Today in the lowest of the elevations in Venice the water breached the walls of the canals. This happens more often each year many believe it is a result of global warming I tend to agree. However the phenomena is an annual event repeated numerous times throughout the fall and winter. The worst of the floods of Venice or at least of those recorded was some time in the mid to early 1960’s. They say Piazza San Marco was under four feet of water. Through out the city on either side of the doorways are steel channels that fit tightly to the threshold. Measuring two to three feet high these channels are used in the event that the water breaches the wall and the occupants of the dwelling can place a steel plate within the channels to help stop the water from flowing into the building, these are literally floodgates. Today the high tide was not so extreme as to require any such measures, the water only breaching the walls in the lowest of elevations Piazza San Marco being one of them. This provided the tourist yet another delight of the unique qualities of the city. Throughout the square they were taking off their shoes and wading though the water while their friends took pictures yet another photo opportunity. I had no interest what so ever to wade through the high water in Piazza San Marco, remember that is the place that is famous for the pigeons and where there are pigeons there is pigeon shit lots of it, I think I need not explain further. Anyhow the high water is without question an unusual sight. One could almost have the sense of walking on water. I can imagine if you were drunk wandering home at night missing the edge of the stone walkway and finding yourself not walking on water but unfortunately swimming for your life. I hope to catch the high tide in the early morning when the Piazza San Marco is empty and the birds are still sleeping for my own photo opportunity. The experience of being with the waking birds in Venice is another story, and can be very fun. They wake not as a herd, you may not know this but there are lazy birds sleeping until the last minute, could be they are night birds and are sleeping off the night before as many of the rest of us. But when you come to Venice you must go to the Rialto Bridge and sit and watch the city come alive beginning with the birds. They will actually play with you, taking turns dive-bombing you. The other morning I had this experience, for a good five minutes I sat and focused my camera ten feet out and just sat and waited as the birds swooped down at me. I waited until one would be in the perfect range and then clicked away attempting to capture bird in flight with Venice in the background. I chose to believe that they were playing with me and taking turns posing for me. One after another they would come flying directly at me turning to miss me only at the last minute sometimes within a couple of feet of my camera lens. I am convinced of their intention as I could actually see them perched on some ledge in the distance watching me before taking their turn with the dive bomb pigeon game. One after another; I got my shot well worth the wait! Last night as I sat alone having dinner at the bar of my new favorite restaurant I was approached by the owner Emilio, just a welcoming chat. He inquired of my purpose in Venice. I told him of my journey. He began to laugh and called over a friend of his and the two of them introduced themselves as the “Golden Boys.” Emilio was the marketing director for Phillip Morris in Europe in his previous life and Andre also a top executive for a major corporation in Europe. At some point they both decided they were finished and walked away leaving piles of money on the table. I admire their courage very much; they remind me of my good friend Francois who did the same. Francois if you are listening I look forward to us visiting Venice together and hanging out with the “Golden Boys” I miss you my friend. Emilio went on to explain that when he was with Phillip Morris he visited Venice often and fell in love with the city, no surprise here. He visited Venice enough that he bought a small apartment in the city maybe ten years ago. The three of us are exactly the same age; I look much younger of course! He told me that his only disappointment with the city was that he could not find a simple plate of spaghetti at any of the restaurants in town. Inspired to create his own reality, upon receiving an unusually large bonus he bought a small restaurant and put first on the menu spaghetti. He quit his job and moved to Venice.
Francois are you listening? Emilio has relocated his restaurant three times and now has one of he most popular restaurants in Venice. He puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me squarely and intently in the eyes an says “Jeff there is life after death” move to Venice and join the “Golden Boys Club.” I laugh and said ok Emilio I will move to Venice if you will give me a job playing guitar in the corner. He immediately jumped up went to the musician playing piano in the corner whispers in his ear, grabs a guitar bringing it to me and placing it in my hands he says “Play for us Jeff.” Ok, now I am on the spot 50 or so people in the restaurant some eating some just standing around the bar, ranging in age from newborn to ancient (this is a hip yet a family place.) Most of them have witnessed the action of Emilio and are now quietly looking at me with what expectations I can only guess; what could I do? Without hesitation as if channeling I began to play; first with Dylan’s “Tonight I’ll be staying here with you.” As soon as I finished one of the audience yells out Pink Floyd. I played the only Pink Floyd song I know “Wish you were here” as if scripted as the request played right into my very limited repertoire, next someone yells Springsteen I think I am in a movie again I only know two Bruce songs I chose “I’m on Fire.” I was playing my first gig in Venice. I finished with a song of my own “I will win her” took a bow too an I think surprised audience and a grand applaud. Handing the guitar back to Emilio he says, “welcome to the Golden Boys Jeff”
Thank you Emilio but I must pass…… this time. I still have work to do, work that I love and fills my heart.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Strong as a Bull fragile as a Flower
I stand at a cross road three and a half weeks into my journey my body sometimes in such pain close to unbearable and yet I feel as strong as the bull.
My heart sad and lonely and yet so full of love and appreciation for all that I have and all I have lost. My mind sometimes completely empty and then other times so full I think it will explode. My spirit weak and yet soaring into the unknown. Will I heal as the phoenix rises from the ashes of destruction to wake up one day as if miraculously freed from fear given a new. And if so what is to destroy for the phoenix to be reborn. I search and I wait in acceptance and in fight I stand alone.
Everyday as I document my experiences in this way, I question what could I possibly write tomorrow. I do not want to become a tour guide or bore you with daily updates on my health. My descriptions of life in Venice through my experiences, and sharing my feelings and views is as close as I want to get to Venice according to Jeff. There is as you know such history here such richness I am at times unable to express all that I see, hear, and feel. If you have never visited Venice I encourage you to do so but first buy some books of the history and prepare yourself, as you can easily get lost in the labyrinth. I have taken a few days too rest and let go of the touring experience. I have been without my camera for two days and have slept 10 hours two nights in a row this is unusual for me as those who are close to me can attest. Last night after sleeping 2 hours there was a voice calling me from the street below, this is the traditional Venetian phone system and still is as there are many locations that still have limited Cell Phone coverage. I think this will never change certainly not in my Apartment surrounded by mountains of stone separated only by the narrow valleys that pass through them. My apartment has walls that are no less than two feet thick and are composed of stone and brick. Certainly a challenge for radio waves thus no cell phone in my apartment. Hence Isacco calling to me “ Jeff what are you doing let’s go for a drink” it was not late by Venice standards and certainly not late for Isacco at any time he is the night owl of Venice. This town has many opportunities for one to stay out the entire night; many places close at four and then close the doors and continue the party until the last man falls. Isacco had traveled the 20 min walk form his last location, to connect with me having just arrived in town this afternoon from his trip to Ivera visiting the home and family of his girlfriend Francesca. So now it is Jeff and Isacco time. He did his best to encourage me to change my sleeping plans and join him. I stood my ground or my bed in this case and said goodnight there will be time for us tomorrow, forgetting of course that I would have to wait until tomorrow night as Isacco would most likely be sleeping off the night before. We have a quick and small glass of wine and back to sleep I went. Waking early I pass on my morning picture excursion and begin immediately to work. I am inspired, Nia is calling me. I work for a couple of hours and then play guitar for a couple more. I decide to go to Campo Santa Margerita to Cafe Rosso for an early lunch. I had three days past given my friends a CD of my music. When I arrived they all began to clap Bravo Bravo, they liked the CD and are now playing it as part of the standard music selection at the Café, I am honored and admittedly and bit surprised, I gave it to them as a gesture of friendship never thinking they would actually adopt is as music for the Café. I feel very much at home here. A brief sideline as I am sitting and writing to you on the water wall of the Grand Canale bordering a courtyard of one of the most picturesque Taverna’s I have found in Venice “ Taverna del Campiello Remer.” When you visit Venice this place is a must visit the food and company as good as it gets. The Campiello is surrounded by three buildings three stories high one side open to the Grand Canale. The building directly opposite of the canal wall on which I am sitting has a second story balcony with Moorish stairs that rise along the left facing wall. These stairs access the balcony. Under the stairs are three arches with doorways of stained glass and metal. The entrance to the Taverna is this Campiello (a small campo) and is vine covered with a simple light over the door. The doors are double hung each 3 feet wide and at least 2.5 inches thick again ordained with metal artwork and stained glass. Outside of the Taverna wine kegs are used as tables as is the cistern that is typical of all campo’s public and private. These cisterns were once used for drinking water they captured rainwater and I believe filtered the water using stones. I am sitting 500 feet to the north on the opposite bank of the Rialto fish market and the same distance from the Rialto Bridge. I have just been approached from behind with a pat on the back from a stranger telling me that if I am a Blazer fan he will throw me in the water! Tony a Venetian living in Portland Or. is visiting his family in Venice for a few weeks. Jorge the bartender has directed him to me, a small world indeed. Tony’s wife works in the same block as Nia HQ. Her office is on Salmon ours Yamhill, a new Nia student found in Venice.
My heart sad and lonely and yet so full of love and appreciation for all that I have and all I have lost. My mind sometimes completely empty and then other times so full I think it will explode. My spirit weak and yet soaring into the unknown. Will I heal as the phoenix rises from the ashes of destruction to wake up one day as if miraculously freed from fear given a new. And if so what is to destroy for the phoenix to be reborn. I search and I wait in acceptance and in fight I stand alone.
Everyday as I document my experiences in this way, I question what could I possibly write tomorrow. I do not want to become a tour guide or bore you with daily updates on my health. My descriptions of life in Venice through my experiences, and sharing my feelings and views is as close as I want to get to Venice according to Jeff. There is as you know such history here such richness I am at times unable to express all that I see, hear, and feel. If you have never visited Venice I encourage you to do so but first buy some books of the history and prepare yourself, as you can easily get lost in the labyrinth. I have taken a few days too rest and let go of the touring experience. I have been without my camera for two days and have slept 10 hours two nights in a row this is unusual for me as those who are close to me can attest. Last night after sleeping 2 hours there was a voice calling me from the street below, this is the traditional Venetian phone system and still is as there are many locations that still have limited Cell Phone coverage. I think this will never change certainly not in my Apartment surrounded by mountains of stone separated only by the narrow valleys that pass through them. My apartment has walls that are no less than two feet thick and are composed of stone and brick. Certainly a challenge for radio waves thus no cell phone in my apartment. Hence Isacco calling to me “ Jeff what are you doing let’s go for a drink” it was not late by Venice standards and certainly not late for Isacco at any time he is the night owl of Venice. This town has many opportunities for one to stay out the entire night; many places close at four and then close the doors and continue the party until the last man falls. Isacco had traveled the 20 min walk form his last location, to connect with me having just arrived in town this afternoon from his trip to Ivera visiting the home and family of his girlfriend Francesca. So now it is Jeff and Isacco time. He did his best to encourage me to change my sleeping plans and join him. I stood my ground or my bed in this case and said goodnight there will be time for us tomorrow, forgetting of course that I would have to wait until tomorrow night as Isacco would most likely be sleeping off the night before. We have a quick and small glass of wine and back to sleep I went. Waking early I pass on my morning picture excursion and begin immediately to work. I am inspired, Nia is calling me. I work for a couple of hours and then play guitar for a couple more. I decide to go to Campo Santa Margerita to Cafe Rosso for an early lunch. I had three days past given my friends a CD of my music. When I arrived they all began to clap Bravo Bravo, they liked the CD and are now playing it as part of the standard music selection at the Café, I am honored and admittedly and bit surprised, I gave it to them as a gesture of friendship never thinking they would actually adopt is as music for the Café. I feel very much at home here. A brief sideline as I am sitting and writing to you on the water wall of the Grand Canale bordering a courtyard of one of the most picturesque Taverna’s I have found in Venice “ Taverna del Campiello Remer.” When you visit Venice this place is a must visit the food and company as good as it gets. The Campiello is surrounded by three buildings three stories high one side open to the Grand Canale. The building directly opposite of the canal wall on which I am sitting has a second story balcony with Moorish stairs that rise along the left facing wall. These stairs access the balcony. Under the stairs are three arches with doorways of stained glass and metal. The entrance to the Taverna is this Campiello (a small campo) and is vine covered with a simple light over the door. The doors are double hung each 3 feet wide and at least 2.5 inches thick again ordained with metal artwork and stained glass. Outside of the Taverna wine kegs are used as tables as is the cistern that is typical of all campo’s public and private. These cisterns were once used for drinking water they captured rainwater and I believe filtered the water using stones. I am sitting 500 feet to the north on the opposite bank of the Rialto fish market and the same distance from the Rialto Bridge. I have just been approached from behind with a pat on the back from a stranger telling me that if I am a Blazer fan he will throw me in the water! Tony a Venetian living in Portland Or. is visiting his family in Venice for a few weeks. Jorge the bartender has directed him to me, a small world indeed. Tony’s wife works in the same block as Nia HQ. Her office is on Salmon ours Yamhill, a new Nia student found in Venice.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
I am a Migrant Worker
It seems that wherever I travel in my neighborhood S. Polo I cannot do so without running into my homeboys, Nello, Stetlean, and Nicola. Nello plays guitar, Stetlean, viola, and Nicola violin. These guys are professional bruskers, they are migrant workers, some would call them gypsies. They travel from to Venice from their home in Romania every year for more than six months at a time and they have been doing so for ten years.
Before Venice they traveled to other cities for the same purpose, Paris, Rome, Berlin. They have found that Venice is the most profitable and as well as the being the easiest to navigate. If one restaurant or Campo is not paying well they can easily move to a new location to test the market. Nello is 35 years old and has been married to the same woman since they were teenagers. They have three children, two boys and a girl. One of the boys is to follow in his father’s footsteps and will one day soon begin to travel with his father. The other boy is of a different character and has an aptitude for higher learning. Nello has enrolled him in a special school where he studies along with basic academic studies, other cultures and languages. It is his as well as Nello’s dream that he will one day be able to create a life other than the life of his father, a traveling musician. The girl is still young and her fate is most likely to marry. Nello is very proud of his family and is quick to pull out his phone and show you pictures of his family. His face is as round as the moon and lights up with a sparkle that makes him appear ageless. Every day Nello has on the same clothes, a perfectly clean white t-shirt orange pants and red shoes. He is always perfectly groomed I imagine that he does his laundry every night. In Romania the choices for a better life are limited. This is why these three musicians the two brothers and their friend travel to Venice each year. Leaving their families for six months to make money to live: and for Nello to be able to pay for the special school for his son to obtain the education needed to break out of the limitations of Romanian life. I think that we in America are in many ways out of touch with how many people in this world are forced to do the same.
The migrant workers who come to us from south of the border to harvest our fields, the Philippinos that serve the rich in the middle east and the prostitutes of Amsterdam and South East Asia to the beggars in the streets all over the world.
From the beginning of time men and women alike have been forced to leave their homes and families for extended periods in order to discover, earn, and learn. Filling their suitcases with silver and gold, lessons from different cultures and new ways to live think and feel. Cultural exchange has forever been one of the major fuels for the development of, and the improvement and sometimes the demise of societies. Venice is the epitome of this dynamic. Almost from the beginning Venice has been a major portal for men to travel to distant lands to discover new and better ways to provide a life for their families. Whether it be silk from the east, salt, silver and gold, and even importing soldiers from the south to help them fight their wars, they even imported Jews to lend them money to finance these journeys and wars. Venice has always been in the business of import and export and a gateway for seekers from all the world to come together and in conjecture and legend build their vision supporting their dreams of the path to the golden rainbow.
It is interesting to me that destiny has brought me to Venice as in many ways I am in the exact place of all those who have come before me. Having to leave my home searching for new tools and ideas along with internal and external growth to return to my family stronger and wiser, so that we can continue to grow together building better and stronger lives.
I am a migrant worker.
Before Venice they traveled to other cities for the same purpose, Paris, Rome, Berlin. They have found that Venice is the most profitable and as well as the being the easiest to navigate. If one restaurant or Campo is not paying well they can easily move to a new location to test the market. Nello is 35 years old and has been married to the same woman since they were teenagers. They have three children, two boys and a girl. One of the boys is to follow in his father’s footsteps and will one day soon begin to travel with his father. The other boy is of a different character and has an aptitude for higher learning. Nello has enrolled him in a special school where he studies along with basic academic studies, other cultures and languages. It is his as well as Nello’s dream that he will one day be able to create a life other than the life of his father, a traveling musician. The girl is still young and her fate is most likely to marry. Nello is very proud of his family and is quick to pull out his phone and show you pictures of his family. His face is as round as the moon and lights up with a sparkle that makes him appear ageless. Every day Nello has on the same clothes, a perfectly clean white t-shirt orange pants and red shoes. He is always perfectly groomed I imagine that he does his laundry every night. In Romania the choices for a better life are limited. This is why these three musicians the two brothers and their friend travel to Venice each year. Leaving their families for six months to make money to live: and for Nello to be able to pay for the special school for his son to obtain the education needed to break out of the limitations of Romanian life. I think that we in America are in many ways out of touch with how many people in this world are forced to do the same.
The migrant workers who come to us from south of the border to harvest our fields, the Philippinos that serve the rich in the middle east and the prostitutes of Amsterdam and South East Asia to the beggars in the streets all over the world.
From the beginning of time men and women alike have been forced to leave their homes and families for extended periods in order to discover, earn, and learn. Filling their suitcases with silver and gold, lessons from different cultures and new ways to live think and feel. Cultural exchange has forever been one of the major fuels for the development of, and the improvement and sometimes the demise of societies. Venice is the epitome of this dynamic. Almost from the beginning Venice has been a major portal for men to travel to distant lands to discover new and better ways to provide a life for their families. Whether it be silk from the east, salt, silver and gold, and even importing soldiers from the south to help them fight their wars, they even imported Jews to lend them money to finance these journeys and wars. Venice has always been in the business of import and export and a gateway for seekers from all the world to come together and in conjecture and legend build their vision supporting their dreams of the path to the golden rainbow.
It is interesting to me that destiny has brought me to Venice as in many ways I am in the exact place of all those who have come before me. Having to leave my home searching for new tools and ideas along with internal and external growth to return to my family stronger and wiser, so that we can continue to grow together building better and stronger lives.
I am a migrant worker.
