Venice: The Dream and The Reality

May 25, 2010

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Arrival in Venice. The cold is intense and the fog embraces me.

In the distance I see my “motoscafi”, a launch that will serve as my water taxi.

It is the most elegant way to transfer from Marco Polo Airport, across the lagoon to the Plaza San Marcos, heart of Venice.   Darkness of early evening and enveloping fog obscure my view of the Ducal Palace, Gothic style residence and ancient seat of the city’s government.

Later, as I walk the streets in search of lodging, figures wrapped in colorful vestments and brilliant masks glance at me, questioning looks unsatisfied.

At last, I arrive at my hotel near Grassi Palace, an imposing building of white marble situated on the Grand Canal, Venice’s main thoroughfare.

The following day, I awaken, and the dream continues. Breakfast at Café Quadri is the best way to continue the dream. This is an establishment where music from a live orchestra and chiming bells from “Il Campanile” across the plaza welcome the first rays of the rising sun every morning. “Il Campanile” is the tallest tower in the city and once served as a lighthouse for passing vessels.

I finish enjoying my cappuccino, and I watch the sunrise. Two beings wrapped in magic and light appear before me. I must be dreaming still.

As I begin to explore the city, I approach the Bridge of Sighs, a structure that owes its name to the sadness with which political prisoners bade farewell to their beloved Venice from their place of captivity.

Early morning is the best time to come to the Rialto marketplace. For one thousand years fishing boats have unloaded their catches of every type of fish at this dock. Close by, fruit and vegetables give life and color to this place.

Close by the church of Santa Maria Formosa, a spirit figure welcomes me from behind a lamppost.

This festival of Carnivale began in the eleventh century and reached its maximum splendor in the eighteenth century. During those ancient celebrations, all social classes mixed, and the people were given license to thumb their noses at authority. Since those boisterous times the excesses of carnival lead to its decline–until 1979 when a group of Venetians decided to revive the splendors of earlier years.

Actually, the festivities begin twelve days before Lent and end on Shrove Tuesday–known elsewhere as “Mardi Gras”–before Ash Wednesday and the celebration of Easter.

I continue my exploratory walk along the moldering canals of a drowning city. Costumed creatures of light and color illuminate and bring life to a city that slowly is being overcome by rising tides.

I arrive at San Maurizio Plaza where artisans create the famous brilliantly colorful masks.

I stop at the Academy Bridge. From that vantage point one can see the most beautiful avenue in the world, the Grand Canal and the church of Santa Maria della Salute at its termination. Through these waters gondolas slip quietly, enveloped in mist. Without doubt, this is the most romantic place from which to fall in love with Venice.

In these slender vessels, figures in fantastic and colorful costumes glide by. They salute each other with regal nods and a formality born of past grandeur.

I have arrived at Santa Margherita, one plaza where gastronomy is an authentic profession for the inhabitants of Venice. Ancient trattorias offer their specialties: cichetti (hors-d’oeuvres), risottos (rice dishes), pastas and desserts (such as zaeti).

A young waitress in seventeenth century garb offers to take my order. With her left hand she takes out an order pad from the folds of her voluminous skirt and with her right she plucks a pencil from her towering wig.

Dream or reality? While I enjoy the delicacies she brings to me, I continue writing these lines to prove to myself that dreams can become reality.

After this repast, I head to the basilica of Santa Maria dei Frari. The fog thickens. A couple covered in gold and silver looks down at me from that fifteenth-century building.

In the basilica’s interior I am able to enjoy the paintings of Titian and Bellini whose depictions could easily be confused with the costumes from another time that wander through the streets of this city.

On leaving the basilica, I walk to Cannaregio, a neighborhood of narrow alleyways and craftsman’s workshops. From those docks funeral gondolas depart to the island of San Michele, the city’s burial grounds.

It is time to continue the dream. The last rays of the setting sun guide me to the Riva degli Schiavoni where costumed spirits give their farewells to the sun.

Darkness descends on Venice. The solar disc has given its farewell to day and it’s welcome to night.

The time is right to head for the Café Florian. Inside the café, extravagant dress, powdered faces and ostentatious costumes create a Baroque and pompous scene.

My fantasy grows, and I arrive at the La Fenice theater where a cacophony of sound celebrates life and Carnival in Venice.

I return to my hotel, climb into bed, and, with eyes closed, continue my dream…

Lawyer, designer, industrial pattern maker and having worked as interior decorator for many years, one day I decided to leave everything and start a new life devoted to my true vocation: travel photography. My obsession has always been to capture the world in images that invite you to live and dream. And showing that the world can be a better place to live.

Alvaro Piug Camprubi (Author)Website

Photos are taken and courtesy of the author.