I fully believe Venice is the most picturesque city on earth.

I don't think I'm exaggerating this claim either. Because I am not perfectly qualified to make this statement, having seen very little of the world's greatest cities, you may doubt me, but I stand by this belief until someone can prove to me otherwise.


It is a city unlike any other. There are no cars. Not one. All traffic on the bridges is pedestrian, unless you count the children with their three-wheeled scooters as other than foot traffic. As there are no cars nor roads, to speak of, there are ample wooden boats and canals. The public transportation system is a line of ferries. The taxis are gorgeous chestnut-colored boats. There's a fire-boat, and there are police boats. My favorite, though, was the long, thin, glossy black gondola. And what could make such an ideal little boat better but a gondolier in a striped shirt and straw hat (complete with ribbon) who sings to you? Meet Fabio. He's Venetian, born and raised and has been working as a gondolier for 23 years with 5 years of training before that. As we punt (that is the correct term, is it not?) through the little canals marked for gondola-traffic only, he explains little facts and tidbits of Venice to us, breaking his speech up periodically to act as the paparazzi for us. Under each bridge, he lets out a few lines of a song about Venice or gondolas or Italy which would reverberate perfectly off the stone then off the water again. Each passing gondolier greets Fabio with such joviality that I'm sure we've selected the best gondolier in Venice to be our guide. The gondolas come at a steep cost to their owners (around 20,000 euro) so they take very good care of them so as not to bump the walls or the other boats in the very narrow canals. Fabio seems quite used to maneuvering these streets, as he should be after twenty-eight years; he balances on one foot and kicks off the walls, all the while singing and smiling. He knows that he has one of the best occupations in the world--to tour daily one's favorite city and show others its beauty.

After our gondola ride, we made our way to Saint Mark's square. It was not flooded the whole time we were there. I'm not really sure whether to be glad of this fact or not. They had raised walkways prepared to lay out when necessary. As there was no water in the square, the sidewalk cafes, which can hardly be called such at those prices, had commandeered the area for their outdoor seating. One even had a grand piano rolled out for the entertainment of its patrons. The waiters stood there with their bowties... they were less inclined to convince people to join them for lunch than other sidewalk cafes. Usually, you see, the host accosts you and pleads with you and does his utmost to convince you either by way of flattery or other that you should stop and have lunch at his cafe. These on the other hand, act as if their livelihoods did not depend upon the tourists that flock to that square. It was rather pleasant to be able to walk by at a leisurely pace, though, which is impossible with the aforementioned type of host by whom you have to sprint in order to make it safely to the other side.


St. Mark is supposedly buried in Venice, hence the name of the cathedral. The cathedral was built sometime after the crusades had begun. As Venice is a port city, it saw many of the returning crusaders, who in turn, brought back ideas of art and architecture from the near east. San Marco is dripping with middle eastern influence, which really sets it apart from other cathedrals such as Florence's Duomo. The inside is covered from floor to dome(s) in tiny gold mosaics. On the terrace, there are four horses, which were brought over from Constantinople. These horses seem the height of Renaissance accomplishment, but they are not. They are, in fact, much older. Historians surmise they date back at least to the 2nd century AD but possibly to the 4th century BC. The method of casting these bronze statues was lost for centuries, as was the method of building a free standing dome (like the Pantheon) and the methods of concrete. Today, it seems, with all the added technology, we have lost more than just the methods but also the love of such things. In an age of creating things in the fastest and cheapest way possible, we have lost much of the beauty and grandeur that comes with doing them as they did of old.

I almost forgot. I found my favorite coffee shop on a little street in Venice. The middle of the street (there are no cars, remember, to get in the way) is the home of a fruits and vegetables market. The side shops are mostly selling Murano glass trinkets. And there, in the middle of it all, is my coffee shop. As you walk in, you see ahead of you the coffee roaster (a beautiful sight, but even better are the smells!), to your right are piled bags of coffee beans shipped from Costa Rica. The wall is covered in news and magazine articles attesting to the many perfections of this little coffee shop and relating stories of how they survive each time the waters of Venice flood into their little establishment. On the left is the bar where they have the coffee cups all set out already in preparation for the deluge of visitors who will soon set in. On the wall behind the bar, they have their different roasts on display, they have tea leaves in little jars and spices, all of which you can purchase by l'etto (100 grams). I had Venetian style coffee that morning: cafe (that is, espresso shot), cacao, e schiuma di latte (foam). Mmmmm.

I wish I could better put into words what Venice is like. A girl in Katie's language class said, "Venezia è come un sogno." We chuckled at the cheese embodied in such a statement, but having been, we have to agree: Venice is like a dream.