Monday, August 27, 2007
I feel a finished Man
Today is the finial day of the Bruskers festival in Ferrara. If you do not know, a Brusker is a street musician who plays for tips and the love of playing. Having done my share of Brusking over the years, I can assure you that tips are not the primary motivator. The tips usually are low. There are always stories among Bruskers of the time that they had a great day, “One time in (City) I played for two hours and made three hundred dollars, these stories are mostly urban myths. I have never even come close the most I ever made was enough for a beer and a sandwich. So the core of Brusking is the love of playing music and sharing your love and your art with people who for the most part just pass you by. One could view this as a bit masochistic, and yet the tradition continues, I have never visited a city where I did not have the opportunity to share the wealth with a Bruskers or two.
So I went to Ferrara on Friday to join the Bruskers many of whom travel great distance for the festival, think of this as a convention for street musicians. I was misinformed most likely due to my incompetence with the Italian language. What I thought I heard was the festival was a daylong event and Friday the 24th was the day. So off to Ferrara I go with my guitar and my backpack loaded with camera gear. I arrived in the morning, having no idea of where to go, I jump into a taxi. The driver speaking almost no English took me to the castle. I knew this much about Ferrara, in the week of me building up to the experience I had spoke with more than a few of my friends of my intention of traveling to Ferrara to participate in the festival. Everyone I spoke to made sure to tell me that the castle in Ferrara is one of the best in Europe. This being the only reference I had I directed the non English speaking taxi driver to take me to the castle simply by saying castle, I stand corrected my pronunciation was not correct and the driver did not at first understand until the light went off in his head and he says; castello. We got it and off we went. I was not disappointed; the castle is all a castle should be complete with a moat. It is the one of the only castles in Europe that has a fully functional moat. The moat is fed by a spring and has a well-established Eco system complete with fish and a large variety of fauna. Spectacular, rising high above the city the castle recently restored is made of brick; there are the obligatory four lookout towers one of which towers maybe 100 feet above the others. There are battlements from which archers could rain arrows down upon the invaders. The drawbridge and all the machinery to operate it are in perfect operating order as if they were built yesterday.
I was famished and upon exiting the taxi I went to the nearest restaurant for a quick meal, excited to get on with my brusking. I was surprised in that most of the restaurants close to the tourist attractions are not the best, I ordered the one thing I did not recognize nor could I pronounce Sfogliatella. It was fantastic, the dish was a pastry sweet and tender filled with mozzarella cheese and Prosciutto Crudo covered with Prosciutto crudo more cheese this time shredded Parmesan and resting on a bed of arugula. Think of the best ham and cheese sandwich you have ever had. I took a chance and scored big time. So my quick lunch turned out to be a leisurely meal complete with a mezzo liter of vino bianco di casa.
I was later told my Marco my jeweler friend that Ferrara is famous for it’s food and friendly people; the reputation is well founded. Finishing my meal I was off to brusk. I began to search out the festival and soon found out that the festival was not a one-day affair but that it took place the entire week however it took place in the evenings beginning at 8:pm. Disappointed but not discouraged I decided I would return on Sunday which is the last day. Unlike the previous days where the festival begins at 8:pm on the last day the festival begins at noon and goes until the streets are empty. I had with me quite a load between my guitar and my camera case and so was limited in my ability to tour the town. After a brief look around the castle I found an alcove out of the drizzling rain took out my guitar and began to play. I had come to Ferrara to brusk I would not leave the city without doing so. I played for an hour or so my guitar case lying at my feet so those passing by could shower me with coins. I will admit a bit of over confidence in this. I am an experienced brusker I have a decent repertoire of appropriate music for such an occasion a better than average voice and a beautiful sounding guitar, so It would make perfect sense to expect maybe not three hundred in two hours but at the very least train fare. I was wrong in one hour not even a single coin was thrown my way. Oh well there is always another day. I packed up my gear and made my way back to the train station planning to return on Sunday for the grand finale. I was completely surprised when exiting the taxi who do I see but my friend Rachele the girlfriend of Ciccio, she was also surprised, she was in town for business. Her business finished she was waiting as I for the next train to Venice. Of course we traveled together. It was a good opportunity for us to connect on a new level one on one. Rachele is in the promotion business and is promoting an art event that will take place in Ferrara in a couple of months, she specializes in art events.
It is now Sunday. I woke up today exhausted. My mind full my heart full and my body so tired I cannot even imagine carrying once again all of my gear to the train station and then through the streets of Ferrara. I had spent Saturday night at the home of Luca and Mara. The two of them had prepared a dinner party for the crew of Postali. The day began with Mara, Luca, and Serge knocking on my window at about 9:30 in the morning. They were taking me to the Rialto Fish market to gather the ingredients for the feast I took it upon myself to ordain the Beggars Banquet. Again I am honored to be invited. These are 12 of the oldest and best of friends and to be included is most certainly a gift and an honor. The Rialto Fish market is an experience at any time but on Saturday it is a different world. Busier than usual and with a larger varity of fish, all freshly caught no farmed fish on Saturday. Many of the varieties were completely foreign to me; of course I took hundreds of pictures not only of dead or dying fish but also of the scene of the shoppers all competing for the attention of those serving. If there is not a name for the people who work at this market there should be, I think I will create one, maybe I can start something new, contributing to an ancient tradition. I will brainstorm with Luca on this one. The Fish market is not limited to fish alone. There are many vegetable stands and flower stands as well the open air market is lined with bread shops the smell of fresh bread mixed with the smell of fresh vegetables and fish is enough to make any one hungry, so the tradition is to when finished shopping go to one of the many café’s lining the market and have a francobolo (small bite size sandwiches) or two and maybe a glass of prosecco or two. Again I am surprised at the frequency of which I run into people I know. I have been in Venice three weeks and at the market I ran into two of my new friends, Marco and Manuel both of whom have come to the market for, what else dinner of the freshest fish you can find, the ripest vegetables the warmest bread and community. As we gathered at the café Marco a different Marco our conversation turned quickly to politics and the world community. We are watching the Communist setting up for a rally to be held over the weekend complete with food and music; it looks like it will be a major event. We talk of the power elite and how Europe, Italy, America all of the world is suffering from similar dynamics as we discuss the democratic process. They feel powerless and therefore few of them even vote. I explain that this is also the case in America. What is the point when the choices are mostly the same and the idea of the power of the people only an illusion set forth to give us a sense of security that we have some control over our destiny. We debate; is this new or has it always been this way. In the past many societies were ruled by dictatorship supported by a republic a congress or a parliament call it what you will the point is that even with my limited understanding of the dynamics of politics I understand that little has changed only the window dressing. As an example what will it take to get the troops out of the farce we call the middle eastern conflict. Accomplishing only three things distracting the American people so we can not easily see that the Emperor has no clothes, raising the price of oil making the rich richer, and killing hundreds of thousands of innocent people and all we get from Bush is we will stay the course and not back down from the global threat of terrorism. I do not profess to have a deep enough understanding of the history of such things and quite frankly when I listen to those who are quick to pontificate what they believe or insist that they know the real issues in the world I have to laugh at their confidence in their own nativity. Point being when there are people dying children homeless and starving and cultures being destroyed, and no one can with any certainty say why; we are in big trouble. Venice was once ruled by the Doges there were no elections only appointments. This system was the way of the world since the beginning of time. The election process was after the fact. If the ruler failed the people stormed the palace and chopped of his head, end of story, next. We discussed that one of the biggest issues is that we no longer speak with one another the communication circles of the past decimated in my opinion around the time of the industrial revolution. Without understanding and wisdom we are powerless and so here we stand at the mercy of the power elite. Is there hope can the communication potential of the internet restore the lost vehicles of days past the family dinners the speakers corners the soap box. Who knows and who is in enough pain to fight to make the change.
This Saturday morning at the Rialto fish market the suffering of the world is distant and foreign to us today we are happy and full, body mind and spirit. Some things are the same everywhere, some care others do not, some are not capable.
I was at the dinner party of Luca and Mara until 3:30 in the morning. As I sat and observed the festivities regardless of the language barrier I felt completely one with the group. One does not need to speak the language to understand laughter, love, and good food. I laughed with them I ate with them and I loved with them, the evening once again a full cup.
Sunday I slept until noon. This is very unusual for me. I leisurely awoke, I wrote I dreamed and I took off at sunset with my camera to capture some of the most beautiful light in the city. Due to my exhaustion I chose not to go to Ferrara, I decided to go to Verona instead no camera no guitar no notebook. I had been given a gift of a round trip ticket for two to Verona on Friday when I was buying my ticket to Ferrara at the automatic ticket kiosk. After I finished the process I reached into the bin to retrieve my own ticket to Ferrara and I found waiting for me apparently left behind by a pair of confused travelers an extra ticket. Good fortune can sometimes rain upon you. In that I was too tired to go to the bruskers festival I chose to instead take a leasuly journey to Verona with my free ticket.
Truth is that I was too exhausted to do even this. I did go to the train station with every intention to travel of Verona. Upon my arrival at the train station I decided to go back home and sleep. Verona will have to wait until another day. After my nap of three or so hours I decided to treat my self to a grand meal.
It being Sunday evening and being alone with no plans I decided I would don my finest suit and go to a restaurant introduced to me by Marco. Marco said this restaurant was of the finest in the city, it certainly had the ambiance to fulfill my fantasy the specialty of the house is meat. I have not had a steak since I have arrived.
So off I go but not before shinning my shoes to a perfect shine putting on a black suit with a perfectly ironed white shirt complimenting my new Venetian tan. I ironed my shirt on my bed as I have no ironing board, I tie my tie in a classic Windsor and off I go to the restaurant of Angela “Taverna del Campiello Remer.” If you have the gift of visiting Venice find this restaurant. It is perfect directly across from the Rialto bridge the view is fantastic as well is the food. I no sooner enter the courtyard then I am greeted by friends whom I unexpectedly run into. Manuel, Michele, Danella and Laura. They are there for snacks and spitz. I join them for appetizers and then I excuse my self; I have a much-anticipated steak to eat. Welcomed as an old friend Gustavo and Angela make me feel at home serving me a wonderful t-bone. Unsurprising at this point as I am finishing my delicious steak in walks Biagio and Rosanna, we share a night cap and then I excuse my self too retire early. Today I am still very tired and my body aches.
I feel a finished man.
So I went to Ferrara on Friday to join the Bruskers many of whom travel great distance for the festival, think of this as a convention for street musicians. I was misinformed most likely due to my incompetence with the Italian language. What I thought I heard was the festival was a daylong event and Friday the 24th was the day. So off to Ferrara I go with my guitar and my backpack loaded with camera gear. I arrived in the morning, having no idea of where to go, I jump into a taxi. The driver speaking almost no English took me to the castle. I knew this much about Ferrara, in the week of me building up to the experience I had spoke with more than a few of my friends of my intention of traveling to Ferrara to participate in the festival. Everyone I spoke to made sure to tell me that the castle in Ferrara is one of the best in Europe. This being the only reference I had I directed the non English speaking taxi driver to take me to the castle simply by saying castle, I stand corrected my pronunciation was not correct and the driver did not at first understand until the light went off in his head and he says; castello. We got it and off we went. I was not disappointed; the castle is all a castle should be complete with a moat. It is the one of the only castles in Europe that has a fully functional moat. The moat is fed by a spring and has a well-established Eco system complete with fish and a large variety of fauna. Spectacular, rising high above the city the castle recently restored is made of brick; there are the obligatory four lookout towers one of which towers maybe 100 feet above the others. There are battlements from which archers could rain arrows down upon the invaders. The drawbridge and all the machinery to operate it are in perfect operating order as if they were built yesterday.
I was famished and upon exiting the taxi I went to the nearest restaurant for a quick meal, excited to get on with my brusking. I was surprised in that most of the restaurants close to the tourist attractions are not the best, I ordered the one thing I did not recognize nor could I pronounce Sfogliatella. It was fantastic, the dish was a pastry sweet and tender filled with mozzarella cheese and Prosciutto Crudo covered with Prosciutto crudo more cheese this time shredded Parmesan and resting on a bed of arugula. Think of the best ham and cheese sandwich you have ever had. I took a chance and scored big time. So my quick lunch turned out to be a leisurely meal complete with a mezzo liter of vino bianco di casa.
I was later told my Marco my jeweler friend that Ferrara is famous for it’s food and friendly people; the reputation is well founded. Finishing my meal I was off to brusk. I began to search out the festival and soon found out that the festival was not a one-day affair but that it took place the entire week however it took place in the evenings beginning at 8:pm. Disappointed but not discouraged I decided I would return on Sunday which is the last day. Unlike the previous days where the festival begins at 8:pm on the last day the festival begins at noon and goes until the streets are empty. I had with me quite a load between my guitar and my camera case and so was limited in my ability to tour the town. After a brief look around the castle I found an alcove out of the drizzling rain took out my guitar and began to play. I had come to Ferrara to brusk I would not leave the city without doing so. I played for an hour or so my guitar case lying at my feet so those passing by could shower me with coins. I will admit a bit of over confidence in this. I am an experienced brusker I have a decent repertoire of appropriate music for such an occasion a better than average voice and a beautiful sounding guitar, so It would make perfect sense to expect maybe not three hundred in two hours but at the very least train fare. I was wrong in one hour not even a single coin was thrown my way. Oh well there is always another day. I packed up my gear and made my way back to the train station planning to return on Sunday for the grand finale. I was completely surprised when exiting the taxi who do I see but my friend Rachele the girlfriend of Ciccio, she was also surprised, she was in town for business. Her business finished she was waiting as I for the next train to Venice. Of course we traveled together. It was a good opportunity for us to connect on a new level one on one. Rachele is in the promotion business and is promoting an art event that will take place in Ferrara in a couple of months, she specializes in art events.
It is now Sunday. I woke up today exhausted. My mind full my heart full and my body so tired I cannot even imagine carrying once again all of my gear to the train station and then through the streets of Ferrara. I had spent Saturday night at the home of Luca and Mara. The two of them had prepared a dinner party for the crew of Postali. The day began with Mara, Luca, and Serge knocking on my window at about 9:30 in the morning. They were taking me to the Rialto Fish market to gather the ingredients for the feast I took it upon myself to ordain the Beggars Banquet. Again I am honored to be invited. These are 12 of the oldest and best of friends and to be included is most certainly a gift and an honor. The Rialto Fish market is an experience at any time but on Saturday it is a different world. Busier than usual and with a larger varity of fish, all freshly caught no farmed fish on Saturday. Many of the varieties were completely foreign to me; of course I took hundreds of pictures not only of dead or dying fish but also of the scene of the shoppers all competing for the attention of those serving. If there is not a name for the people who work at this market there should be, I think I will create one, maybe I can start something new, contributing to an ancient tradition. I will brainstorm with Luca on this one. The Fish market is not limited to fish alone. There are many vegetable stands and flower stands as well the open air market is lined with bread shops the smell of fresh bread mixed with the smell of fresh vegetables and fish is enough to make any one hungry, so the tradition is to when finished shopping go to one of the many café’s lining the market and have a francobolo (small bite size sandwiches) or two and maybe a glass of prosecco or two. Again I am surprised at the frequency of which I run into people I know. I have been in Venice three weeks and at the market I ran into two of my new friends, Marco and Manuel both of whom have come to the market for, what else dinner of the freshest fish you can find, the ripest vegetables the warmest bread and community. As we gathered at the café Marco a different Marco our conversation turned quickly to politics and the world community. We are watching the Communist setting up for a rally to be held over the weekend complete with food and music; it looks like it will be a major event. We talk of the power elite and how Europe, Italy, America all of the world is suffering from similar dynamics as we discuss the democratic process. They feel powerless and therefore few of them even vote. I explain that this is also the case in America. What is the point when the choices are mostly the same and the idea of the power of the people only an illusion set forth to give us a sense of security that we have some control over our destiny. We debate; is this new or has it always been this way. In the past many societies were ruled by dictatorship supported by a republic a congress or a parliament call it what you will the point is that even with my limited understanding of the dynamics of politics I understand that little has changed only the window dressing. As an example what will it take to get the troops out of the farce we call the middle eastern conflict. Accomplishing only three things distracting the American people so we can not easily see that the Emperor has no clothes, raising the price of oil making the rich richer, and killing hundreds of thousands of innocent people and all we get from Bush is we will stay the course and not back down from the global threat of terrorism. I do not profess to have a deep enough understanding of the history of such things and quite frankly when I listen to those who are quick to pontificate what they believe or insist that they know the real issues in the world I have to laugh at their confidence in their own nativity. Point being when there are people dying children homeless and starving and cultures being destroyed, and no one can with any certainty say why; we are in big trouble. Venice was once ruled by the Doges there were no elections only appointments. This system was the way of the world since the beginning of time. The election process was after the fact. If the ruler failed the people stormed the palace and chopped of his head, end of story, next. We discussed that one of the biggest issues is that we no longer speak with one another the communication circles of the past decimated in my opinion around the time of the industrial revolution. Without understanding and wisdom we are powerless and so here we stand at the mercy of the power elite. Is there hope can the communication potential of the internet restore the lost vehicles of days past the family dinners the speakers corners the soap box. Who knows and who is in enough pain to fight to make the change.
This Saturday morning at the Rialto fish market the suffering of the world is distant and foreign to us today we are happy and full, body mind and spirit. Some things are the same everywhere, some care others do not, some are not capable.
I was at the dinner party of Luca and Mara until 3:30 in the morning. As I sat and observed the festivities regardless of the language barrier I felt completely one with the group. One does not need to speak the language to understand laughter, love, and good food. I laughed with them I ate with them and I loved with them, the evening once again a full cup.
Sunday I slept until noon. This is very unusual for me. I leisurely awoke, I wrote I dreamed and I took off at sunset with my camera to capture some of the most beautiful light in the city. Due to my exhaustion I chose not to go to Ferrara, I decided to go to Verona instead no camera no guitar no notebook. I had been given a gift of a round trip ticket for two to Verona on Friday when I was buying my ticket to Ferrara at the automatic ticket kiosk. After I finished the process I reached into the bin to retrieve my own ticket to Ferrara and I found waiting for me apparently left behind by a pair of confused travelers an extra ticket. Good fortune can sometimes rain upon you. In that I was too tired to go to the bruskers festival I chose to instead take a leasuly journey to Verona with my free ticket.
