Hello all,
I just ate a wonderful dinner of fresh bread, tomatoes and mozzarella, and I am now sipping on a half liter of Coke Light (which is far superior to Diet Coke), watching the sun go down outside my hostel. (Insert contented sigh here.)
Before I start this post, I would like to reference my initial promise to your regarding this blog. I said that my goal was to give you snapshots of my life here in Venice, and I fully intend to do this still. My thinking, however, is that I need to orient you before I can dramatically shorten my posts. With that being said, I will be writing three more long posts. The first is the one you are about to read, about my first full day in the city. The second will be about my first day at work (tomorrow), and my third will be about my apartment. After that, expect shorter posts. I’m not writing the next great novel for you all, as much as I love you.
So, when I left you all yesterday, I told you I would be telling you the story of my new friend. Intrigued? Read on.
Christie
After I got settled into my hostel yesterday night, I realized I was starving. With one basic human need (shelter) met, I decided to satisfy another: I went in search for food. Because I slept the whole time I was in Zurich, I didn’t eat anything. (Kevin just shook his head in disgust, I’m sure.) I had two food goals for my first day in Italia: eat a pizza smothered in seasonal vegetables and drink a few glasses of wine from a cask. I succeeded in both of these tasks; you can continue reading now without suspense.
So, now that my parents, grandparents and Kevin know that I did not starve, I will tell you how I met my new friend. I set out on the Fondamenta Zitelle, a boardwalk of sorts along the edge of Isola Giudecca, to find some pizza and vino. All of the smaller, cheaper spots had closed after lunch and never reopened, so my choices were limited. After walking for a minute or so, a young woman in sweats, tennis shoes and a bright pink scarf stepped out of an alley in front of me. I began to follow her. She looked safe and knowledgeable, and the color of the sky was darkening by the minute. After a minute or so, I realized that she was doing the same thing I was: walking up to the restaurant windows, glancing at the menu, and continuing on her way. I made another assumption about her at this point. She was hungry too. At one point, she stopped long enough in front of a café for me to walk up to her without running or being too creepy. I moved in towards the menu too, and said, “Hey, are you staying at the hostel?”
She stared at me blankly for a split second, so I asked her if she spoke English. She laughed, apologized, and said she did, in fact, speak English. The subsequent reaction made me feel a lot better than her initial blank stare. From there we conferred and decided we both wanted wine, and I would eat pizza while she had some dessert. We turned around, and went back along the Zitelle to choose a restaurant.
While we were walking back along the Fondamente, we began to talk about ourselves. Her name is Christie, and she is an artist originally from California who now lives in Colorado. She had been in Venice for a month doing a residency at a local university. I was, of course, very interested at this point. She was pleasant and engaging; I hadn’t spoken to anyone in English for over 40 hours, and I was so happy to be having a simple, straightforward conversation. She told me that she had been working in the print studio (like you, Gabs!) on etchings. Now that I knew that she was an art person, I didn’t feel bad about giving her some details about the Guggenheim. “My friend Kristen Cavagnet works there,” she said.
Kristen Cavagnet is one of my roommates in Venice! GASP! How strange and wonderful is that?!
Unfortunately, Christie was leaving Venice in a few days, so our time together would be short. She was planning on sightseeing the next day, and I asked if I could join her. It was perfect, almost serendipitously so, that we had found each other. It almost felt like we were balancing each other out; she was leaving, I was staying, we were making peace with the city before departure and upon arrival. All was right with the world as I practically skipped back to my hostel: I am in Venice, and I made a friend!
Lindsey and Christie visit Piazza San Marco
Even though most of the time I am one, I don’t like tourists. Not all tourists, but all tourists who appear to be and act like tourists. I’m sure there are thousands of others who try to be polite and discrete as I do, but they do such a good job that I don’t know they are there. Therefore, the indiscrete and the impolite catch all the grief.
Knowing that Piazza San Marco would be filled with these intolerable individuals before I left Giudecca this morning allowed me to get into the right mindset. I mentally prepared myself on the vaporetto ride across the Grand Canal. The morning was cool and crisp, even with the sun flying high above the water. Christie and I had decided to meet at 8:30, and I was, of course, way early for our appointment. Taking my time, I strolled leisurely down the Fondamenta Zitelle, trying to look as Italian – or simply un-American – as possible. I watched bar owners prepare their storefronts for the day, locals walk their dogs and old men heatedly discuss the front page of the city newspaper, Il Gazattino. About five minutes into my 10-minute walk, I saw a frutteria, which is basically a produce stand inside a storefront. I smiled as my mind wandered back to my time in Rome, when I went to my first frutteria.
It was my birthday, June 3, 2007, and I had just arrived at my apartment in Rome after an exhausting trip from the airport. I didn’t know anyone or anything about my neighborhood, but I set off to explore anyways. Knowing my tendency to become disoriented and get lost, I picked one of the streets that extended from my piazza and set off on a stroll. The first store I came to was a frutteria. I walked in – which was essentially like stepping into the doorway of a walk-in closet – and quickly decided that I would like some cherries. I had seen the word for cherries (le ciliege) before, but I wasn’t sure how to say it. So, I pointed, and the shopkeeper confirmed my request: le ciliege, phonetically chee-lee-ay-gee. That was the first word I learned in Italy.
Spurned by nostalgia, I bought some cherries, found a public bench, and watched the comings and goings of the Canal. Christie arrived at exactly 8:30, and we set off on our mission.
Throughout the morning we hit all of the big tourist spots: Piazza San Marco, Basilica San Marco, Palazzo Ducale and Museo Correr. Because this post is already super long, I will let pictures do the talking. (From top to bottom: Venice in the morning (above); Basilica San Marco; a detail from BSM; view of the Grand Canal from BSM; and a mosaic on the facade.)
I said goodbye to Christie around 1:15 after a fantastic morning filled with beauty. It was so great meeting her, and we had such a good time together. I wish she was going to be in Venice longer, but instead I have a friend in Colorado! I got to my hostel at 1:30, and promptly passed out. I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I was exhausted. I slept until 6:30, got up, and walked along the Fondamente. Now I’m here with you!
I hope you enjoy this post and the pictures. Look from the second of the final three long posts sometime tomorrow or the next day. I love you all, and I will talk to you soon!
Lindsey
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