necklace I, as I always do, retreated to the bookstore.  There amongst the airport editions of the latest bestseller (is it me or should 50 shades of grey always have been a softback?) were a good number and by no means comprehensive display of Venice books.  I began to wonder if Venice is the most written about place in the world.  Do the books on Rome, London, Paris or New York even compare to the Venetian cannon?     

As well as travel guides there are; history books, sumptuous art books, architecture books, the expat replanted or fish out of water books, the come to Venice and fall in love books (which I stay away from being a cynic when it comes to romance,) cookbooks and novels set in Venice.  Very few of these books, certainly of the ones available in English, are written by Venetians.  Obviously there are more books in Italian and I am beginning to get to the point where I can start to read parts of them but the amount of English speaking Venitophiles are astounding.  There has always been Anglo Venitophiles, Brits, Americans etc who came to Venice and added their jottings to the literary story of the city.  People like Byron and Shelly for whom the decay and faded glory of the once great republic provided ample inspiration.  Or the venerable John Ruskin whose work documenting the beauty and uniqueness of Venetian architecture kick started the endeavour to preserve the city that continues to this day.  Ruskin was one of those people (a bit like myself) who was captivated by the place and famously spent his honeymoon in the city largely abandoning his wife to spend his days drawing and documenting city’s buildings.  The resulting “Stones of Venice” has become one of the classics of Venetian writing and something I can’t get through it.  I’ve tried a couple of times but so dry and humourless does Ruskin seem that he just comes across as a bit of an insufferable bore.

Today the process of foreigners writing about Venice continues and I wonder if the likes of Byron and Ruskin began a process of intellectually taking Venice away from the Venetians and turning the place into a museum.  So much has been written about the place that I wonder if you really need to get on a plane, and pay inflated hotel rates to experience it.  When you do make it there will your romantic expectations leave you disappointed with the reality of crowded streets and tourist menus.  People who set pen to paper tend to do so out of love or curiosity so there is a tendency to over romanticise the city.  Maybe that is what the public wants – the fantasy of gondolas, glass and masks.  Perhaps that’s why there aren’t or we don’t read so many local voices. 

The reality of Venice is much more fascinating than the romanticised version and I find that the city has a host of delights and pleasures that no writer that I have as yet read has captured that.  I would love to read something that explores the mundane and even the sheer bloody annoyances of the place but maybe that’s not what we want maybe we need Venice to be our fantasy.

That August feeling

Living in Treviso if you weren’t possessed of a calendar or the kind of mobile phone that is increasingly organising your life you would still know when it was the first of August.  As soon as the date ticks over from July 31st into August a small army of dormant road workers rouse themselves from their hibernation and rip the hell out of the Treviso streets.   The usually peaceful city erupts in the noise of jack hammers and diggers and driving becomes an adventure as you wonder if you will ever make it past the endless detours and actually get out of the city.  August is the designated road work and general housekeeping month due to the fact that it also coincides with the annual mass exodus from Treviso.    

Unlike anything I have experienced in my non student life Italy has a very marked holiday day period.  The heat and the incredible humidity makes life in the city a bit of a trial meaning that residents take the opportunity to get out of town to more pleasant environments.  Over the last few weeks my students conversation has turned to their plans for August which either involves going to their house in the mountains, going to their place at the beach or going to Sardinia.   As soon as August hits the exodus starts the city begins to feel empty – this weekend the mass departure will happen leaving a ghost city behind.  Many of the businesses close as well, causing much consternation to those of us who are still here and are unused to businesses shutting their doors for one day at Christmas let alone a two or three week period.  With the stifling heat and the ghost like quality my over active imagination can’t help but think that in this period Treviso feels like a place where the some kind of nuclear disaster has cleansed it of its human population leaving the buildings as monuments to their former occupants.  Occasionally you may spot the odd post apocalypse survivor scuttling between shadows – well I did say I have an overactive imagination. 

For those of us without a holiday home in fresher climbs these few weeks are frustrating.  Your favourite bars are closed and there’s no one about to drink with anyway.  In Venice the problem is exacerbated with many of the good bars closed and the spike in tourist numbers resulting in a higher concentration of tourists in fewer venues.  Any relief from the heat and humidity that a museum visit would bring (although I do visit galleries and museums to see the exhibits one can’t deny that they often have awesome air conditioning) is negated by the sheer number of sweaty people disturbing your contemplation. 

What to do in this period given that your work has dried up and there’s not much to do in the city and there aren’t people to do it with?  Well make like the locals and get out of town is a good bet.  While I’d love to go down south to Sicily or Puglia the fact that they will be packed and I resent paying high season prices puts me off.  There is also the not so small matter of me having to find a job and a home meaning that relaxing on a beach is a bit of an unaffordable luxury at the moment.  In a couple of weeks the holiday period will be over Treviso will start to populate again and thoughts will turn to the end of summer and the coming Autumn – I hope that I’ll have worked out a few things by then.       

Goodbye casa del mago

When locals ask me where I live and I explain that I’m in that cute little palazzo near the university the standard response is – “La casa del mago?”  My little building is famous in Treviso for once being home to a TV magician and no one can quite believe that the mago has given way to this little hobo. As well as being the former abode of a minor celebrity the little palazzo is also the most picturesque residence in Treviso – the downside of which is regularly opening your front door to find tourists photographing your building (not the best of surprises on a Sunday morning when you’re just nipping out for milk.)   Small as my apartment is it has a bucket load of character but tonight my apartment doesn’t feel like home – more like an empty shell.  My clothes are packed, the fridge almost empty and I’ve donated the contents of my lovingly collected spice cupboard to T and E.  After 16 months I’ve come to the end of my time in this little place.  

   

When I took the apartment last year I really didn’t give much thought to how long I would be here – I just needed to get out of where I was staying and took the cheapest central place I could find. It was also a bit of a bonus to find the other apartments in the building empty – I really had the place to myself.  I’d never lived alone before and was curious to try it in what was a new and exciting place.  Prior to this place I’d been moving pretty constantly for a few years so I really didn’t imagine staying in one spot so long.  There have been so many delights to solo living; setting up the kitchen just the way I like it, not having to worry about disturbing other people, knowing that when I come home and shut the door the place is mine and of course not having to worry about my state of dress. 

Naturally there have been times when I’ve missed having a flatmate – someone to make you a cup of tea when you come home tired, to watch a movie with, to talk you down from a frustrating day and to nurse you when you’re sick (have a hangover.) But these things aside living alone has much to recommend it. 

Despite my best efforts over the year I seem to have amassed a crap load of stuff.  When I arrived in Italy I came with two suitcases (admittedly they were heavy enough to blow the Qantas baggage allowance.)  During these last few days of packing I seem to find endless things to pack.  More than once I’ve cursed my book habit and now vow to go digital in the near future.  Looking at the stuff I have to move tires me and I almost convince myself to stay out of sheer laziness.  In the immediate future I’m going to couch surf with friends and then – well who knows.

Farewell my little home

When I look back and peaceful nights at home, the meals I’ve cooked and the friends I’ve hosted I realise that I’ve been really happy here.  For a time it really was a home and I'm going to miss this place.  I'm not however going to miss nearly getting killed by a car speeding round the blind corner every time I walk out of the gate.  My only regret is that I never got round to having that aperitivo in the front yard that I was always planning.   I’m going to miss the soothing sound of the canals on either side of the building, having a kitchen to myself, and not having to worry about my state of dress.  As I write this I have no idea of where I’m ultimately going I only hope it will be as good to me as this place has been.