Truth is that I was too exhausted to do even this. I did go to the train station with every intention to travel of Verona. Upon my arrival at the train station I decided to go back home and sleep. Verona will have to wait until another day. After my nap of three or so hours I decided to treat my self to a grand meal.
It being Sunday evening and being alone with no plans I decided I would don my finest suit and go to a restaurant introduced to me by Marco. Marco said this restaurant was of the finest in the city, it certainly had the ambiance to fulfill my fantasy the specialty of the house is meat. I have not had a steak since I have arrived.
So off I go but not before shinning my shoes to a perfect shine putting on a black suit with a perfectly ironed white shirt complimenting my new Venetian tan. I ironed my shirt on my bed as I have no ironing board, I tie my tie in a classic Windsor and off I go to the restaurant of Angela “Taverna del Campiello Remer.” If you have the gift of visiting Venice find this restaurant. It is perfect directly across from the Rialto bridge the view is fantastic as well is the food. I no sooner enter the courtyard then I am greeted by friends whom I unexpectedly run into. Manuel, Michele, Danella and Laura. They are there for snacks and spitz. I join them for appetizers and then I excuse my self; I have a much-anticipated steak to eat. Welcomed as an old friend Gustavo and Angela make me feel at home serving me a wonderful t-bone. Unsurprising at this point as I am finishing my delicious steak in walks Biagio and Rosanna, we share a night cap and then I excuse my self too retire early. Today I am still very tired and my body aches.
I feel a finished man.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
If I had to Chose
If I had to chose what would I do
How could I chose between Red Yellow Green or Blue
Red the color of life that runs through our veins
Filling our hearts beating feeding our souls
One dreams eternal yet fleeting
As if the blink of an eye
If the air we breathe were a color
It would be green
The trees the grass in the fields
The ultimate kiss
Breath to breath
Green the color of the air we breathe
The fiery sun filling us with light
The fuel of our existence
Spring fields of yellow
Fresh grass flowers blooming
Spreading the seeds of tomorrow
The extension and the circle of life
Blue driven by desire
The roots of human condition
To create to love to be loved
To reach for the stars
To understand to be understood
The endless sky the center of why
The sea blue like the sky
Or the sky blue like the sea
Can we dive into the sea and swim in the sky
Foreign another world within our own
Mysterious and yet welcoming
The deep blue sea
If I had to chose a color
It would be blue
Only because I had to chose.
How could I chose between Red Yellow Green or Blue
Red the color of life that runs through our veins
Filling our hearts beating feeding our souls
One dreams eternal yet fleeting
As if the blink of an eye
If the air we breathe were a color
It would be green
The trees the grass in the fields
The ultimate kiss
Breath to breath
Green the color of the air we breathe
The fiery sun filling us with light
The fuel of our existence
Spring fields of yellow
Fresh grass flowers blooming
Spreading the seeds of tomorrow
The extension and the circle of life
Blue driven by desire
The roots of human condition
To create to love to be loved
To reach for the stars
To understand to be understood
The endless sky the center of why
The sea blue like the sky
Or the sky blue like the sea
Can we dive into the sea and swim in the sky
Foreign another world within our own
Mysterious and yet welcoming
The deep blue sea
If I had to chose a color
It would be blue
Only because I had to chose.
And Then The Rain Came
And Then The Rain Came:
Venice in the rain can be very dangerous; the narrow walkways filled with people Venetians and tourist all mixed together. The tourist in a casual stroll, of course, this is what they came for to wander the streets aimlessly taking in the sights the stores, completely unaware of the world of people around them. Then, the Venetians, they have their lives, if you were to allow yourself to get stuck within the crowd a 5 min. walk could take 15 min. this can be a problem when you have appointments; places to go people to see, business to do. So the walkways become an obstacle course as you weave your way through the throngs of tourist many of whom are holding a camera, a gelato or a piece of pizza and of course they are all carrying big travel bags many with backpacks. It is really a dance the Venetian ballet. You cannot do this casually you must be aggressive, strategic, aware of what is happening just in front of you and at the same time looking into the distance anticipating every move of the herd that surrounds you. Imagine being in a major airport late for a connecting flight at prime time during Christmas or worse spring break! Now that you have this image firmly planted in your senses; add umbrellas. We all know, how dangerous umbrellas can be, one can lose an eye! At times the walkways can be only slightly larger than an umbrella and other times not even wide enough to accommodate even one, without tilting it sideways. The Venetians have a system unspoken yet clearly defined, one either raises their umbrella to pass over the oncoming traffic or turns the umbrella at an extreme angle wherein two can pass without running into one another. Now the tourist on the other hand are completely unaware of the system and as I have mentioned unaware period, and still you must do the dance of the tourist with two left feet, an amusing challenge to say the least. When I left my apartment for breakfast in Campo Santa Margerita and then later lunch with Marco and Daviad, my two new jeweler friends. It was really only a slight drizzle, coming from Portland I thought nothing of it and left my umbrella behind, big mistake. Within 15 min. the downpour began and in minutes I was soaked to the bone. Not only is it raining as a monsoon but the temperature is in the 80’s and again the humidity in the 90’s this was my day. Dripping as a wet dog I joined Marco and Daviad for lunch. I had rabbit and caprese salad; I cannot describe the freshness of the food the flavor of the tomatoes. Rarely in America do I get to experience such flavors rich and delicate. These two men have known each other all of their lives; I do not exaggerate here to any degree. They grew up in a small town outside of Venice and played together as children. They still live in this small town and commute to Venice an hour each day to their jewelry shop. Daviad is married to Marcos sister and has one child Marco has two children both men are the same age and are partners in business and life. Normally they spend an hour and a half at lunch today lunch was a 2 and a half hour experience. With minimum English and of course my limited Italian we some how had no problem speaking of a myriad of topics. Women children being men and then skiing. Both are extreme skiers and snowboarders and they look forward to my return to show me the mountains and ski areas. Within only an hour of Venice you can find some of the best skiing in the world. I look forward to this very much. Question is will I be able to keep up with them. But what I look forward to most is Saturday when Marco and I will close the shop for a few hours and jam the blues. But even more they have invited me and Debbie to visit them in their country home for a Tuscan weekend cows sheep goats chickens children good food and love. I later took Ciccio to meet my new friends. Within a few short minutes they close the shop and we go two doors down for coffee and cakes. As we are chatting and snacking Christian walks by, it is unbelievable to me how small this town is, Christian is busy at work so only has time for a brief greeting but now he too has two new friends. The coffee shop two doors down of course knew Marco and Daviad well but not surprising the owner also knows Ciccio. The owner as in most cases in these small cafes is the primary server he joins us in conversation, he is interested in how Ciccio and the other two happen to know each other they explain that I was the one to introduce the new crew. This delighted the shop owner and he assuming that I must be Italian (in the north of Italy there are many who have blue eyes) how else could I know three of his best friends and customers, he looked at me very serious and said these are some of the best people in Venice and you are now very special to me, roughly translated through my limited Italian. However the next morning as I passed his shop he noticed me and yelled out the Venetian call of friendship Ciao Vechhio. It is now evening and I am sitting at a lovely restaurant on the outside promenade over looking Canale S. Marco, I am meeting friends for a Spitz and some dinner. Of course I brought my umbrella this time and naturally there is not a cloud in the sky, regardless I am prepared. There has been some confusion as to our meeting place and so Rosanna calls me, “ Jeff where are you?” “ I am at Al’Giubagio on the Fondamenta Nuove” “No no Jeff we are at…… I will meet you at Larga Callina near Campo SS. Giovanni e’ Paolo it is easy to find” and then she proceeds to give me directions. I always laugh with the ease of which Venetians will give directions thinking I will simply understand and be right there. This time I was lucky and she was right I easily found her and our evening began. We were to be joined by Dianna soon, but we ordered our Spitz and relaxation began. Rosanna was born in Pellestrina a short distance from Venice and yet another world. The people of Pellestrina are historically and I believe still fisherman. They are hard working people, strong and passionate their life is the sea, it has always been so. The families are close each one looking after the other for all of life. You can see in Rosannas’ eyes the deep love for her family and the culture of her home, Pellastrina. After a couple of Spitz I was honored to be invited along with Dianna to Rosannas’ home for a dinner we were to have a special pasta delivered to her by her good friend Biaggio. The pasta is rare and is only made in one small village Biaggio visited while on vacation. The sauce a tomato base with mussels and clams delivered to Rosanna just this morning by her father fresh from the sea. Her home is beautiful unlike any I have visited in Venice. Modern and new tiled throughout decorated with an Asian flair, her home is very Zen, Rosanna has elegant taste. Her home is large by Venice standards and HAS A BATHTUB! A big bathtub rare in Venice. When Rosanna bought this place it was a cave. Over a period of two years while living with her parents the whole family worked together to renovate and build this beautiful home. Needless to say the meal was out of this world! The evening would not have been complete without Dianna. Dianna is 100% Venetian. Generations past her GGGGGrandfather was one of the artist to create the great mosaics of Piazza San Marco. In the next generations one of the GGGGrandfathers created the sirens of Venice one of the Great art pieces in the world, again as with Rosanna her pride in her heritage is evident in every cell in her being, she radiates Venice. She is a light no darkness to be found she wears her heart on her sleeve and when she describes her family she does so with a bit of shyness as she explains that her family life and upbringing was so perfect she is almost embarrassed by it. As we walked through Castello the heart of the real Venice also the neighborhood of the generations of Dianna’s family she shared many stories of family history; My GGGrandfather worked here, my grandfather would stand under this street light and yell three stories up to his then girlfriend my future Grandmother from the street below, “Nona, Nona!” Nona’s father would hear the calls and run down the stairs chasing the young suitor away repeating this scene night after night until persistence prevailed and another chapter in history was born.
As we turned every corner there was some secret courtyard or wall sculpture to share and explain to me. Not only are both of these women natives but they love the history of this city and the culture they both are fortunate to share. Both Rosanna and Dianna are in the business of Venetian history and with their passion and deep understanding of each and every corner this was a very interesting walk indeed. Once arriving at the home of Rosanna we spent the rest of the evening sharing stories of culture, relationships, men, women and work, just another night with the girls. Some things are the same everywhere. At midnight my heart full my mind exploding and my belly very, very full I said goodnight to my home girls. I walked home via Riva dei Sette Martini along the Canale di San Marco. This is the place where many of the visiting yachts are docked. Passing by me along the way groups of the richest of the rich returning to their floating castles after a night of Venice. This was a living fashion show. If you ever wondered as I, who buys the extreme fashion at the highest dollar and where do they wear them? I think they are all here tonight passing by me laughing with ease as if there are no cares in the world full as I of a night in Venice. I stop and take a seat along the canale for a short while, I smoke a cigarette and I watch the show. I continue my journey home through Piazza San Marco walking down Merceria Orologia, passing through S. Salvatore, I cross over the Rialto Bridge walk along Fondamenta del Vin, a very popular tourist strip. a right turn, a left turn and I am home, Campo S. Polo. Stripping from my clothes as quickly as I could I collapse flat on my back without even turning down my sheets. Tomorrow is a long day, I will go to Ferrara an hour and a half train ride to the south and play my guitar on the street under the castle walls.
Venice in the rain can be very dangerous; the narrow walkways filled with people Venetians and tourist all mixed together. The tourist in a casual stroll, of course, this is what they came for to wander the streets aimlessly taking in the sights the stores, completely unaware of the world of people around them. Then, the Venetians, they have their lives, if you were to allow yourself to get stuck within the crowd a 5 min. walk could take 15 min. this can be a problem when you have appointments; places to go people to see, business to do. So the walkways become an obstacle course as you weave your way through the throngs of tourist many of whom are holding a camera, a gelato or a piece of pizza and of course they are all carrying big travel bags many with backpacks. It is really a dance the Venetian ballet. You cannot do this casually you must be aggressive, strategic, aware of what is happening just in front of you and at the same time looking into the distance anticipating every move of the herd that surrounds you. Imagine being in a major airport late for a connecting flight at prime time during Christmas or worse spring break! Now that you have this image firmly planted in your senses; add umbrellas. We all know, how dangerous umbrellas can be, one can lose an eye! At times the walkways can be only slightly larger than an umbrella and other times not even wide enough to accommodate even one, without tilting it sideways. The Venetians have a system unspoken yet clearly defined, one either raises their umbrella to pass over the oncoming traffic or turns the umbrella at an extreme angle wherein two can pass without running into one another. Now the tourist on the other hand are completely unaware of the system and as I have mentioned unaware period, and still you must do the dance of the tourist with two left feet, an amusing challenge to say the least. When I left my apartment for breakfast in Campo Santa Margerita and then later lunch with Marco and Daviad, my two new jeweler friends. It was really only a slight drizzle, coming from Portland I thought nothing of it and left my umbrella behind, big mistake. Within 15 min. the downpour began and in minutes I was soaked to the bone. Not only is it raining as a monsoon but the temperature is in the 80’s and again the humidity in the 90’s this was my day. Dripping as a wet dog I joined Marco and Daviad for lunch. I had rabbit and caprese salad; I cannot describe the freshness of the food the flavor of the tomatoes. Rarely in America do I get to experience such flavors rich and delicate. These two men have known each other all of their lives; I do not exaggerate here to any degree. They grew up in a small town outside of Venice and played together as children. They still live in this small town and commute to Venice an hour each day to their jewelry shop. Daviad is married to Marcos sister and has one child Marco has two children both men are the same age and are partners in business and life. Normally they spend an hour and a half at lunch today lunch was a 2 and a half hour experience. With minimum English and of course my limited Italian we some how had no problem speaking of a myriad of topics. Women children being men and then skiing. Both are extreme skiers and snowboarders and they look forward to my return to show me the mountains and ski areas. Within only an hour of Venice you can find some of the best skiing in the world. I look forward to this very much. Question is will I be able to keep up with them. But what I look forward to most is Saturday when Marco and I will close the shop for a few hours and jam the blues. But even more they have invited me and Debbie to visit them in their country home for a Tuscan weekend cows sheep goats chickens children good food and love. I later took Ciccio to meet my new friends. Within a few short minutes they close the shop and we go two doors down for coffee and cakes. As we are chatting and snacking Christian walks by, it is unbelievable to me how small this town is, Christian is busy at work so only has time for a brief greeting but now he too has two new friends. The coffee shop two doors down of course knew Marco and Daviad well but not surprising the owner also knows Ciccio. The owner as in most cases in these small cafes is the primary server he joins us in conversation, he is interested in how Ciccio and the other two happen to know each other they explain that I was the one to introduce the new crew. This delighted the shop owner and he assuming that I must be Italian (in the north of Italy there are many who have blue eyes) how else could I know three of his best friends and customers, he looked at me very serious and said these are some of the best people in Venice and you are now very special to me, roughly translated through my limited Italian. However the next morning as I passed his shop he noticed me and yelled out the Venetian call of friendship Ciao Vechhio. It is now evening and I am sitting at a lovely restaurant on the outside promenade over looking Canale S. Marco, I am meeting friends for a Spitz and some dinner. Of course I brought my umbrella this time and naturally there is not a cloud in the sky, regardless I am prepared. There has been some confusion as to our meeting place and so Rosanna calls me, “ Jeff where are you?” “ I am at Al’Giubagio on the Fondamenta Nuove” “No no Jeff we are at…… I will meet you at Larga Callina near Campo SS. Giovanni e’ Paolo it is easy to find” and then she proceeds to give me directions. I always laugh with the ease of which Venetians will give directions thinking I will simply understand and be right there. This time I was lucky and she was right I easily found her and our evening began. We were to be joined by Dianna soon, but we ordered our Spitz and relaxation began. Rosanna was born in Pellestrina a short distance from Venice and yet another world. The people of Pellestrina are historically and I believe still fisherman. They are hard working people, strong and passionate their life is the sea, it has always been so. The families are close each one looking after the other for all of life. You can see in Rosannas’ eyes the deep love for her family and the culture of her home, Pellastrina. After a couple of Spitz I was honored to be invited along with Dianna to Rosannas’ home for a dinner we were to have a special pasta delivered to her by her good friend Biaggio. The pasta is rare and is only made in one small village Biaggio visited while on vacation. The sauce a tomato base with mussels and clams delivered to Rosanna just this morning by her father fresh from the sea. Her home is beautiful unlike any I have visited in Venice. Modern and new tiled throughout decorated with an Asian flair, her home is very Zen, Rosanna has elegant taste. Her home is large by Venice standards and HAS A BATHTUB! A big bathtub rare in Venice. When Rosanna bought this place it was a cave. Over a period of two years while living with her parents the whole family worked together to renovate and build this beautiful home. Needless to say the meal was out of this world! The evening would not have been complete without Dianna. Dianna is 100% Venetian. Generations past her GGGGGrandfather was one of the artist to create the great mosaics of Piazza San Marco. In the next generations one of the GGGGrandfathers created the sirens of Venice one of the Great art pieces in the world, again as with Rosanna her pride in her heritage is evident in every cell in her being, she radiates Venice. She is a light no darkness to be found she wears her heart on her sleeve and when she describes her family she does so with a bit of shyness as she explains that her family life and upbringing was so perfect she is almost embarrassed by it. As we walked through Castello the heart of the real Venice also the neighborhood of the generations of Dianna’s family she shared many stories of family history; My GGGrandfather worked here, my grandfather would stand under this street light and yell three stories up to his then girlfriend my future Grandmother from the street below, “Nona, Nona!” Nona’s father would hear the calls and run down the stairs chasing the young suitor away repeating this scene night after night until persistence prevailed and another chapter in history was born.
