We got into Venice Thursday afternoon. The train from Lucca was long, which allowed to all get some necessary sleep. The landscape certainly changed as we traveled north. More mountains, and the cars got nicer and more expensive.
There was a man on one leg of the train that would not stop staring at Jillian. Eventually I just started staring back at him every time he would stare at us, but unlike I would have expected, he would just keep staring at me. It was the most uncomfortable staring contest I had ever been a part of. So finally I just started talking to him. He was from Nigeria, and spoke surprisingly good English, better than almost any Italian I tried talking to. He had the eyes and curiosity of a child, but the privilege to just stare at people without it being invasive and creepy is lost somewhere before the age of 10.
Venice is by far the most surreal place I have ever been. Whimsical is one of the best words that comes to mind. Almost all the buildings rest tilted, casually slouching into the water around them. Grand palaces and massive cathedrals rise right out of the ocean, their marble staircases falling right into the watery canals.
The wealth that has flown through that city over the last 1000 years is ridiculous, and still very evident. At a point it become tacky. Buildings are decorated like a spoiled kid who dresses in accordance to what’s expensive without ever considering if anything he has on goes together. Watching it all sink into the sea is equally tragic and ironic.
Getting terribly lost has been my favorite part of every city we have visited, but only in
Venice can you wander down an ally way and be stopped by a street of ocean water.
I often found it hard to remember what century I was in, that was until I passed an H&M or watch a water taxi driver sail by yelling into a Bluetooth headset.
A dose of reality was also forced down my throat when I had the chance to talk to locals. Despite how much they all loved their magical home, a tired sadness and discontent seemed to rest behind all their eyes. Francisco, a born local and manager of a very significant fine arts gallery in the city no longer even lived there. It had simply become too expensive. Venice was a home for hundreds of thousands of people for over a thousand years. Now almost every apartment, those same apartments that have been there for thousands of years, are vacation rentals. Native Venetians bus in every morning, work all day, and bus back out every night. The majority of workers I talked to, wether a waiter or our hotels front desk lady, knew nothing about the city they worked in.
The lady at our front desk couldn’t even name a single restaurant down the street. They pack in, pack out, and the city is empty. Dead quiet besides drunk tourist and busking accordion players. Locals and workers alike have a new name for their city, “Venezialand”. It’s no longer a home, it’s a theme park.
Blog writing and images by Tyler
