When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific—and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise—
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
-- John Keats, "On First Looking into Chapman's Homer"
The evening of the orchestra concert, we didn't venture beyond the Piazza San Marco. But the next day we spent exploring the city.
There were plenty of people around -- it was high tourist season (late July) -- but, thankfully, back then there were no floating hotels disgorging 5,000 passengers into the Piazza every day.
Through the Campers' Association, we had arranged a tour of the Basilica San Marco at the east end of the Piazza . . .
. . . and got a great view of the entire Piazza from the balcony above the main entrance.
Construction of the current basilica began in 1063, a hundred years before construction of Notre-Dame de Paris began (1163) and 323 years before construction of the Duomo in Milan (1386). Like most cathedrals in Europe, the basilica went through multiple phases of construction over hundreds of years.
Venice began as a small settlement of refugees from the mainland in the 5th century CE to escape barbarian invasions, especially by Atilla the Hun in 452 CE. For almost a thousand years (810 - 1797!), Venice was the capital of The Most Serene Republic of Venice ("La Serenissma" for short), a major financial and maritime power during the Middle Ages and Renaissance, and a staging area for the Crusades and the Battle of Lepanto (when the navy of the European "Holy League" defeated the navy of the Ottoman Empire in 1571).
Thanks to its geographic location, Venice became an important center of commerce -- especially silk, grain, and spice from Asia and Africa -- and of art from the 13th century to the end of the 17th century. Venice is considered to have been the first real international financial center, emerging in the 9th century and reaching its greatest prominence in the 14th century. This made Venice a wealthy city throughout most of its history.
None of that, however, was on my mind as we made our way through the city's labyrinthine streets, passageways, and bridges. The pedestrian experience of Venice was (and still is), in effect, a series of physical and psychological epiphanies. Hence the lines from Keats at the top of this post.
Away from the vast open space of the Piazza San Marco, you walk in narrow corridors that are open to the sky, but deeply shadowed except at mid-day due to the high walls of the buildings on either side. Then you turn a corner to emerge into a small, bright courtyard or square, from which there are usually multiple exits, or an occasional dead end.
Street (or alley) names are painted on the walls of buildings, but streets/alleys change names frequently, so it's easy to get lost, which can be very discomfiting if you are trying to reach a specific destination. Fortunately, there are no minotaurs in Venice. (But I have to say that the geography of Venice is used to very creepy effect in the 1973 film, Don't Look Now, in which a serial killer is on the loose leading to a very unpleasant epiphany.)
So we wandered through the city, headed (somewhat randomly) for the Rialto bridge, the oldest of four bridges across the Grand Canal. It was built between 1588 and 1591, and mentioned in Shakespeare's play, The Merchant of Venice, soon afterwards (1598).
The bridge is huge -- 75 feet wide, spanning 104 feet across the canal -- and features built-in retail arcades where tourists can buy high-end souvenirs at high-end tourist prices.
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| This shopping area is not on the Rialto bridge itself, but is at one end of it. |
At some point, we stopped for lunch at a little open-air restaurant away from the Piazza. Being a thoughtless, 16-year-old American, I asked the waiter, "Do you speak English?". He answered, in perfect English, "No, but I speak very good Italian." Zing!
After lunch we continued our random walk and eventually found our way back to the Piazza. My friend, Bill, and I sat down at one of the outdoor restaurants in the Piazza and ordered some American refreshment: Coca-Cola. (If you look closely at the table, you'll see the familiar bottles.)
We knew things in Europe were more expensive than in the U.S., but we were still surprised to learn the Cokes were 50 cents each. At home they were a dime! Now a Coke in Venice probably costs $5 -- or maybe more!
There was one more mission to accomplish in Venice: a gondola ride. Docked at the waterside entrance to the Piazza, there are dozens of gondolas (and hundreds of pigeons) . . .
We weren't quite ready to take a ride, but we were curious how much it would cost. So we approached a gondolier and asked. "12,000 lira" he said. (In 1966 this was about $20 US; there were four of us interested in a ride.)
We said, OK, thanks very much, turned around and walked away. We hadn't gone 50 feet when the gondolier hustled up saying, "Hello Americans! I take you for 10,000 lira." We said thanks but not right now, and walked away again. And again the gondolier pursued us, offering a lower price. We waved him off and kept walking. Still he persisted, this time giving us the story of his wife and children and mother and how he had to make a living to support them.
Only then did we realize that this was a negotiation. His final offer: 4,000 lira (about $6.50) for four of us. Feeling abashed at our naivete, we said OK and took the ride.
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| The Bridge of Sighs, built in 1602, connects the Doge's Palace to a prison |
I learned a very important lesson from that experience. To be successful in a negotiation, you have to be able to walk away.
Next post: On to Innsbruck, Austria, with a side trip to Oberammergau and Linderhof Palace in West Germany (yes, it was West Germany in 1966).
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