As we turned every corner there was some secret courtyard or wall sculpture to share and explain to me. Not only are both of these women natives but they love the history of this city and the culture they both are fortunate to share. Both Rosanna and Dianna are in the business of Venetian history and with their passion and deep understanding of each and every corner this was a very interesting walk indeed. Once arriving at the home of Rosanna we spent the rest of the evening sharing stories of culture, relationships, men, women and work, just another night with the girls. Some things are the same everywhere. At midnight my heart full my mind exploding and my belly very, very full I said goodnight to my home girls. I walked home via Riva dei Sette Martini along the Canale di San Marco. This is the place where many of the visiting yachts are docked. Passing by me along the way groups of the richest of the rich returning to their floating castles after a night of Venice. This was a living fashion show. If you ever wondered as I, who buys the extreme fashion at the highest dollar and where do they wear them? I think they are all here tonight passing by me laughing with ease as if there are no cares in the world full as I of a night in Venice. I stop and take a seat along the canale for a short while, I smoke a cigarette and I watch the show. I continue my journey home through Piazza San Marco walking down Merceria Orologia, passing through S. Salvatore, I cross over the Rialto Bridge walk along Fondamenta del Vin, a very popular tourist strip. a right turn, a left turn and I am home, Campo S. Polo. Stripping from my clothes as quickly as I could I collapse flat on my back without even turning down my sheets. Tomorrow is a long day, I will go to Ferrara an hour and a half train ride to the south and play my guitar on the street under the castle walls.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Out of the Closet
Jeff, you are so fortunate that your company is in a position to support you in your quest for healing. Not only can they work around your absence, but you're able to afford all this travel.
These are luxuries so few of us can afford. I'd be forever grateful if my employer could support me in the same way (of course, I'd always be worrying that they'd connect the dots and realize that if they could do without me for 4 months, they could do without me!) :-)
I appreciate your comments and I recognize that you comment the most.
I wish I could reply to you.
If you do not identify yourself then I am chained.
Yes I am fortunate.
But I am not employed. My boss did not give me permission my partners sent me away for health reasons.This is not a luxury it is unavoidable.
If any one is interested this trip is on my dime.
Am afraid that there will not be a place for me at my desk when I return? It is the success of a good CEO and business owner that they have built a company that can run without them, again I could not do this without the fantastic crew at at Nia HQ and my loving and supportive partners, however life is not without risks.
If I have not made it clear this trip is about me healing and reconnecting with self. I had lost myself in my job I went 10 years without once picking up my guitar except to realise I had nothing to give. I am not writing this blog
for self gratification. I am writing this blog because people I care about and who care about me asked me to.
I was at first resistant, but there were enough people I respect ask me to do so in such a short period of time that out of respect to them I agreed.
This blog is a huge resposiblity and I spend a tremendous amount of time focused on delivering my experiences in the highest light possible.
I am very happy that I decided to take on this resposiblity I love the creative challenge.Thank you Karri,Alison,Eileen,Latisha.
My Company did not support me in this sabbatical they insisted. This is in all truth an order from the board in effect I am in exile, so I can regain my health and continue to nurture Nia as I have and will continue to.
Am I afraid that my former Job will not be waiting for me, no I am not,I am not without fear, so many things can change in 6 months, maybe my life will not be waiting for me but my business will.
I stand before you and I do my best to speak my truth I am vunerable to the core.
What a luxury you have to watch from a distance with anonymity.
As CEO of the Nia technique I do not have this privledge.
Galactic, if you want to be on the front line in life stand up and be counted.
If you are good at what you do do not be afraid your job will be waiting and if not there will be a new job a new experience waiting for you, and you will be stronger and have so much more to offer,take the time 6 months can be had and you can create a similar experience I assure you. Maybe not as I am but you are not me.
You can lay on the beach in South East Asia for 20.00 dollars a day.
And remember in the end everyone in replaceable.
Jeff, you are so fortunate that your company is in a position to support you in your quest for healing. Not only can they work around your absence, but you're able to afford all this travel.
These are luxuries so few of us can afford. I'd be forever grateful if my employer could support me in the same way (of course, I'd always be worrying that they'd connect the dots and realize that if they could do without me for 4 months, they could do without me!) :-)
These are luxuries so few of us can afford. I'd be forever grateful if my employer could support me in the same way (of course, I'd always be worrying that they'd connect the dots and realize that if they could do without me for 4 months, they could do without me!) :-)
I appreciate your comments and I recognize that you comment the most.
I wish I could reply to you.
If you do not identify yourself then I am chained.
Yes I am fortunate.
But I am not employed. My boss did not give me permission my partners sent me away for health reasons.This is not a luxury it is unavoidable.
If any one is interested this trip is on my dime.
Am afraid that there will not be a place for me at my desk when I return? It is the success of a good CEO and business owner that they have built a company that can run without them, again I could not do this without the fantastic crew at at Nia HQ and my loving and supportive partners, however life is not without risks.
If I have not made it clear this trip is about me healing and reconnecting with self. I had lost myself in my job I went 10 years without once picking up my guitar except to realise I had nothing to give. I am not writing this blog
for self gratification. I am writing this blog because people I care about and who care about me asked me to.
I was at first resistant, but there were enough people I respect ask me to do so in such a short period of time that out of respect to them I agreed.
This blog is a huge resposiblity and I spend a tremendous amount of time focused on delivering my experiences in the highest light possible.
I am very happy that I decided to take on this resposiblity I love the creative challenge.Thank you Karri,Alison,Eileen,Latisha.
My Company did not support me in this sabbatical they insisted. This is in all truth an order from the board in effect I am in exile, so I can regain my health and continue to nurture Nia as I have and will continue to.
Am I afraid that my former Job will not be waiting for me, no I am not,I am not without fear, so many things can change in 6 months, maybe my life will not be waiting for me but my business will.
I stand before you and I do my best to speak my truth I am vunerable to the core.
What a luxury you have to watch from a distance with anonymity.
As CEO of the Nia technique I do not have this privledge.
Galactic, if you want to be on the front line in life stand up and be counted.
If you are good at what you do do not be afraid your job will be waiting and if not there will be a new job a new experience waiting for you, and you will be stronger and have so much more to offer,take the time 6 months can be had and you can create a similar experience I assure you. Maybe not as I am but you are not me.
You can lay on the beach in South East Asia for 20.00 dollars a day.
And remember in the end everyone in replaceable.
Jeff, you are so fortunate that your company is in a position to support you in your quest for healing. Not only can they work around your absence, but you're able to afford all this travel.
These are luxuries so few of us can afford. I'd be forever grateful if my employer could support me in the same way (of course, I'd always be worrying that they'd connect the dots and realize that if they could do without me for 4 months, they could do without me!) :-)
Good Luck
The weather is changing from one day to the next, you can feel fall in the air.
While out on my morning exploration, people I passed, many were wearing jackets and sweaters. Still, by 9:30 it began to warm up and the sweaters and jackets shed once again we will enjoy a beautiful sunny warm day. The scene is also changing here the harbor is beginning to fill with Yachts. These are the Yachts that most of us have only seen in movies or in an advertisements for the glorious life of the rich and famous. I can only imagine where they have come from but they are arriving for the coming two weeks.
Traditionally the first Sunday in September is the day of the Gondola races. Each time I been out on the Lagoon I have been witnessed Gondoliers practicing. They prepare for the race yearlong. This is a very big occasion in Venice; most of the town will be there to cheer them on. I will be thereto both cheer them on and to take pictures. I am already seeking out the best vantage point to capture to event. These Gondolas’ are not the traditional type, they are shaped a bit different but the most significant difference is that they are all brightly painted. I am sure that this will be a very exciting event. The first week in September is also important in that this is the time for the Venice film festival. It is my understanding that this to, is a big event, and that all the stars will be here. The rumor is that in Venice the stars are relaxed and that you will see them all about town mixing it up with the locals. Should be interesting my guess is the Yachts are gathering primarily for the film festival. I will certainly let you know if I have a papparazii moments. It is an interesting sight to see these huge modern boats docked along the Grand Canal. It is an odd perspective the old and the new. It is one thing to see boats of these grand proportions in Miami surrounded by new and modern hotels as well as being confined to marinas but here the boats docked within the city.
I am now off to have lunch with my newest friend Marco. Marco is a jeweler. I stopped by his shop the other day inquiring if he could make me an earring. I have wanted to have a new one made as last year I lost mine when I took it off for a MRI. I have worn an earring off and on since piercing my ear myself in my early teens. I am very picky on what sort of earring I will wear. I like my earring to be simple just a small ring, it is best if it does not have a noticeable clasp of any kind. So in my poor Italian and Marcos poor English we somehow came to an understanding of exactly what it was that I wanted. He agreed to make the earring and said that he could make it while I waited. We agreed on the price of 40 Euros about 55 dollars. As Marco was crafting my new earring we began to discuss music, he was listening to Pearl Jam. He said that this was his favorite American band. I told him that I was also a fan but that I had a friend (Phillip) that was one of the original members of the Pearl Jam fan club. I explained that Phillip grew up in Seattle Washington the town where Pearl Jam got their start and that he was able to watch the band develop and grow from their inception. This excited Marco so much he jumped up put in a bootleg live tape from the early years. He could not believe it he knew someone who knew someone who had seen Pearl Jam so many times and from the beginning in small clubs; he was beside himself. Marco told me that he played guitar and I shared with him that I did as well and instantly any cultural gap was bridged. About this time Marco had finished my earring. I placed it in my ear, it was perfect. The perfect size, 18 carat gold and no visible clasp, just what I wanted. I said thank you Marco and preceded to pay him his 40 Euros, he only accepted 10. So for Fifteen dollars I got the perfect earring and a new friend. I went back the next day with my guitar and played a few songs for Marco, and he played one for me and then invited me come back another day to join him for lunch. He said he had a very special place he wanted to show me. Today is the day. It seems every Venetian I meet knows of a special place.
I had a similar experience in a coin shop. I have always been attracted to antique coins. From time to time stopping into a coin shop for just a browse, although I have given considerable thought to buying a coin on many different occasions, my conservative nature has always over comes my desire and I walk away until the next time the urge overcomes me. Historically I am attracted to Roman coins but this day being in Venice it was Venetian coins I was to explore. I say explore because in the world of antique coins one must have at least a minimum understanding of the history and the points of value for any of the collectables. As it happened I was on a casual stroll and came across an antique coin dealer. I came to find out later this is the only shop of its kind in Venice. As I entered the shop, the shopkeeper an elderly man I guess in his mid seventies was otherwise preoccupied with his back to the door. He sat looking very intently at some sort of a chart his face was literally inches from the chart his eyes squinting through his glasses. He appeared to be so completely engrossed in his examination of the chart that I feared I would startle him if I were to announce myself in anyway. I therefore stood just inside the doorway of his shop and waited patiently until he was less focused, assuming he would then notice me on his own accord. I stood there for a couple of minutes before the gentleman turned toward me, surprised but not startled. He greeted me with a huge grin and a rapid fire of Italian. He spoke so fast that I could not decipher even one word. I apologized that I did not speak Italian well and inquired, did he speak English? He apologized that his English was very poor, but between us we managed to begin a dialogue. I expressed my interest and that I was only curios and not a serious buyer. It was immediately clear that this gentleman was very passionate about his coins. We introduced ourselves and I began my lesson of antique Venetian coins. Alessandro produced a book of coins written in English to help guide as he shared with me coin after coin. He explained that each of the Doges’ produced their own set of coins and therefore one of the issues in determining value was the length of a Doges’ rule. The shorter the rule the fewer the coins. Of course there are the typical value points such as size condition and material used. All of the coins had a unique character and an accompanying story. I spent close to two hours with Alessandro. Finally I chose a coin, not of great significance or value, but I was interested in the coin nonetheless. The reason was because it was metal not silver or gold and therefore not particularly fragile so I could carry it with me as sort of good luck charm. The coin was also interesting to me because it bore the likeness of a lion with wings. It was marked 1777 and was the first coin to not show the Doge with either god or Jesus. The coin was in my price range and I decide I would adopt it as mine. When I told Alessandro that this was my coin of choice he apologized and explained that he only showed me this coin as part of my history lesson. He in fact was saving the coin for a close friend of his that was on holiday and would return in two days and at that time he would purchase the coin. We then began our search for a coin that had all the elements important to me. He produced coin after coin first this coin then the next, however none of them spoke to me. Alessandro finally gave in explaining to me that his friend would most certainly slice his throat for him selling his coveted coin. Regardless we agreed on a price. I then pulled out my wallet presenting him with my credit card to make my purchase. Silly me, you simply do not buy coins with credit cards. I explained that I only had half of the agreed price in cash; now for the surprise. Alessandro told me this is not a problem I could pay him half now and half in two days after he returned from his weekend it was closing time on Saturday and he is closed on Sundays and Mondays. I assumed of course that this would be a deposit and I agreed to leave half down and return in two days pay the balance and retrieve my prize. I gave him the money and he gave me the coin to take with me. I expressed my confusion Alessrando said it was ok, “ I’ll see you in two days.” Shocked, stunned, I took my coin and left the store to continue my afternoon. I no sooner turned the corner than an ATM machine appeared. I took some cash and hurried back to the shop. Alessandro had already closed, I knocked he opened the door and I gave him the remainder of the money. I am carrying my 1777 Venetian coin my pocket, I am sure it will bring me good luck; maybe it already has.
While out on my morning exploration, people I passed, many were wearing jackets and sweaters. Still, by 9:30 it began to warm up and the sweaters and jackets shed once again we will enjoy a beautiful sunny warm day. The scene is also changing here the harbor is beginning to fill with Yachts. These are the Yachts that most of us have only seen in movies or in an advertisements for the glorious life of the rich and famous. I can only imagine where they have come from but they are arriving for the coming two weeks.
Traditionally the first Sunday in September is the day of the Gondola races. Each time I been out on the Lagoon I have been witnessed Gondoliers practicing. They prepare for the race yearlong. This is a very big occasion in Venice; most of the town will be there to cheer them on. I will be thereto both cheer them on and to take pictures. I am already seeking out the best vantage point to capture to event. These Gondolas’ are not the traditional type, they are shaped a bit different but the most significant difference is that they are all brightly painted. I am sure that this will be a very exciting event. The first week in September is also important in that this is the time for the Venice film festival. It is my understanding that this to, is a big event, and that all the stars will be here. The rumor is that in Venice the stars are relaxed and that you will see them all about town mixing it up with the locals. Should be interesting my guess is the Yachts are gathering primarily for the film festival. I will certainly let you know if I have a papparazii moments. It is an interesting sight to see these huge modern boats docked along the Grand Canal. It is an odd perspective the old and the new. It is one thing to see boats of these grand proportions in Miami surrounded by new and modern hotels as well as being confined to marinas but here the boats docked within the city.
I am now off to have lunch with my newest friend Marco. Marco is a jeweler. I stopped by his shop the other day inquiring if he could make me an earring. I have wanted to have a new one made as last year I lost mine when I took it off for a MRI. I have worn an earring off and on since piercing my ear myself in my early teens. I am very picky on what sort of earring I will wear. I like my earring to be simple just a small ring, it is best if it does not have a noticeable clasp of any kind. So in my poor Italian and Marcos poor English we somehow came to an understanding of exactly what it was that I wanted. He agreed to make the earring and said that he could make it while I waited. We agreed on the price of 40 Euros about 55 dollars. As Marco was crafting my new earring we began to discuss music, he was listening to Pearl Jam. He said that this was his favorite American band. I told him that I was also a fan but that I had a friend (Phillip) that was one of the original members of the Pearl Jam fan club. I explained that Phillip grew up in Seattle Washington the town where Pearl Jam got their start and that he was able to watch the band develop and grow from their inception. This excited Marco so much he jumped up put in a bootleg live tape from the early years. He could not believe it he knew someone who knew someone who had seen Pearl Jam so many times and from the beginning in small clubs; he was beside himself. Marco told me that he played guitar and I shared with him that I did as well and instantly any cultural gap was bridged. About this time Marco had finished my earring. I placed it in my ear, it was perfect. The perfect size, 18 carat gold and no visible clasp, just what I wanted. I said thank you Marco and preceded to pay him his 40 Euros, he only accepted 10. So for Fifteen dollars I got the perfect earring and a new friend. I went back the next day with my guitar and played a few songs for Marco, and he played one for me and then invited me come back another day to join him for lunch. He said he had a very special place he wanted to show me. Today is the day. It seems every Venetian I meet knows of a special place.
I had a similar experience in a coin shop. I have always been attracted to antique coins. From time to time stopping into a coin shop for just a browse, although I have given considerable thought to buying a coin on many different occasions, my conservative nature has always over comes my desire and I walk away until the next time the urge overcomes me. Historically I am attracted to Roman coins but this day being in Venice it was Venetian coins I was to explore. I say explore because in the world of antique coins one must have at least a minimum understanding of the history and the points of value for any of the collectables. As it happened I was on a casual stroll and came across an antique coin dealer. I came to find out later this is the only shop of its kind in Venice. As I entered the shop, the shopkeeper an elderly man I guess in his mid seventies was otherwise preoccupied with his back to the door. He sat looking very intently at some sort of a chart his face was literally inches from the chart his eyes squinting through his glasses. He appeared to be so completely engrossed in his examination of the chart that I feared I would startle him if I were to announce myself in anyway. I therefore stood just inside the doorway of his shop and waited patiently until he was less focused, assuming he would then notice me on his own accord. I stood there for a couple of minutes before the gentleman turned toward me, surprised but not startled. He greeted me with a huge grin and a rapid fire of Italian. He spoke so fast that I could not decipher even one word. I apologized that I did not speak Italian well and inquired, did he speak English? He apologized that his English was very poor, but between us we managed to begin a dialogue. I expressed my interest and that I was only curios and not a serious buyer. It was immediately clear that this gentleman was very passionate about his coins. We introduced ourselves and I began my lesson of antique Venetian coins. Alessandro produced a book of coins written in English to help guide as he shared with me coin after coin. He explained that each of the Doges’ produced their own set of coins and therefore one of the issues in determining value was the length of a Doges’ rule. The shorter the rule the fewer the coins. Of course there are the typical value points such as size condition and material used. All of the coins had a unique character and an accompanying story. I spent close to two hours with Alessandro. Finally I chose a coin, not of great significance or value, but I was interested in the coin nonetheless. The reason was because it was metal not silver or gold and therefore not particularly fragile so I could carry it with me as sort of good luck charm. The coin was also interesting to me because it bore the likeness of a lion with wings. It was marked 1777 and was the first coin to not show the Doge with either god or Jesus. The coin was in my price range and I decide I would adopt it as mine. When I told Alessandro that this was my coin of choice he apologized and explained that he only showed me this coin as part of my history lesson. He in fact was saving the coin for a close friend of his that was on holiday and would return in two days and at that time he would purchase the coin. We then began our search for a coin that had all the elements important to me. He produced coin after coin first this coin then the next, however none of them spoke to me. Alessandro finally gave in explaining to me that his friend would most certainly slice his throat for him selling his coveted coin. Regardless we agreed on a price. I then pulled out my wallet presenting him with my credit card to make my purchase. Silly me, you simply do not buy coins with credit cards. I explained that I only had half of the agreed price in cash; now for the surprise. Alessandro told me this is not a problem I could pay him half now and half in two days after he returned from his weekend it was closing time on Saturday and he is closed on Sundays and Mondays. I assumed of course that this would be a deposit and I agreed to leave half down and return in two days pay the balance and retrieve my prize. I gave him the money and he gave me the coin to take with me. I expressed my confusion Alessrando said it was ok, “ I’ll see you in two days.” Shocked, stunned, I took my coin and left the store to continue my afternoon. I no sooner turned the corner than an ATM machine appeared. I took some cash and hurried back to the shop. Alessandro had already closed, I knocked he opened the door and I gave him the remainder of the money. I am carrying my 1777 Venetian coin my pocket, I am sure it will bring me good luck; maybe it already has.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Have you ever really been Experienced?
