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Tuesday, September 3rd - Castelfranco Veneto to Venice - 10,549 km
I slept well last night. I can’t remember a thing. I suppose three nights of camping in the cool mountain air had me waking up on several occasions so my sleep was not so sound. Also, I haven’t had a day off without cycling for ten days. I have covered from Budapest to here since then. Last night was dead quiet and it still is. It is 8 am and Jochen is waking up after a hard sleep too. We prepare for the road before going downstairs for the hotel’s modest breakfast.
It only 9:30 when we head out. The Po Valley is as flat as a sheet. The most direct route to Venice, 55 km away, is though a small highway that pokes through the towns of Resana, Scorze and Martellago before entering Mestre, the suburb on the mainland. There is a fair bit of local traffic heading into the city for business on this workday. We could have left our trip to the afternoon, when no one in Italy works, but there is nothing to do in Castelfranco Veneto and we are anxious to see the city ourselves.
To get to Venice we must cross the Ponte Della Liberte, a two kilometre long causeway that serves for road traffic as well as the train. It runs straight as an arrow, right into the morning sun. There are many trucks and cars going both ways. There is a segregated bike path but we are bother by thousands of flies. I don’t know what type they are. They are large and somewhat delicate like mosquitoes, but they don’t bite. They just swirl around in frantic circles and smash into our faces, as if they have no ability to fly straight. It is both unpleasant and annoying. The water smells foul too.
Venice is strikingly different from any other city I have been in. The buildings rise right out of the water as though there is no land beneath them. Even Amsterdam, which has many more kilometres of canals than Venice, gives one the impression that the canals are intrusions into the land surface. Here, there are no roads or sidewalks separating the canals from the walls of the buildings. I can just imagine the leakage problems, but that is not one thinks of first. One sees the city rising out of the water like a crystal that has mysteriously grown, something a fantasy writer has created.
The causeway leads onto the northwest end of the islands that comprise the city. The cars, trucks and trains enter a transition point where the everything either converts to pedestrian or water transport. The trucks are channeled onto a long wharf along the outer edge of the island, the cars park or drop-off and turn around. The train only goes half a kilometre on the island to the station. This all sounds rather industrial, but even these areas have their charm.
In any other city with a pedestrian core, our bicycles would be allowed. There are no signs or roadblocks preventing us but there doesn’t need to be. The canals and bridges serve that purpose. This is the most bicycle unfriendly city in the world as riding here is virtually impossible. Jochen and I manage to get to the first bridge over the Grand Canal before giving up. We decide to check our bikes into train station, which my guide book recommends. That requires us to climb 30 steps, carrying our loaded bicycles, to reach the top of the bridge, and then down the far side. This isn’t easy with the stairs filled with distracted tourists.
The storage is expensive but we have no other choice. It will cost us almost as much as our own accommodation. We walk ten minutes to the youth hostel, struggling with our many bags, only to learn that it will not open until 6 pm. It is only 1 pm at this point. We haul our bags back to the train station and pay more to store them for the afternoon.
None of this hassle is too disconcerting because this is Venice and it is totally magical. It is thrill to be here. Jochen is beaming as much as I am. Our first task is find the tourist office and then something to eat. The tourist office is by the train station and it provides us with smiles and maps. We pause at the top of the bridge over the Grand Canal for a few minutes soaking in the scenery. This city is so photogenic that it compels one to take pictures – hundreds of them.
We seek out a café with a sunny patio a distance away from the immediately obvious tourist areas, just to eat, relax and soak in this new environment. Afterwards, we set off exploring the maze of back alleys. I am sure there is a planning department here, much like the one I work for in Toronto, that knows exactly how many islands this city is comprised of, but I cannot figure it out. Mini canals not much wider than a side walk carve up each major island into dozens of smaller ones. Walkways zigzag everywhere between the buildings and hop over the canals with small bridges whenever they encounter one. It is so easy to get lost here, even though you cannot go far in any direction.
Our first afternoon is overwhelming. We managed to find our way back through the maze to the train station in time to collect our bags and get to the youth hostel in time for check in. It is a large busy hostel. I am sure it is run by Austrians as the staff has a way in everything they do to make clear with we are nuisances, not guests. It is a major bother for them to assign us a dorm bed and they are quick to read us the rules and tell us we must be out of the hostel by 10 am. The cafeteria throws their food onto our trays without even a smile. We now refer to this place as a youth “hostile”.
The hostile is full of eager, happy young faces enjoying their special time in Venice. Many of them are appealing young men, but I am with Jochen. I am not lonely, lustful or wanting to connect with another young stranger. Most of them are with their friends too. But there are a few who are alone. The one we have met tonight is Lee Ling Chang, a Malaysian woman in her early 20s. She is pretty, sweet and terribly shy, but brave enough to travel and explore the other side of the world on her own. She approaches us first to ask some questions about Venice, questions we do not yet know the answer to ourselves yet. We ask her about her travel and become fascinated by her. For me, it’s her drive to know the world, her bravery and vulnerability that draw me in. For Jochen, it may be something more. He takes on a nurturing attitude towards her, the first indication that he is in fact straight.
Lee Ling is full of questions about each of us and what we have seen. Her English does not come easily. We strain to listen and ask clarifying questions. That keeps us totally focused on our conversation. The evening is cooler, but still pleasant enough to sit outside at a patio café, so the three of us spend a part of the evening away from the institutional clatter of the hostile, sipping wine. Lee Ling doesn’t drink much so we watch her closely as we walk her back to the hostile afterwards. It has been a wonderful time.
There are intermittent snorers in the dorm room where Jochen and I are sleeping. As I am lying here thinking about this wonderful day and my plans for tomorrow, it occurs to me that I arrived in Lisbon at the start of my trip exactly six months ago. I am at the half way point of my trip. I have no idea where I will go to spend the winter, and not even a clear idea where I will go next, but I have a strong feeling that the second half will be quite different.
PHOTO 1: Jochen with the Grand Canal, theatre behind
PHOTO 2: Jochen of the stairs of the bridge over Grand Canal
PHOTO 3: Grand Canal from top of the bridge
PHOTO 4: more Grand Canal
PHOTO 5: gondolas on a canal
PHOTO 6: gondolas parking on the Grand Canal
PHOTO 7: alley way in Venice
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