Day 30 – Fleeced at Florian’s

The hotel guide said cross two bridges then first left, first right, first left, first right. Fighting the urge to stick with the signs, we plunge into the labyrinth of dark, narrow alleys and pop up, a surprise to us both, in the right place – the vaporetto wharf.

It’s a lovely, sunny boat ride through the great canal with all it’s gondolas, vaporettos, water taxis, garbage and, construction boats sloshing around in each other’s wake. It’s funny to watch tourists having ‘romantic’ gondola rides bobbing around like corks in the wash of the morning’s industry. We see a workman in a six metre long excavator barge chuck a u-ee amidst all the chaos, missing ferry’s, gondolas, taxis and mooring posts by inches, nose into his mates boat and then straddle the two while he bums a smoke, take the piss, lights-up, then backs out into the mayhem and chop again – shouting back to his moored mate over his shoulder.

Out over the glistening lagoon and time for a coffee and a stroll at Lido while we wait for the connection to Torcello. It’s about an hour and twenty minutes to Burano and we snuggle up at the back of the boat in the sun and out of the wind, dozing with the engine’s hypnotic ‘thrumb-thrumb’. Little islands and acres and acres of shapeless, brown marshlands drift buy.

Torcello was the center of commerce in the lagoon from the 5th to the 10th centuries, mother nature finally dragging her back into mud and marsh after shoals and sandbars let marshland expand, making navigation impossible (and malaria set in – just to finish them off). It was established, apparently when citizen’s of the roman town Altino fled barbarian invasion – guided by the visions of their Bishop.

Torcello is now abandoned, but for the church and a few eating places. It’s an island of brown grass, bramble and small trees with timber lined canals, in various states of decline, crossing it’s surface – the blocked arteries of a once vibrant town. It’s quiet and very peaceful and the small Romanesque church Santa Fosca, in simple brick and timber is a wonderful, silent sanctuary from the business of Venice.

We wander in the quiet warmth for awhile and stop for lunch at the little place nearest the dock; fritto misto (tempura) and fresh sea bass – plus two glasses of cheap gassy wine (we think diluted with soda water – but nice nonetheless).

Burano (the neighbouring island – known for its lace), is pretty but a little repetitive and touristy for my liking (except for the leaning tower). We do a loop around the town and jump on the boat back to Venice. A nearly full moon casts a silver stairway across the lagoon behind us as the sky fades from pink to evening blue. Looking across the flat marshes to the distant domes and spires of Venice, one can almost here Torcello’s ghosts calling their daughter home.

We dock in Venice across from the Cemetery island, catch another Vaporetto around to San Marco and decide to recall the days adventures over a coffee at Florian’s (thanks for the heads up Mum), the now famous 300 year old coffee shop. The silver trays and liveried waiters, not to mention the view out onto St Marks, make it a memorable, if expensive, experience. I lick the salt out of the chip tray and take a second suck at the olive pips to better ammortise the costs (hope the couple we shared with didn’t mind) before we head off into the cold night mist.

The dazzling colour, light and glass of the San Marco’s shopping alleys quickly give way to dark, fog and stone beyond the Rialto and we make for somewhere warm for dinner. We see three, black-cloaked carabiniere turn-off down a dark alleyway, side-by-side, the mist swirling behind them as they vanish in the darkness.

Dinner turns out to be a little ‘freshly-cooked-on-the-premises’ bar, and cold fog makes the hot vegetable soup (and a couple of night caps) just the ticket – and they throw in a couple of grappas – gratis. A short walk home and off to bed.