It is now 11:30 I sit alone in my apartment. Having just left the hangout the “Cheers of Venice” for the first time I think I am a bit drunk. I think it was the Vodka. I am not used to the cascading developmental process of the inclusion of alcohol in the Venetian lifestyle. Venetians love to drink but for the most part they do so in a moderate and very civilized way. I admit that my own relationship with alcohol is challenged here, time to slow down and get to work. First they begin with a small glass of wine with a late lunch somewhere around 2 in the afternoon and then spitz at 7:30 after the spitz time it is time for dinner with a bit of wine and a grand finale of Grappa or Sambuca. I am used to drinking vodka or wine, rarely do I mix and rarely do I become intoxicated at least not noticeably (I am sure there are those that would disagree but none the less.) Tonight I ended the evening with a nightcap of vodka just one and it put me outside of my comfort zone, tonight I am drunk. The Venetians even have a term for it “wall to wall.” In that many of the walkways are five feet in width or less when you are drunk they say that you bounce from wall to wall. Thankfully I have not experienced this level of intoxication, I think I never will.
I worked today in my apartment for six or seven hours focused on Nia. At 3:30 I left my apartment to go to the Internet station to post my blog and catch up on my emails.
Just as I finished the phone rang it was Ciccio. “Jeff what are you doing?” Do you want to come on the boat for a little while? This is a call to action; I love cruising on the boat. From the boat you see a part of Venice few are privileged to, I also find this very relaxing. We hooked up and joined Christian on the boat taking off to explore the canals of Venice. I find it interesting that even though these guys grew up doing this very thing they still find new canals and places new to them. So off we go exploring and cruising. Once in a while we break out singing the melody of the Indiana Jones theme song these guys love Indiana Jones! We are soon joined by two of Ciccios friends visiting from Paris Eduardo and his lovely girlfriend, Lisa, a Brit, also living in Paris. Eduardo grew up multi cultural one parent from Venice the other Paris. Like many Europeans he speaks three languages. Two fluently and English well enough. I will be happy when I speak Italian as well as he speaks English. The multi cultural exchange is one of the dynamics of Europe that I find exciting and I wonder if we in America will ever embrace a multicultural
Society. How many of us speak Spanish? And how many of us ever will.
After a couple of hours just wandering the canals; as if in unison Ciccio and Christian yell out Venole! Venole is yet another small island in the lagoon it is inhabited by small farms and two restaurants. The first one we approached was closed so we moved on to the second. When we arrived this restaurant also appeared to be closed. Not only did it appear closed but it did not appear to be a restaurant at all it looked more like a small farm, complete with goats, sheep, chickens and geese. I did not see any horses or cows but I assume they were somewhere grazing on the property. I was given and new perspective on the term grazing from my good friend Peco in New York not because she grew up on a farm but because as a New Yorker Peco likes to graze either through the stores or the restaurants or both taking a little nibble here and a little nibble there, you know, grazing the New York way. We dock the boat disembark and approach the farmhouse there were a few people sitting around assumedly family. As we approached a woman greeted us, she looked at us as if she was confused, what are these guys doing here at this time of the evening. We asked her if they were open and could we get some food. She told us that yes they were open and to go around back and she would attend to us momentarily. As we walked around back the restaurant appeared. There was a small patio with tables set for diners, surrounded by lawn that also had tables. On a busy day this restaurant could sit 100 or so customers. Tonight we had the entire restaurant to ourselves. We asked if we could sit out on the lawn, the woman was happy to comply and proceeded to set the outside tables for the five of us. It was as if we were having a Sunday dinner at your mothers’ country house a bit like a picnic.
We had a plate of grilled vegetables Spitz and beer, some cheese, bread and some thinly sliced meats. The sun was setting and I felt that I had the best seat in the house.
After we finished our meal we loaded up in the boat and off we went, back to Venice.
Pulling up to a dock on the edge of Cannaregio one of the seven districts of Venice, we said goodbye to our visiting friends from Paris. They are returning to Paris tomorrow a fleeting yet very enjoyable short visit, friends passing through time.
Christian is in the vacation apartment rental business. He needed to go to the Ghetto of Venice to tend to some clients; he invited me to tag along. I had not been to the Ghetto yet and therefore quickly accepted his invitation. The history in my limited understanding is that in the middle ages the Rialto commercial center was dependant on the Jewish merchants and in particular the Jewish moneylenders who financed ship cargos. For this reason Venice brought together Jews from all over the world. They settled in the tiny Ghetto, which became a center for Jewish culture. The Jews were allowed to come to Venice for money lending activities however they were not allowed permanent residence. The first Jews to be allowed to settle in Venice was in 1385 when the city was involved in a war against Chioggia. Venice needed loans from the Jewish moneylenders to help finance the war. But still the Jews were not integrated into the Venice as citizens. In 1516 under the ruling of Doge Leonardo Loredan the Jews were confined to the Ghetto. The name Ghetto came from the term Getti, the place of foundries. The gates were locked at night and there were restrictions placed on Jewish economic activities. The Jews have lived in the Ghetto to this day even through the hardest of times including the plaque of 1630. It was not until 1797 that Napoleon opened the gates of the Ghetto and gave the Jews of Venice equal rights. Around the years of the mid 1600’s it is believed that the Ghetto housed about 4,000 people in a space that is basically the size of two city blocks.
In that the number of Jews occupying the Ghetto were many and the area that they occupied very small they built their homes sometimes as high as eight stories. The interesting point of this for me is that in the rest of Venice the average ceiling height is 9 to 12 feet.
In the Ghetto the ceilings are often times 8 feet or less and many of the buildings eight stories high. The Ghetto is still populated primarily by Jewish people. And one feels as if you are in a country of it’s own.
Today I was also given a brief history of some of the Palazzo’s along the Grand Canal.
There are Palazzo’s that have been occupied by some of the most influential and romantic characters in history. There is the Palazzo Pisani Gritty, which is now a hotel and at one time the home of Ernest Hemingway. There is the Palazzo Contarini Fasan said to be to have been the home of Desdemona the wife and victim of the jealous moor Othello; as well as the Palazzo that was the home of Lord Byron for his many years in Venice. The list goes on and on however there is one Palazzo that is of particular intrest in Venice it is the Ca’Dario a gothic Palazzo that is said to be the haunted Palazzo of Venice. This is due to a series of sinister events that have befallen many of the owners, most recently the last owner of the Palazzo committed suicide. One of the most influential people in Venice one wonders what could drive such a man to take his own life. I have never been able to understand suicide; life is short enough as it is. I asked this question to Christian “What would drive a man like this to take his own life?” he replied “disgrace.”
I will now close this post with the famous words of Jimi Hendrix “Have you ever really been experienced?” Well Jimi I can honestly say that at this point in my life…. “Well I have.”
I worked today in my apartment for six or seven hours focused on Nia. At 3:30 I left my apartment to go to the Internet station to post my blog and catch up on my emails.
Just as I finished the phone rang it was Ciccio. “Jeff what are you doing?” Do you want to come on the boat for a little while? This is a call to action; I love cruising on the boat. From the boat you see a part of Venice few are privileged to, I also find this very relaxing. We hooked up and joined Christian on the boat taking off to explore the canals of Venice. I find it interesting that even though these guys grew up doing this very thing they still find new canals and places new to them. So off we go exploring and cruising. Once in a while we break out singing the melody of the Indiana Jones theme song these guys love Indiana Jones! We are soon joined by two of Ciccios friends visiting from Paris Eduardo and his lovely girlfriend, Lisa, a Brit, also living in Paris. Eduardo grew up multi cultural one parent from Venice the other Paris. Like many Europeans he speaks three languages. Two fluently and English well enough. I will be happy when I speak Italian as well as he speaks English. The multi cultural exchange is one of the dynamics of Europe that I find exciting and I wonder if we in America will ever embrace a multicultural
Society. How many of us speak Spanish? And how many of us ever will.
After a couple of hours just wandering the canals; as if in unison Ciccio and Christian yell out Venole! Venole is yet another small island in the lagoon it is inhabited by small farms and two restaurants. The first one we approached was closed so we moved on to the second. When we arrived this restaurant also appeared to be closed. Not only did it appear closed but it did not appear to be a restaurant at all it looked more like a small farm, complete with goats, sheep, chickens and geese. I did not see any horses or cows but I assume they were somewhere grazing on the property. I was given and new perspective on the term grazing from my good friend Peco in New York not because she grew up on a farm but because as a New Yorker Peco likes to graze either through the stores or the restaurants or both taking a little nibble here and a little nibble there, you know, grazing the New York way. We dock the boat disembark and approach the farmhouse there were a few people sitting around assumedly family. As we approached a woman greeted us, she looked at us as if she was confused, what are these guys doing here at this time of the evening. We asked her if they were open and could we get some food. She told us that yes they were open and to go around back and she would attend to us momentarily. As we walked around back the restaurant appeared. There was a small patio with tables set for diners, surrounded by lawn that also had tables. On a busy day this restaurant could sit 100 or so customers. Tonight we had the entire restaurant to ourselves. We asked if we could sit out on the lawn, the woman was happy to comply and proceeded to set the outside tables for the five of us. It was as if we were having a Sunday dinner at your mothers’ country house a bit like a picnic.
We had a plate of grilled vegetables Spitz and beer, some cheese, bread and some thinly sliced meats. The sun was setting and I felt that I had the best seat in the house.
After we finished our meal we loaded up in the boat and off we went, back to Venice.
Pulling up to a dock on the edge of Cannaregio one of the seven districts of Venice, we said goodbye to our visiting friends from Paris. They are returning to Paris tomorrow a fleeting yet very enjoyable short visit, friends passing through time.
Christian is in the vacation apartment rental business. He needed to go to the Ghetto of Venice to tend to some clients; he invited me to tag along. I had not been to the Ghetto yet and therefore quickly accepted his invitation. The history in my limited understanding is that in the middle ages the Rialto commercial center was dependant on the Jewish merchants and in particular the Jewish moneylenders who financed ship cargos. For this reason Venice brought together Jews from all over the world. They settled in the tiny Ghetto, which became a center for Jewish culture. The Jews were allowed to come to Venice for money lending activities however they were not allowed permanent residence. The first Jews to be allowed to settle in Venice was in 1385 when the city was involved in a war against Chioggia. Venice needed loans from the Jewish moneylenders to help finance the war. But still the Jews were not integrated into the Venice as citizens. In 1516 under the ruling of Doge Leonardo Loredan the Jews were confined to the Ghetto. The name Ghetto came from the term Getti, the place of foundries. The gates were locked at night and there were restrictions placed on Jewish economic activities. The Jews have lived in the Ghetto to this day even through the hardest of times including the plaque of 1630. It was not until 1797 that Napoleon opened the gates of the Ghetto and gave the Jews of Venice equal rights. Around the years of the mid 1600’s it is believed that the Ghetto housed about 4,000 people in a space that is basically the size of two city blocks.
In that the number of Jews occupying the Ghetto were many and the area that they occupied very small they built their homes sometimes as high as eight stories. The interesting point of this for me is that in the rest of Venice the average ceiling height is 9 to 12 feet.
In the Ghetto the ceilings are often times 8 feet or less and many of the buildings eight stories high. The Ghetto is still populated primarily by Jewish people. And one feels as if you are in a country of it’s own.
Today I was also given a brief history of some of the Palazzo’s along the Grand Canal.
There are Palazzo’s that have been occupied by some of the most influential and romantic characters in history. There is the Palazzo Pisani Gritty, which is now a hotel and at one time the home of Ernest Hemingway. There is the Palazzo Contarini Fasan said to be to have been the home of Desdemona the wife and victim of the jealous moor Othello; as well as the Palazzo that was the home of Lord Byron for his many years in Venice. The list goes on and on however there is one Palazzo that is of particular intrest in Venice it is the Ca’Dario a gothic Palazzo that is said to be the haunted Palazzo of Venice. This is due to a series of sinister events that have befallen many of the owners, most recently the last owner of the Palazzo committed suicide. One of the most influential people in Venice one wonders what could drive such a man to take his own life. I have never been able to understand suicide; life is short enough as it is. I asked this question to Christian “What would drive a man like this to take his own life?” he replied “disgrace.”
I will now close this post with the famous words of Jimi Hendrix “Have you ever really been experienced?” Well Jimi I can honestly say that at this point in my life…. “Well I have.”
Monday, August 20, 2007
A Day Of Healing
I woke up inspired. I had spent the night in a limbo of sleeplessness. Thinking about Nia and how she and I relate to one another and how we will continue to.
As I often do I walked to Campo Santa Margarita for coffee and a pastry. I sat and began to focus on the ideas that had come to me in the night. I began to write an outline of thoughts, basically the opening statement of my dream, a business plan. I no sooner finish my breakfast and opened my notebook than the phone rings. It is Christian inviting me to join him for a day of relaxation on the boat. I hesitated, as I was inspired and looking forward to a day of solitude and focus, working on my business plan. It was a beautiful day and in that it was to be just him and me and a day of sunshine, just cruising the Lagoon, I decided to join him. As it turned out this was not necessarily contradictory to my plans; this day would not only provide me the solitude to further reflect and refine my inspiration but, was also holding for me more than a few surprises. Christian and I rendezvoused at the canal just outside my apartment. My apartment is located approximately 100 feet northwest of Campo S. Polo just off of the Grand Canal. The canal that is closest to my apartment is Rio di S. Polo. My Apartment is located just a short distance from Rio di S. Polo, through a narrow walkway part of which is a Sotoportego; this is the term used to describe a walkway that is covered by the building above; a sort of tunnel. My address is Riviera Marco Polo 2029. As you pass through the Sotoportego you enter a small courtyard maybe 60 feet by 60 feet on one side of which is canal. There are stone steps that descend or depending ascends from the canal, there are four steps they are six feet wide. It was already 12:pm the sun was high in the sky and already very hot the temperature in the 80’s and humid. With a supply of water and sunscreen we were off to destinations unknown. After an hour or so of simply cruising the Lagoon Christian suggested that we explore one of the many abandoned islands that are scattered about the Lagoon. I am not sure how many of these islands exist but they seem to be everywhere. Some were at one time Military instillations others monasteries, some have been used over the centuries to quarantine the sick, dying from some communal disease. The Island we were to explore today is one of the largest and is very close to Venice. Upon it is a very large building and two smaller ones. The largest of the buildings has a beautiful tower built in classic Venetian style constructed of brick. It is maybe 8 stories high with an outstanding spiral top also made of brick, topped off with the traditional cross. This would imply that there is a church buried here in the overgrown and in some places crumbling buildings. It was Christians hope that we could find the church, he had explored this island before and had yet to find the church; we had a mission. The buildings are surrounded by a chain link fence with signs attached warning anyone that might have thoughts to enter, not to do so. Of course this was of no concern to us as the little explorer in all of us was very much alive this day, in Christian and I. We therefore searched the perimeter for access to enter our afternoon playground. Not surprising after a short search we found evidence of explorers who had come before us; a small hole in the fence. Not really a hole that would be too easy, it was really just a cut in the fence maybe two feet high. Christian the good explorer that he is pulled out his explorer tool and we made a few additional cuts in the fence and in we went.
I felt as if I was 13 again as we explored the buildings room-to-room and climbing stairs that appeared as if the could fall at any moment. We held on to the railings and climbed up the stairs as close the wall as possible. These stairs are all free standing in that the only support for the stairs is the stairs themselves; stacked one on top of the other and anchored into the wall; they are all made of stone. At one point I asked Christian “what is the history of this place,” he explained that this island was used as the sanitarium. Immediately my mood changes from one of innocent exploration to that of a deep remembering and reflection. The reason for this is that I spent the last of my teenage years committed to a mental institution in Ashville North Carolina; Highland hospital. Not because I was crazy but because my parents were lost, afraid and confused as to how to manage my exuberance and my deep level of discontent. I had been using heroin for sometime and as a result I became very sick, I had been living on the streets. When I became sick my peers took me to my parents house literally dropped me off on their doorstep, rang the door bell and ran. The next thing I knew I woke up on the psychiatric ward of Miami general hospital destined to live out the rest of my teens in a more permanent institution; I was then transferred to Highland hospital. The building we were exploring became at that time a whole new experience.
There were the remains of the beds lying about. They were made of steel, and very small. The rooms were also small, you could see where the solitary confinement was and also identify the rooms that were shared my as many as six. As I wandered through this ruin of memories I was able to create yet another closure of the pain of my time spent in a place such as this, my wounds once again opening allowing the poison of the darkness of those days flow from my heart. This was at the same time a painful and a healing experience. There are no accidents as the purpose of this journey of mine is healing.
I could hear the hearts beating of those who spent untold days weeks and years here. It was easy for me to slightly close my eyes and see the activities of daily life in this place of limbo for the lost and wounded of Venice many years ago. There was the laundry the kitchen the common rooms and a courtyard where I imagined those who were
Manageable were able to be outside still in confinement but outside nonetheless. We had to create our own pathway into this place through the thorns of the berry bushes, my legs stinging with the pricks of the thorns. As we decided it time to leave, reluctant to retrace our steps we searched for an alternate route. At this time we were in the entry hall of the institution and we had just discovered the office of the head official. I decided that we should simply climb the fence and escape. This was not an easy feat as the fence was not well anchored and therefore very flimsy. I climbed up too the second story above the fence, finding a board sufficient in length to bridge the fence to the ground below I placed the board securely. Using this makeshift bridge we escaped to freedom. Recreating my historical escape from Highland hospital. Once escaping Highland and again on the streets and back to my old ways of substance abuse and bad company I hitchhiked back to Miami. I went to the Doctor who originally committed me Dr. David Pinowski and ask him if I could be readmitted under his care. At seventeen I was at least wise enough to recognize that should I continue on my path of self-destruction that I would have little chance for a life of any joy and productivity and most likely I would end up dead.
The rest of our day was spent boating from place to place. We went to the sea through a channel where the waves were large enough and the current strong so that wave after wave breached the bow raining seawater upon us. I had tied a rope anchored on each side of the bow of the boat. I used this rope to grip to keep me from being thrown backwards.
It was important for me to sit on the bow so I could balance out the flat bottom boat.
I held on to my reigns and welcome with glee the spray of the sea and the pounding of the waves. Once reaching the sea we turned around and moving with the current we surfed the waves back into the Lagoon. An exuberating experience to say the least.
We had yet one more stop. Christian wanted to show me the fort. The fort is built on an island at the entrance of the lagoon and is one of the reasons that Venice was able to survive centuries of attack from hopeful conquers from distant lands.
The fort is still very well defined, intack. You can see where the guns were placed just above sea level in openings just large enough for the barrel of the cannons to thunder forth the iron balls of destruction directly at the water line of the invading ships.
The entrance of the lagoon is very narrow at this point and so therefore difficult for any of an attacking fleet to pass unharmed. As with any self-respecting fort there needs to be a look out point. As we docked the boat and entered the fort we went immediately to the lookout point. From there you can see most of Venice. We sat in silence for quite sometime taking in the view, coincidently there were cruise ships of gigantic proportions leaving Venice continuing their journeys to other ports around the Mediterranean and Adriatic seas. This is really an impressive sight from any vantage point but from the lookout of the fort of Venice we had the best seat in the house.
Thank you Christian for a wonderful day full of healing remembering history and friendship. Molto grazie vecchio.
As I often do I walked to Campo Santa Margarita for coffee and a pastry. I sat and began to focus on the ideas that had come to me in the night. I began to write an outline of thoughts, basically the opening statement of my dream, a business plan. I no sooner finish my breakfast and opened my notebook than the phone rings. It is Christian inviting me to join him for a day of relaxation on the boat. I hesitated, as I was inspired and looking forward to a day of solitude and focus, working on my business plan. It was a beautiful day and in that it was to be just him and me and a day of sunshine, just cruising the Lagoon, I decided to join him. As it turned out this was not necessarily contradictory to my plans; this day would not only provide me the solitude to further reflect and refine my inspiration but, was also holding for me more than a few surprises. Christian and I rendezvoused at the canal just outside my apartment. My apartment is located approximately 100 feet northwest of Campo S. Polo just off of the Grand Canal. The canal that is closest to my apartment is Rio di S. Polo. My Apartment is located just a short distance from Rio di S. Polo, through a narrow walkway part of which is a Sotoportego; this is the term used to describe a walkway that is covered by the building above; a sort of tunnel. My address is Riviera Marco Polo 2029. As you pass through the Sotoportego you enter a small courtyard maybe 60 feet by 60 feet on one side of which is canal. There are stone steps that descend or depending ascends from the canal, there are four steps they are six feet wide. It was already 12:pm the sun was high in the sky and already very hot the temperature in the 80’s and humid. With a supply of water and sunscreen we were off to destinations unknown. After an hour or so of simply cruising the Lagoon Christian suggested that we explore one of the many abandoned islands that are scattered about the Lagoon. I am not sure how many of these islands exist but they seem to be everywhere. Some were at one time Military instillations others monasteries, some have been used over the centuries to quarantine the sick, dying from some communal disease. The Island we were to explore today is one of the largest and is very close to Venice. Upon it is a very large building and two smaller ones. The largest of the buildings has a beautiful tower built in classic Venetian style constructed of brick. It is maybe 8 stories high with an outstanding spiral top also made of brick, topped off with the traditional cross. This would imply that there is a church buried here in the overgrown and in some places crumbling buildings. It was Christians hope that we could find the church, he had explored this island before and had yet to find the church; we had a mission. The buildings are surrounded by a chain link fence with signs attached warning anyone that might have thoughts to enter, not to do so. Of course this was of no concern to us as the little explorer in all of us was very much alive this day, in Christian and I. We therefore searched the perimeter for access to enter our afternoon playground. Not surprising after a short search we found evidence of explorers who had come before us; a small hole in the fence. Not really a hole that would be too easy, it was really just a cut in the fence maybe two feet high. Christian the good explorer that he is pulled out his explorer tool and we made a few additional cuts in the fence and in we went.
I felt as if I was 13 again as we explored the buildings room-to-room and climbing stairs that appeared as if the could fall at any moment. We held on to the railings and climbed up the stairs as close the wall as possible. These stairs are all free standing in that the only support for the stairs is the stairs themselves; stacked one on top of the other and anchored into the wall; they are all made of stone. At one point I asked Christian “what is the history of this place,” he explained that this island was used as the sanitarium. Immediately my mood changes from one of innocent exploration to that of a deep remembering and reflection. The reason for this is that I spent the last of my teenage years committed to a mental institution in Ashville North Carolina; Highland hospital. Not because I was crazy but because my parents were lost, afraid and confused as to how to manage my exuberance and my deep level of discontent. I had been using heroin for sometime and as a result I became very sick, I had been living on the streets. When I became sick my peers took me to my parents house literally dropped me off on their doorstep, rang the door bell and ran. The next thing I knew I woke up on the psychiatric ward of Miami general hospital destined to live out the rest of my teens in a more permanent institution; I was then transferred to Highland hospital. The building we were exploring became at that time a whole new experience.
There were the remains of the beds lying about. They were made of steel, and very small. The rooms were also small, you could see where the solitary confinement was and also identify the rooms that were shared my as many as six. As I wandered through this ruin of memories I was able to create yet another closure of the pain of my time spent in a place such as this, my wounds once again opening allowing the poison of the darkness of those days flow from my heart. This was at the same time a painful and a healing experience. There are no accidents as the purpose of this journey of mine is healing.
I could hear the hearts beating of those who spent untold days weeks and years here. It was easy for me to slightly close my eyes and see the activities of daily life in this place of limbo for the lost and wounded of Venice many years ago. There was the laundry the kitchen the common rooms and a courtyard where I imagined those who were
Manageable were able to be outside still in confinement but outside nonetheless. We had to create our own pathway into this place through the thorns of the berry bushes, my legs stinging with the pricks of the thorns. As we decided it time to leave, reluctant to retrace our steps we searched for an alternate route. At this time we were in the entry hall of the institution and we had just discovered the office of the head official. I decided that we should simply climb the fence and escape. This was not an easy feat as the fence was not well anchored and therefore very flimsy. I climbed up too the second story above the fence, finding a board sufficient in length to bridge the fence to the ground below I placed the board securely. Using this makeshift bridge we escaped to freedom. Recreating my historical escape from Highland hospital. Once escaping Highland and again on the streets and back to my old ways of substance abuse and bad company I hitchhiked back to Miami. I went to the Doctor who originally committed me Dr. David Pinowski and ask him if I could be readmitted under his care. At seventeen I was at least wise enough to recognize that should I continue on my path of self-destruction that I would have little chance for a life of any joy and productivity and most likely I would end up dead.
The rest of our day was spent boating from place to place. We went to the sea through a channel where the waves were large enough and the current strong so that wave after wave breached the bow raining seawater upon us. I had tied a rope anchored on each side of the bow of the boat. I used this rope to grip to keep me from being thrown backwards.
It was important for me to sit on the bow so I could balance out the flat bottom boat.
I held on to my reigns and welcome with glee the spray of the sea and the pounding of the waves. Once reaching the sea we turned around and moving with the current we surfed the waves back into the Lagoon. An exuberating experience to say the least.
We had yet one more stop. Christian wanted to show me the fort. The fort is built on an island at the entrance of the lagoon and is one of the reasons that Venice was able to survive centuries of attack from hopeful conquers from distant lands.
The fort is still very well defined, intack. You can see where the guns were placed just above sea level in openings just large enough for the barrel of the cannons to thunder forth the iron balls of destruction directly at the water line of the invading ships.
The entrance of the lagoon is very narrow at this point and so therefore difficult for any of an attacking fleet to pass unharmed. As with any self-respecting fort there needs to be a look out point. As we docked the boat and entered the fort we went immediately to the lookout point. From there you can see most of Venice. We sat in silence for quite sometime taking in the view, coincidently there were cruise ships of gigantic proportions leaving Venice continuing their journeys to other ports around the Mediterranean and Adriatic seas. This is really an impressive sight from any vantage point but from the lookout of the fort of Venice we had the best seat in the house.
Thank you Christian for a wonderful day full of healing remembering history and friendship. Molto grazie vecchio.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Gypsies
Gypsies are eternal
The quest for a free spirit
A universal part of the human condition
I sit, in now my sacred Campo Santa Margarita
Blessed with a vision into my past
Traveling street musicians
Two young women
Strumming guitar
Singing as a chant
As if in a trance
Oh my lord return me to my heart
Lighten my soul
Guide me until I can see
The quest for a free spirit
A universal part of the human condition
I sit, in now my sacred Campo Santa Margarita
Blessed with a vision into my past
Traveling street musicians
Two young women
Strumming guitar
Singing as a chant
As if in a trance
Oh my lord return me to my heart
Lighten my soul
Guide me until I can see
To be Noble
Lost in the Distance
Drowning in the past
Spending my nights in a dream of now
Now as a question
As rhetorical as it as it may seem
Today appropriate for me
To be or not to be
As the stanza continues
Whether it is nobler
Herein lies the quicksand of my soul
Tell me what is noble
Does it exist
Has it ever
If so was it lost
Was this a concept
Romanticized through time
In the beginning to be noble was to have a horse
Not to carry ones family or toil the fields
But to travel too distant lands only to return
A hero with blood on ones hands
Carrying the lessons learned
The spoils and the riches of another’s dreams
Left in the dust to be reborn
Today I look in the mirror
With no reflection found
I look though into the distance
Of a man not found
Noble or not
Humbled
And standing on shaking ground.
Drowning in the past
Spending my nights in a dream of now
Now as a question
As rhetorical as it as it may seem
Today appropriate for me
To be or not to be
As the stanza continues
Whether it is nobler
Herein lies the quicksand of my soul
Tell me what is noble
Does it exist
Has it ever
If so was it lost
Was this a concept
Romanticized through time
In the beginning to be noble was to have a horse
Not to carry ones family or toil the fields
But to travel too distant lands only to return
A hero with blood on ones hands
Carrying the lessons learned
The spoils and the riches of another’s dreams
Left in the dust to be reborn
Today I look in the mirror
With no reflection found
I look though into the distance
Of a man not found
Noble or not
Humbled
And standing on shaking ground.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Sunrise In Venice
My favorite time in Venice is early morning. Waking up before the sunrises I quickly gather my camera and hit the streets. I plan my morning excursions by looking at the map
Of Venice, I chose a section of the city I have yet to explore. Walking quickly and directly; as directly as possible in Venice (this in itself can be a huge challenge) I arrive in the general vicinity of the unexplored territory put away my map and proceed to do my best to get lost. At this time of the day the light of the city is at it’s most beautiful. This is the time when the sun is beginning to rise and the scattered streetlights are still lit. The streets are empty and the silence is tangible. Slowly the city comes alive, opening shutters, sounds of the morning dialogues of family life echoing to the streets below. Occasionally music serenades me on my journey and the church bells begin to ring. The music of choice this time of day is mostly classical; Maria Callas is a big favorite in Venice as is Vivaldi. Many of the windows in Venice have flower boxes and this is the time that you will see the caretakers watering their private gardens. As the sun rises and the street lamps shut down for the day the real life of the city comes alive. Venice has no cars everything must be transported via carts. The most common are made of aluminum measuring approximately 5 feet in length 3 feet wide and 3 feet in depth. These carts have two long handles two large wheels and two small wheels in the back to help the carrier navigate the many steps of the bridges that cover the canals. The carts are constructed as cages perforated with holes large enough to lighten the load and small enough to contain whatever is being transported in the cart. This time of the morning the cargo is most often garbage. Contrary to popular belief Venice is a very clean city compared to the all the cities I have ever been in, certainly cleaner that Portland Oregon, where I currently live. The reason for this is that at sunrise an army of street cleaners invade the streets, gathering the garbage sacks placed outside the doors and picking up the refuse left behind the day before mostly I suspect by the tourist they then sweep with a hand broom the walkways. I do not know for sure but it would not surprise me based on the cleanliness of the city if every walkway is cleaned and swept daily. This time of morning it is not uncommon to encounter a 3 foot wide cart full of garbage being pulled by a young girl so slight in build one wonders how she finds the strength to carry such a load. In that many of the walkways are but 4 to 5 feet in width you must turn around and find a doorway or intersection to step aside an allow the driver and cart to pass. The carts are taken to a canal where the garbage barge awaits. After the garbage is cleared the supply barges begin to appear. Some are loaded completely with vegetables others groceries water and goods destined to fill the stores. Again carts are the vehicles of transportation of the goods from the barges to their finial destinations. The streets are now beginning to fill with shop keepers many of whom pull behind them large suitcases filled with merchandise. Stores begin to open, first the cafes filling with early risers having coffee and pastries. For the most part the patrons at this time of the morning are locals. They stand either at the crowed counter or stand about with coffee in hand eating their pastry quickly before rushing off to work. This is one part of the day in Venice where ones does not move slowly. Breakfast is quick and simple. Now the tourists begin to fill the cafes. This is the group that will take a seat and relax as they plan their day. The days are hot and humid in Venice this time of year, by the time I arrive back at my apartment at 9 or 9:30 I am a puddle of sweat my clothes damp and my body ready for a shower. After this morning of exploration, I spent a couple of hours playing my guitar, an hour of meditation and then writing. I am now sitting at my favorite café in Campo Santa Margarita it is 2:30 in the afternoon and I am having a lunch of panini and bruschette. I have no plans for the rest of the day or evening, we will see I am on Venice time.
Of Venice, I chose a section of the city I have yet to explore. Walking quickly and directly; as directly as possible in Venice (this in itself can be a huge challenge) I arrive in the general vicinity of the unexplored territory put away my map and proceed to do my best to get lost. At this time of the day the light of the city is at it’s most beautiful. This is the time when the sun is beginning to rise and the scattered streetlights are still lit. The streets are empty and the silence is tangible. Slowly the city comes alive, opening shutters, sounds of the morning dialogues of family life echoing to the streets below. Occasionally music serenades me on my journey and the church bells begin to ring. The music of choice this time of day is mostly classical; Maria Callas is a big favorite in Venice as is Vivaldi. Many of the windows in Venice have flower boxes and this is the time that you will see the caretakers watering their private gardens. As the sun rises and the street lamps shut down for the day the real life of the city comes alive. Venice has no cars everything must be transported via carts. The most common are made of aluminum measuring approximately 5 feet in length 3 feet wide and 3 feet in depth. These carts have two long handles two large wheels and two small wheels in the back to help the carrier navigate the many steps of the bridges that cover the canals. The carts are constructed as cages perforated with holes large enough to lighten the load and small enough to contain whatever is being transported in the cart. This time of the morning the cargo is most often garbage. Contrary to popular belief Venice is a very clean city compared to the all the cities I have ever been in, certainly cleaner that Portland Oregon, where I currently live. The reason for this is that at sunrise an army of street cleaners invade the streets, gathering the garbage sacks placed outside the doors and picking up the refuse left behind the day before mostly I suspect by the tourist they then sweep with a hand broom the walkways. I do not know for sure but it would not surprise me based on the cleanliness of the city if every walkway is cleaned and swept daily. This time of morning it is not uncommon to encounter a 3 foot wide cart full of garbage being pulled by a young girl so slight in build one wonders how she finds the strength to carry such a load. In that many of the walkways are but 4 to 5 feet in width you must turn around and find a doorway or intersection to step aside an allow the driver and cart to pass. The carts are taken to a canal where the garbage barge awaits. After the garbage is cleared the supply barges begin to appear. Some are loaded completely with vegetables others groceries water and goods destined to fill the stores. Again carts are the vehicles of transportation of the goods from the barges to their finial destinations. The streets are now beginning to fill with shop keepers many of whom pull behind them large suitcases filled with merchandise. Stores begin to open, first the cafes filling with early risers having coffee and pastries. For the most part the patrons at this time of the morning are locals. They stand either at the crowed counter or stand about with coffee in hand eating their pastry quickly before rushing off to work. This is one part of the day in Venice where ones does not move slowly. Breakfast is quick and simple. Now the tourists begin to fill the cafes. This is the group that will take a seat and relax as they plan their day. The days are hot and humid in Venice this time of year, by the time I arrive back at my apartment at 9 or 9:30 I am a puddle of sweat my clothes damp and my body ready for a shower. After this morning of exploration, I spent a couple of hours playing my guitar, an hour of meditation and then writing. I am now sitting at my favorite café in Campo Santa Margarita it is 2:30 in the afternoon and I am having a lunch of panini and bruschette. I have no plans for the rest of the day or evening, we will see I am on Venice time.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
The Touch Of A Mans Soul
The Touch Of A Mans Soul:
As a young man I had the opportunity to do quite a bit of traveling. My father was in the Air Force this meant that we moved quite often. The joke was that sometimes we did not even get to unpack in fact this happened, as I recall, there were a couple of times where we did not. All of this moving made me very dependant on my family. I had no neighborhood to call my own and therefore no old buddies to grow up with to share the passages of youth. Of course this provided me with many opportunities to build character. One would think that this would help me develop a heighten sense of independence. For much of my life I was convinced that this was the case. However I now understand that my independent personally did not come naturally to me. I learned to be so as a survival tool so never truly becoming so. This has at times put me in compromising positions. So hungry to belong I have in some situations in my life sold my soul a great cost to belong. All the while convinced that there was no one more independent than I. This is one of the biggest lies of my life. Nothing can kill the human spirit faster than living a lie. As I was growing up I had two sisters one four years my elder the other six. I remember as a young boy spending as much time with my sisters as they would allow. I believe this is where I developed my deep appreciation of women. It is a wonder that I did not end up gay; many factors could have contributed to this outcome. I do not profess to understand the dynamics of homosexuality and I am sure that there are as many as there are individuals.
However an overbearing and abusive father along with my over dependence on my sisters, Mother, and all of their friends could have easily made it so. I remember sitting I my sister’s room watching them comb each other’s hair, preening each other in the mirror, talking of things of an intimate nature that I have never experienced in any male culture.
Not to say it does not exist it just has not been my experience. Men I have known do not do this, we do not touch each other. In fact it was just a few years ago that a Nia man named Saffire cured me of this resistance to being hugged or even touched. For many years I would not even allow myself the pleasure of a massage, as it was too intimate for my comfort level. Thank you Saffire. I still have not graduated to mutual preening or intimate conversations and perhaps never will, however one never knows the end of the story, now do we? This is ok because of the men I know within my immediate community however small it may be I would be looked upon as strange, to most I am strange enough.
Two nights ago I was once again honored and privileged to be the guest at a gathering of old time Venetian friends, a new Crew. This was to be the birthday party of Diego. Diego was to turn thirty this night and 25 or so of his closest friends were coming together for food laughter and wine. We all met in Campo S. Roma where we were to be picked up and transported via Venetian limousines. In Venice as in all cities there are taxies, town cars and limos, the only difference is in Venice they are all boats. It took three Limos to transport Diego’s crew. As we gathered in the Campo and waited for the Limos to arrive there was no hesitation among any of the Crew to introduce themselves to me and to make me feel as if I was one of them, no questions as to why I a stranger was there. I later found out from Ciccio that for the most part the Crew thought I was Gay, none of them were, this group was a very machismo group of Italian men. This was not a first for me but it is certainly not a common assumption for me to be thought a Gay man. They were disappointed to find out I was not gay because as a finale to the evening we were to go to a disco on Lido beach where we were to have a private section complete with security and a hosted bar. The Crew was hoping I was Gay because I could then be the Girl catcher. Loading up into our individual boats our first destination was a restaurant on a very small island, two restaurants, two families, and one Church, said to be of the oldest in Venice. Of course the restaurants specialty was fish. Diego is in the restaurant business and a native Venetian, he knows his restaurants. Again the food was out of this world. Our meal was five courses, accompanied by the appropriate wine we drank and dined and laughed until my jaws hurt from laughter and the entire Crew was filled beyond satisfaction. Squid, Crab, Shrimp, Lobster, fish unrecognizable to me but all was delicious. We finished with the traditional Sgroppino, Lemoncello, and then Champagne. Twenty-five men one long table and an evening of love and intimacy I have never experienced. I assure you none of these men have ever heard of Iron John. That said these men were not hesitant in any way to hug each other, touch each other; at one point I noticed the gentleman sitting next to me resting his hand on the thigh of his fratello as naturally as my sisters combing each others hair. They took turns putting insect repellent on one another laughing and showing their affection for one another in all ways other than any of a sexual nature. This was as natural to them as eating drinking and sleeping. The term is Vecchio, ciao vecchio, vecchio means old friend. After we finish our meal/experience and a thousand toasts we were then off to Lido and the disco party on the beach. We loaded up into our Limousines and of we went. Upon arrival at the Disco on the beach we were wrist banded and escorted to our “section.” The beach disco was decorated with huge Illuminated planters 4 feet high and 3 feet wide. These planters were the primary lighting of the scene. There were giant beds everywhere, where people lounged when not dancing. Here everyone dances if not lounging on the beds filled with pillows. Our Crew however was not interested in the scene. Only a few of them shyly hoping to meet up with some new girl. The discussion was how does a man meet a girl in such a place. I told them, ridiculous so, in that I have never had much luck in these situations meeting girls, “ the secret is to talk to them” they all laughed thinking it had to be much more complicated. I told them I would make them a bet and that we should ask the very beautiful Janna our bartender her opinion, her reply, “ Just talk to them.” Again they all laughed I won the bet and they then all began to challenge each other to give the new system a try. Remember these are men ranging in age from 30 to 60. Some things are the same everywhere and never change. Forgetting about the girls the Crew spent most of the time in puppy piles laughing drinking, relaxed beyond relaxed. I remember at one point I was off to the side laying on a bed of pillows of my own and three of the Crew came and jumped on me as if we were adolescence jumping on our Mom and Dads bed. Although the Crew was not much for dancing this evening, as this was not what this party was about I am not one to sit still when the beat is on. Taking off my shoes and rolling up my pants I danced alone in the crowded beach disco upon the sand until almost dawn. My phone began to buzz in my pocket. Ciccio had been trying to call me and find me for over a half an hour, “hurry Jeff we are waiting for you.” I ran to the dock and boarded the last of our party boats transporting us back to Venice. As I stood next to the driver of the boat the wind blowing my face the skyline of Venice just beginning to show signs of the sun rising over whelmed once again with the magic of the evening I began a private chant and my soul began to cry; I am letting go of the pain in my body, I am letting go of the pain in my heart; I am letting go of the pain in my body, I am letting go of the pain in my heart; I am letting go of the pain in my body, I am letting go of the pain in my heart; Over and over again until we reached the dock along side my apartment saying good night to my new friends, Ciao Vecchio with kisses and hugs all around.
As a young man I had the opportunity to do quite a bit of traveling. My father was in the Air Force this meant that we moved quite often. The joke was that sometimes we did not even get to unpack in fact this happened, as I recall, there were a couple of times where we did not. All of this moving made me very dependant on my family. I had no neighborhood to call my own and therefore no old buddies to grow up with to share the passages of youth. Of course this provided me with many opportunities to build character. One would think that this would help me develop a heighten sense of independence. For much of my life I was convinced that this was the case. However I now understand that my independent personally did not come naturally to me. I learned to be so as a survival tool so never truly becoming so. This has at times put me in compromising positions. So hungry to belong I have in some situations in my life sold my soul a great cost to belong. All the while convinced that there was no one more independent than I. This is one of the biggest lies of my life. Nothing can kill the human spirit faster than living a lie. As I was growing up I had two sisters one four years my elder the other six. I remember as a young boy spending as much time with my sisters as they would allow. I believe this is where I developed my deep appreciation of women. It is a wonder that I did not end up gay; many factors could have contributed to this outcome. I do not profess to understand the dynamics of homosexuality and I am sure that there are as many as there are individuals.
However an overbearing and abusive father along with my over dependence on my sisters, Mother, and all of their friends could have easily made it so. I remember sitting I my sister’s room watching them comb each other’s hair, preening each other in the mirror, talking of things of an intimate nature that I have never experienced in any male culture.
Not to say it does not exist it just has not been my experience. Men I have known do not do this, we do not touch each other. In fact it was just a few years ago that a Nia man named Saffire cured me of this resistance to being hugged or even touched. For many years I would not even allow myself the pleasure of a massage, as it was too intimate for my comfort level. Thank you Saffire. I still have not graduated to mutual preening or intimate conversations and perhaps never will, however one never knows the end of the story, now do we? This is ok because of the men I know within my immediate community however small it may be I would be looked upon as strange, to most I am strange enough.
Two nights ago I was once again honored and privileged to be the guest at a gathering of old time Venetian friends, a new Crew. This was to be the birthday party of Diego. Diego was to turn thirty this night and 25 or so of his closest friends were coming together for food laughter and wine. We all met in Campo S. Roma where we were to be picked up and transported via Venetian limousines. In Venice as in all cities there are taxies, town cars and limos, the only difference is in Venice they are all boats. It took three Limos to transport Diego’s crew. As we gathered in the Campo and waited for the Limos to arrive there was no hesitation among any of the Crew to introduce themselves to me and to make me feel as if I was one of them, no questions as to why I a stranger was there. I later found out from Ciccio that for the most part the Crew thought I was Gay, none of them were, this group was a very machismo group of Italian men. This was not a first for me but it is certainly not a common assumption for me to be thought a Gay man. They were disappointed to find out I was not gay because as a finale to the evening we were to go to a disco on Lido beach where we were to have a private section complete with security and a hosted bar. The Crew was hoping I was Gay because I could then be the Girl catcher. Loading up into our individual boats our first destination was a restaurant on a very small island, two restaurants, two families, and one Church, said to be of the oldest in Venice. Of course the restaurants specialty was fish. Diego is in the restaurant business and a native Venetian, he knows his restaurants. Again the food was out of this world. Our meal was five courses, accompanied by the appropriate wine we drank and dined and laughed until my jaws hurt from laughter and the entire Crew was filled beyond satisfaction. Squid, Crab, Shrimp, Lobster, fish unrecognizable to me but all was delicious. We finished with the traditional Sgroppino, Lemoncello, and then Champagne. Twenty-five men one long table and an evening of love and intimacy I have never experienced. I assure you none of these men have ever heard of Iron John. That said these men were not hesitant in any way to hug each other, touch each other; at one point I noticed the gentleman sitting next to me resting his hand on the thigh of his fratello as naturally as my sisters combing each others hair. They took turns putting insect repellent on one another laughing and showing their affection for one another in all ways other than any of a sexual nature. This was as natural to them as eating drinking and sleeping. The term is Vecchio, ciao vecchio, vecchio means old friend. After we finish our meal/experience and a thousand toasts we were then off to Lido and the disco party on the beach. We loaded up into our Limousines and of we went. Upon arrival at the Disco on the beach we were wrist banded and escorted to our “section.” The beach disco was decorated with huge Illuminated planters 4 feet high and 3 feet wide. These planters were the primary lighting of the scene. There were giant beds everywhere, where people lounged when not dancing. Here everyone dances if not lounging on the beds filled with pillows. Our Crew however was not interested in the scene. Only a few of them shyly hoping to meet up with some new girl. The discussion was how does a man meet a girl in such a place. I told them, ridiculous so, in that I have never had much luck in these situations meeting girls, “ the secret is to talk to them” they all laughed thinking it had to be much more complicated. I told them I would make them a bet and that we should ask the very beautiful Janna our bartender her opinion, her reply, “ Just talk to them.” Again they all laughed I won the bet and they then all began to challenge each other to give the new system a try. Remember these are men ranging in age from 30 to 60. Some things are the same everywhere and never change. Forgetting about the girls the Crew spent most of the time in puppy piles laughing drinking, relaxed beyond relaxed. I remember at one point I was off to the side laying on a bed of pillows of my own and three of the Crew came and jumped on me as if we were adolescence jumping on our Mom and Dads bed. Although the Crew was not much for dancing this evening, as this was not what this party was about I am not one to sit still when the beat is on. Taking off my shoes and rolling up my pants I danced alone in the crowded beach disco upon the sand until almost dawn. My phone began to buzz in my pocket. Ciccio had been trying to call me and find me for over a half an hour, “hurry Jeff we are waiting for you.” I ran to the dock and boarded the last of our party boats transporting us back to Venice. As I stood next to the driver of the boat the wind blowing my face the skyline of Venice just beginning to show signs of the sun rising over whelmed once again with the magic of the evening I began a private chant and my soul began to cry; I am letting go of the pain in my body, I am letting go of the pain in my heart; I am letting go of the pain in my body, I am letting go of the pain in my heart; I am letting go of the pain in my body, I am letting go of the pain in my heart; Over and over again until we reached the dock along side my apartment saying good night to my new friends, Ciao Vecchio with kisses and hugs all around.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
A Simple Man
I am really a simple man:
This is my second Sunday in Venice and marks my seventh day. Once again the days activities are focused on the water. As I described earlier my first Sunday upon my arrival I was to spend the day on the boat with the “Crew.” In my attempt to describe this first Sunday I gave you a brief description of all those who make up the Crew. After a week here I have spent more time with these wonderful people who have welcomed me with such generosity. I will now attempt to describe in more detail who I have come to know. I will introduce them in order of my introductions, with a better understanding an appreciation of the blessing of the very special gift of being “albeit temporarily” apart of “The Crew.” First there is Ciccio (Francisco.) Ciccio is the salt of the earth quick to laugh and a man who wears his heart on his sleeve. Ciccio is the organizer the nucleus of the crew “Il Capitiano. With Ciccio what you see is what you get. He is relaxed and at peace with himself, no drama no mystery just Ciccio, warm and romantic his love of life and his joy is in seeing and experiencing every last morsel the day can bring. Ciccio, you “blow my mind” and fill my heart. Next there is Luca di Luce. I have given Luca this nickname, as he is most often the one who sits on the bow of the boat holding a flashlight both acting as a beacon and at the same time an illuminator. Luca is the crew philosopher knowledgeable on any subject he is laid back and gifted in the art of conjecture. With his ever-present sigarillo he reminds me of a sailor, I joke with him and call him Popeye. Roughly shaven sandals and rolled up pants as if he is expecting the tides of Venice to over flow the walkways at any moment. Mara is the girlfriend of Luca di Luce. A classic Italian beauty her smile is infectious she radiates an inner beauty; her eyes sparkle with a peace and confidence that is unique and very pleasant to be around. Mara has an elegant spirit, complex and simple at the same time. Rachele is the other of the two women of the crew; she is the girlfriend of Ciccio “Il Captaino.” I remember seeing her standing on the dock as we in the boat pulled along side. In a summer dress she was stunning I felt like I was peering into looking glass, I was very pleasantly surprised to learn that she was joining us as she confidently boarded the boat, boldly introducing herself, Rachele. Rachele is also very beautiful in a classic Italian style. Her eyes are deep and dark as the lagoon on a moonless night, it is as if you can see into her soul, she smiles and there seems to be a knowing deeper than she lets on. Rachele flirts with life. When she looks at Ciccio it is with a look that would make any man jealous. Her love is precious and at the same time she is strong. Rachele is the quiet one she would prefer to have a café or spitz with one or two friends than party with a crowd. I can imagine spending an afternoon with Rachele together sitting in nature letting hours pass as not a word is spoken. She has an independent and passionate spirit. Christian is a very handsome man he dresses well, he always wears a beautiful shirt that appears to be tailored for his broad shoulders and slim waist that is just beginning too show evidence of maturing. He jokes that he must sit in a certain way as to not let the evidence of time be exposed. I tell him to “Suck it Up” and demonstrate with my own experience of such things, as I am twenty years his senior. Christian is a navigator of life. A businessman he makes things happen. Although very handsome and charming with his boyish and somewhat mischievous smile he is unavailable to the beauties of Venice as he is forever loyal to his girlfriend who lives in Spain. They speak with each other no less than twice a day.
Last but certainly not least and without whom the crew would not be complete is Manuel. A strong man both in body and spirit I was surprised when he and I first stood next to one another close enough that I could realize that he was not taller than me. Manuel has a huge spirit. He is an artist a photographer. His nickname is Gato (cat) fitting for Manuel, as he is somewhat cautious in nature. He appears to sit on the sidelines always looking and seeing as if he is looking for the perfect angle the perfect perspective to take a picture to record a moment in time. Manuels’ face is mature he is an old soul his smile reflects an understanding of life beyond his years. For now this is the “Crew.”
As I begin this my second Sunday and my seventh day, I am first to join the family of Isacco. This includes Francesco the father of Isacco and Francesca, the beautiful Francesca, Isaccos’ girlfriend. Isacco and Francesca met in Portland she an exchange student and Isacco a dual resident of Venezia as well as Portland. He was raised by an American mother and an Italian father. Moving to the United States only a few years ago with his multi-cultural upbringing, Isacco can very easily move from one culture to another. In the United States one would never guess Isacco is completely Venetian and completely American at the same time. Passionate and artistic Isacco is enthusiastic about everything. He quickly becomes the life of the party. But be careful Isacco just might sell you the shirt off of your own back but he will just as quickly give you his. But as many who are supremely talented Isacco carries with him a cloud of discontent, he suffers with the gift of too many choices. I love him very much and in one short year of being friends I cannot imagine the world without Isacco. Isacco is a mirror of my youth and I could be the vision of his future our karma runs deep. Francesca comes from Ivera in the Piemonte region. Ivera is famous for the annual orange fight. This tradition is centuries old the township takes up teams and proceed to turn the entire town into a large vat of orange juice, as the oranges become the projectiles that are thrown, as I understand very aggressively at the opposing teams. How the winning team is decided I do not know, however when this annual event comes to a close the town is covered in crushed oranges and the bruises of the wounded are worn as badges of honor. Francesca is a sweet woman, she is also very beautiful. I tell her she is of the most beautiful woman in the world. There is a certain innocence in her spirit but do not let this fool you she is wise beyond her years. Francesco the father of Isacco is a big teddy bear of a man. A great philosopher and lover of art Francesco is third generation Venetian, he clearly loves this city and is proud to share with you his passion for the history as well as his opinions of the best restaurants and cafés in the city. He is a fantastic cook, if I felt it not an imposition I would show up for dinner every night. Francesco is a traditional man and although the stepfather of Isacco is love for his son is very deep he looks at him with a sparkle in his eyes and a pain in his heart as Isacco is of the most important gifts of his life. He is a father any son would be blessed to have. When I am with the two of them my heartaches for the father I never knew. Francesco chose this my second Sunday to take the four of us via the family boat to a restaurant located on the Island of Pellestrina a 45 minute boat ride with Isacco our Capitiano. Getting an early start around 10:30 we navigate the waters of the lagoon passing fellow Venetians off to points unknown or not, simply just cruising the lagoon. We are now in fishing country the majority of the boats we see at the passing docks are fishing boats rigged for shrimp or squid. The houses are simple yet many of them a brightly painted red, yellow, blue or green. The Italians take great pride in expressing themselves and they do so with a certain artistic flair. They dress beautifully. One may have only one shirt but when worn it is perfectly ironed as if bought only yesterday. We pass a series of fishing houses built upon pilings situated in the Lagoon surrounded only by water. Perched 8 to 12 feet above the water they appear to have been there forever. Weathered walls draped with fishing nets, one can imagine that one strong wave or wind would blow them over and they would crumble into the sea the debris floating away to extinction. Finally we arrive at our destination accessible only by boat “Celeste” is the name of the restaurant. It is built upon a terrace covered by a blue awning situated directly on the sea it is a platform anchored to the sea wall and surrounding pilings it floats upon the water. Unpretentious and simple is the décor the restaurant is populated primarily by large families and the occasional small group such as ourselves. Again there are no tourist here other than I. Francesco asked me what I would like to eat I reply “ are you kidding I will eat at your suggestion, sono con te (I am with you.) First we have prosecco a basket of bread pretzels and Aqua Mineale. Very soon our first course arrives; a plate of white polenta with an edge of sauce I guess is a mixture of butter and olive oil. The polenta is covered with the smallest shrimp I have ever seen. Taken back at first, as they were the size of maggots. Not wanting to be culturally insensitive and knowing that some cultures do in fact eat maggots I refrained from asking my host Francesco what I have been served. Francesco explained that this dish is a delicacy of very small shrimp from the lagoon, Schie. Thankful that my cultural sensitivity was not to be challenged at least not at this dish, famished I devoured course number one. The delicacy of the flavor I am unable to describe it is sufficient to say, “ It blew my mind.” I could have stopped right there and ordered yet two more servings of the same dish and been quite satisfied, but the best was yet to come. Our next course, of course, began with yet another caraffa of prosecco. We were then served a dish of crab “Granseola” served in the shell that was turned upside down and filled with the most delicious crab mixture I have ever experienced, we then had a generous bowl of mussels and then our meal was finished with another caraffa of prosecco and Pasticcio di Pesce. This dish is similar to lasagna, but not as I am familiar. This dish is prepared with four layers of pasta filled with a mixture of different fish, besciamella, covered with cheese and baked individually to perfection. Finally we were on to the grand finale “ Sgroppino” a desert that is unique to Venice. It is served in a small glass, limoncello, shaved ice and prosecco, think of the best lemon smoothie you can imagine. Sgroppino means not literally I am sure but nonetheless it is the “clearer of the meal.” I can attest that it works very well to this end and I was thankful for the sound of the boat motor and the wind as the Sgroppino did its job in clearing. This completed our lunch but not our day. We were off to S. Erasmo for a swim. First we stopped off at Lido to gather Caroline the cousin of Isacco and her young son Danial. Then we were off to swim. S. Erasmo is one of the most popular gathering places for Venetians on the weekends. They come to gather clams, play on the beach and to commune with family and friends. This was my second time to visit this beach located on an Island in the largo. Again no tourist here other than me, standing out like a beacon with my white skin and my orange surfer shorts I must admit I felt a bit of a spectacle. After our time to relax and swim on S. Erasmo we were off to Venice ending part one of my second Sunday in Venice. Upon returning to my apartment I quickly showered and dressed in my Sunday best with my finest perfectly ironed white shirt because I was to meet up with the crew at the Cheers of Venice. I was the last to arrive and as quickly as I did Manuel placed a spitz in my hand, part two of my second Sunday in Venice had begun. Ciccio had made arrangements for a “very special” dinner at he restaurant of a friend again accessible only by boat. In Venice this almost certainly excludes tourist. Threatened by rain and in that the evening was moving into the night they all decided to chose another “very special restaurant.” As we all load into the boat we are joined by two new crew members. Valentina, Ciccios’ sister a stunning beauty who is visiting from Milan. There is a familiarity about Valentina, we quickly and easily become friends. And now I must introduce Serge the Russian Italian. Serge moved to Venice as a student many years ago. You would never guess he was not a native. I think it would take a team of wild horses to drag Serge kicking and screaming from his adopted Venice. I believe he could be the reincarnation of Casanova himself, funny warm and very charming with a keen eye for the women. Serge is very helpful to me with cultural understanding and language development. So off we go to our new destination decided by the crew and as Ciccio says “a very special Restaurant.” I imagine that Ciccio does little that is not “very special.” We navigate the canals arriving at our destination we tie up to the wall, disembark and of we go. The restaurant is on the second floor and quite frankly I am surprised, the restaurant is upscale and is not of Venice. Other than the Crew and the most amazing Pizza I have had to date. This restaurant could be in Soho, hip disco atmosphere, blue lights and black furniture with glass tables. We pass through the restaurant greeted by the owner as old friends ( I do not know if any of the Crew knows this man I believe he greets all of his guest in this manner) we settle on the terrace. The terrace is paved in white marble, the tables are candle lit and covered with white linen. Soon the wine begins to flow. I have bought in private two bottles of the best red from the region. Inexpensive and yet very impressive to the Crew and me. Manuel asks me “Jeff why do you do this, buy the wine.” I explain it is my way to both honor and give appreciation to my new friends. He nods in acceptance we toast laugh and eat. We are now joined by a new addition to our Sunday adventure a friend of Christians, Michela.
Charming and yet a bit shy Michela is of the lucky few who live in a Palace on the Grand Canal. Once we have finished with our meal it is now time to sit and relax. Grappa, conjecture, cultural exchange and funny stories past. Once again it is time for us to move on. The Crew wants to share with me one of the most unique experiences of Venice. This is to pass under the lowest of bridges in the city. These passageways actually pass under a church and are low enough that the boat can barely pass through them. We must all lie down in order to pass. With no light and the engine silenced we are certainly transported to another time. As we emerge on the other side we surprise a boat with lovers. Thinking they were most definitely in one of the most private corners of Venice they were making love. We very respectfully pass without comment and as little notice as possible. Then it was time to end our evening. Two in the morning we cruise the Grand Canal to Piazza San Marco, we dock the boat. As we step over a neighboring boat we climb the marble railings of the sea wall and enter one of the most famous Piazzas’ in the world. All of the tourists have gone home, only one bar remains open, it is Martini time. This is the first time I have seen any of the Crew drinking hard alcohol, Mohitos, Cosmos, and for me Absolut on the rocks no garnish. Disco music fills the air. We dance or at least I dance moved by the surreal experience of mixing culture, all in the majestic imposing time warp of Piazza San Marco.
This brings to an end the second Sunday in Venice for a simple man.
My next challenge is to capture last night’s experience.
Stay tuned; more to come.
Ciao.
This is my second Sunday in Venice and marks my seventh day. Once again the days activities are focused on the water. As I described earlier my first Sunday upon my arrival I was to spend the day on the boat with the “Crew.” In my attempt to describe this first Sunday I gave you a brief description of all those who make up the Crew. After a week here I have spent more time with these wonderful people who have welcomed me with such generosity. I will now attempt to describe in more detail who I have come to know. I will introduce them in order of my introductions, with a better understanding an appreciation of the blessing of the very special gift of being “albeit temporarily” apart of “The Crew.” First there is Ciccio (Francisco.) Ciccio is the salt of the earth quick to laugh and a man who wears his heart on his sleeve. Ciccio is the organizer the nucleus of the crew “Il Capitiano. With Ciccio what you see is what you get. He is relaxed and at peace with himself, no drama no mystery just Ciccio, warm and romantic his love of life and his joy is in seeing and experiencing every last morsel the day can bring. Ciccio, you “blow my mind” and fill my heart. Next there is Luca di Luce. I have given Luca this nickname, as he is most often the one who sits on the bow of the boat holding a flashlight both acting as a beacon and at the same time an illuminator. Luca is the crew philosopher knowledgeable on any subject he is laid back and gifted in the art of conjecture. With his ever-present sigarillo he reminds me of a sailor, I joke with him and call him Popeye. Roughly shaven sandals and rolled up pants as if he is expecting the tides of Venice to over flow the walkways at any moment. Mara is the girlfriend of Luca di Luce. A classic Italian beauty her smile is infectious she radiates an inner beauty; her eyes sparkle with a peace and confidence that is unique and very pleasant to be around. Mara has an elegant spirit, complex and simple at the same time. Rachele is the other of the two women of the crew; she is the girlfriend of Ciccio “Il Captaino.” I remember seeing her standing on the dock as we in the boat pulled along side. In a summer dress she was stunning I felt like I was peering into looking glass, I was very pleasantly surprised to learn that she was joining us as she confidently boarded the boat, boldly introducing herself, Rachele. Rachele is also very beautiful in a classic Italian style. Her eyes are deep and dark as the lagoon on a moonless night, it is as if you can see into her soul, she smiles and there seems to be a knowing deeper than she lets on. Rachele flirts with life. When she looks at Ciccio it is with a look that would make any man jealous. Her love is precious and at the same time she is strong. Rachele is the quiet one she would prefer to have a café or spitz with one or two friends than party with a crowd. I can imagine spending an afternoon with Rachele together sitting in nature letting hours pass as not a word is spoken. She has an independent and passionate spirit. Christian is a very handsome man he dresses well, he always wears a beautiful shirt that appears to be tailored for his broad shoulders and slim waist that is just beginning too show evidence of maturing. He jokes that he must sit in a certain way as to not let the evidence of time be exposed. I tell him to “Suck it Up” and demonstrate with my own experience of such things, as I am twenty years his senior. Christian is a navigator of life. A businessman he makes things happen. Although very handsome and charming with his boyish and somewhat mischievous smile he is unavailable to the beauties of Venice as he is forever loyal to his girlfriend who lives in Spain. They speak with each other no less than twice a day.
Last but certainly not least and without whom the crew would not be complete is Manuel. A strong man both in body and spirit I was surprised when he and I first stood next to one another close enough that I could realize that he was not taller than me. Manuel has a huge spirit. He is an artist a photographer. His nickname is Gato (cat) fitting for Manuel, as he is somewhat cautious in nature. He appears to sit on the sidelines always looking and seeing as if he is looking for the perfect angle the perfect perspective to take a picture to record a moment in time. Manuels’ face is mature he is an old soul his smile reflects an understanding of life beyond his years. For now this is the “Crew.”
As I begin this my second Sunday and my seventh day, I am first to join the family of Isacco. This includes Francesco the father of Isacco and Francesca, the beautiful Francesca, Isaccos’ girlfriend. Isacco and Francesca met in Portland she an exchange student and Isacco a dual resident of Venezia as well as Portland. He was raised by an American mother and an Italian father. Moving to the United States only a few years ago with his multi-cultural upbringing, Isacco can very easily move from one culture to another. In the United States one would never guess Isacco is completely Venetian and completely American at the same time. Passionate and artistic Isacco is enthusiastic about everything. He quickly becomes the life of the party. But be careful Isacco just might sell you the shirt off of your own back but he will just as quickly give you his. But as many who are supremely talented Isacco carries with him a cloud of discontent, he suffers with the gift of too many choices. I love him very much and in one short year of being friends I cannot imagine the world without Isacco. Isacco is a mirror of my youth and I could be the vision of his future our karma runs deep. Francesca comes from Ivera in the Piemonte region. Ivera is famous for the annual orange fight. This tradition is centuries old the township takes up teams and proceed to turn the entire town into a large vat of orange juice, as the oranges become the projectiles that are thrown, as I understand very aggressively at the opposing teams. How the winning team is decided I do not know, however when this annual event comes to a close the town is covered in crushed oranges and the bruises of the wounded are worn as badges of honor. Francesca is a sweet woman, she is also very beautiful. I tell her she is of the most beautiful woman in the world. There is a certain innocence in her spirit but do not let this fool you she is wise beyond her years. Francesco the father of Isacco is a big teddy bear of a man. A great philosopher and lover of art Francesco is third generation Venetian, he clearly loves this city and is proud to share with you his passion for the history as well as his opinions of the best restaurants and cafés in the city. He is a fantastic cook, if I felt it not an imposition I would show up for dinner every night. Francesco is a traditional man and although the stepfather of Isacco is love for his son is very deep he looks at him with a sparkle in his eyes and a pain in his heart as Isacco is of the most important gifts of his life. He is a father any son would be blessed to have. When I am with the two of them my heartaches for the father I never knew. Francesco chose this my second Sunday to take the four of us via the family boat to a restaurant located on the Island of Pellestrina a 45 minute boat ride with Isacco our Capitiano. Getting an early start around 10:30 we navigate the waters of the lagoon passing fellow Venetians off to points unknown or not, simply just cruising the lagoon. We are now in fishing country the majority of the boats we see at the passing docks are fishing boats rigged for shrimp or squid. The houses are simple yet many of them a brightly painted red, yellow, blue or green. The Italians take great pride in expressing themselves and they do so with a certain artistic flair. They dress beautifully. One may have only one shirt but when worn it is perfectly ironed as if bought only yesterday. We pass a series of fishing houses built upon pilings situated in the Lagoon surrounded only by water. Perched 8 to 12 feet above the water they appear to have been there forever. Weathered walls draped with fishing nets, one can imagine that one strong wave or wind would blow them over and they would crumble into the sea the debris floating away to extinction. Finally we arrive at our destination accessible only by boat “Celeste” is the name of the restaurant. It is built upon a terrace covered by a blue awning situated directly on the sea it is a platform anchored to the sea wall and surrounding pilings it floats upon the water. Unpretentious and simple is the décor the restaurant is populated primarily by large families and the occasional small group such as ourselves. Again there are no tourist here other than I. Francesco asked me what I would like to eat I reply “ are you kidding I will eat at your suggestion, sono con te (I am with you.) First we have prosecco a basket of bread pretzels and Aqua Mineale. Very soon our first course arrives; a plate of white polenta with an edge of sauce I guess is a mixture of butter and olive oil. The polenta is covered with the smallest shrimp I have ever seen. Taken back at first, as they were the size of maggots. Not wanting to be culturally insensitive and knowing that some cultures do in fact eat maggots I refrained from asking my host Francesco what I have been served. Francesco explained that this dish is a delicacy of very small shrimp from the lagoon, Schie. Thankful that my cultural sensitivity was not to be challenged at least not at this dish, famished I devoured course number one. The delicacy of the flavor I am unable to describe it is sufficient to say, “ It blew my mind.” I could have stopped right there and ordered yet two more servings of the same dish and been quite satisfied, but the best was yet to come. Our next course, of course, began with yet another caraffa of prosecco. We were then served a dish of crab “Granseola” served in the shell that was turned upside down and filled with the most delicious crab mixture I have ever experienced, we then had a generous bowl of mussels and then our meal was finished with another caraffa of prosecco and Pasticcio di Pesce. This dish is similar to lasagna, but not as I am familiar. This dish is prepared with four layers of pasta filled with a mixture of different fish, besciamella, covered with cheese and baked individually to perfection. Finally we were on to the grand finale “ Sgroppino” a desert that is unique to Venice. It is served in a small glass, limoncello, shaved ice and prosecco, think of the best lemon smoothie you can imagine. Sgroppino means not literally I am sure but nonetheless it is the “clearer of the meal.” I can attest that it works very well to this end and I was thankful for the sound of the boat motor and the wind as the Sgroppino did its job in clearing. This completed our lunch but not our day. We were off to S. Erasmo for a swim. First we stopped off at Lido to gather Caroline the cousin of Isacco and her young son Danial. Then we were off to swim. S. Erasmo is one of the most popular gathering places for Venetians on the weekends. They come to gather clams, play on the beach and to commune with family and friends. This was my second time to visit this beach located on an Island in the largo. Again no tourist here other than me, standing out like a beacon with my white skin and my orange surfer shorts I must admit I felt a bit of a spectacle. After our time to relax and swim on S. Erasmo we were off to Venice ending part one of my second Sunday in Venice. Upon returning to my apartment I quickly showered and dressed in my Sunday best with my finest perfectly ironed white shirt because I was to meet up with the crew at the Cheers of Venice. I was the last to arrive and as quickly as I did Manuel placed a spitz in my hand, part two of my second Sunday in Venice had begun. Ciccio had made arrangements for a “very special” dinner at he restaurant of a friend again accessible only by boat. In Venice this almost certainly excludes tourist. Threatened by rain and in that the evening was moving into the night they all decided to chose another “very special restaurant.” As we all load into the boat we are joined by two new crew members. Valentina, Ciccios’ sister a stunning beauty who is visiting from Milan. There is a familiarity about Valentina, we quickly and easily become friends. And now I must introduce Serge the Russian Italian. Serge moved to Venice as a student many years ago. You would never guess he was not a native. I think it would take a team of wild horses to drag Serge kicking and screaming from his adopted Venice. I believe he could be the reincarnation of Casanova himself, funny warm and very charming with a keen eye for the women. Serge is very helpful to me with cultural understanding and language development. So off we go to our new destination decided by the crew and as Ciccio says “a very special Restaurant.” I imagine that Ciccio does little that is not “very special.” We navigate the canals arriving at our destination we tie up to the wall, disembark and of we go. The restaurant is on the second floor and quite frankly I am surprised, the restaurant is upscale and is not of Venice. Other than the Crew and the most amazing Pizza I have had to date. This restaurant could be in Soho, hip disco atmosphere, blue lights and black furniture with glass tables. We pass through the restaurant greeted by the owner as old friends ( I do not know if any of the Crew knows this man I believe he greets all of his guest in this manner) we settle on the terrace. The terrace is paved in white marble, the tables are candle lit and covered with white linen. Soon the wine begins to flow. I have bought in private two bottles of the best red from the region. Inexpensive and yet very impressive to the Crew and me. Manuel asks me “Jeff why do you do this, buy the wine.” I explain it is my way to both honor and give appreciation to my new friends. He nods in acceptance we toast laugh and eat. We are now joined by a new addition to our Sunday adventure a friend of Christians, Michela.
Charming and yet a bit shy Michela is of the lucky few who live in a Palace on the Grand Canal. Once we have finished with our meal it is now time to sit and relax. Grappa, conjecture, cultural exchange and funny stories past. Once again it is time for us to move on. The Crew wants to share with me one of the most unique experiences of Venice. This is to pass under the lowest of bridges in the city. These passageways actually pass under a church and are low enough that the boat can barely pass through them. We must all lie down in order to pass. With no light and the engine silenced we are certainly transported to another time. As we emerge on the other side we surprise a boat with lovers. Thinking they were most definitely in one of the most private corners of Venice they were making love. We very respectfully pass without comment and as little notice as possible. Then it was time to end our evening. Two in the morning we cruise the Grand Canal to Piazza San Marco, we dock the boat. As we step over a neighboring boat we climb the marble railings of the sea wall and enter one of the most famous Piazzas’ in the world. All of the tourists have gone home, only one bar remains open, it is Martini time. This is the first time I have seen any of the Crew drinking hard alcohol, Mohitos, Cosmos, and for me Absolut on the rocks no garnish. Disco music fills the air. We dance or at least I dance moved by the surreal experience of mixing culture, all in the majestic imposing time warp of Piazza San Marco.
This brings to an end the second Sunday in Venice for a simple man.
My next challenge is to capture last night’s experience.
Stay tuned; more to come.
Ciao.
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