On the Road in Italy (part 2)

You know you’re having a good day when the car rental agent can’t find the Ford Fiesta that you reserved, and all they have left to give you is an Audi Q3—for the same price as the Fiesta. Turbo-charged, two-liter engine. Premium sound system. Leather seats. Ummmm… Okay, I’ll take it.

We were soon jetting north on Autostrada 27, across bucolic flatlands of cultivated fields and farm houses, Terry feeling right at home behind the wheel of a sleek Audi. A wall of blue-gray mountains loomed on the horizon ahead, shrouded in mist and clouds. The Dolomites beckoned. And for the next week, these majestic alps would be ours to explore. 

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Cortina d'Ampezzo

Our first four nights in the Dolomites were at a mountainside inn overlooking the town of Cortina d’Ampezzo. It made for an excellent base camp for our sorties into the high country. There are only a few thousand permanent residents in the Ampezzo Valley, though a flood of visitors can fill the hotels and chalets during the winter ski season. Long known as the “Queen of the Dolomites”, Cortina gained repute for being the “in” place to ski for European aristocrats and celebrities. The 1956 Winter Olympics was held here, as well as many World Cup ski events. The spectacular alpine setting also lures filmmakers: The original Pink Panther and the edge-of-your-seat Cliffhanger were both shot in and around this valley.   

There was no snow on the ground when we were there (it was July) but there’s still plenty to do: Hiking; climbing; cycling… Road cycling is big. We drove the steep, narrow, switch-backing roads up to Giau Pass and Falzarego Pass, and I’m here to tell you that those climbs would be butt-kickers on a bike—and we saw dozens of riders cranking it every day. And then there’s the mountains. Big mountains. Kids around here learn to ski before they can walk, and start bagging peaks soon after that. Lino Lacedelli was a Cortina homeboy, and in 1954 became the first to stand on the summit of K2, the second-tallest mountain on the planet. The Dolomites are dripping with mountaineering lore, harking back to the 19th century. Which was the main reason for us coming here: to follow the same tracks and grasp the same handholds as the early alpinists.   

Our lodging at the Piccolo Inn was a couple miles out of Cortina, on the winding road up to Falzarego Pass. The innkeeper, Paolo, checked us into our room and showed us around. He was tall, lanky and bearded; wore faded jeans and cowboy boots. He also rode a vintage Triumph motorcycle, played guitar, and was a huge fan of Neil Young. We got along fabulous. 

Cortina d'Ampezzo

Promotional poster from the 1920s.

Tofana di Rozes (10,580 ft)

Cyclists grinding up to Falzarego Pass.  

Terry was in her element on the twisty mountain roads. And she sure loved the Audi. I rarely got to drive it. 

The little chapel on Falzarego Pass (6,910 ft).

Giau Pass (7,340 ft), with the mighty Ra Gusela towering over it. 

Our not-too-shabby view from the terrace of the Piccolo Inn.

The Alpine Front

By 1915, the towns and hamlets in the Italian Alps, collectively belonging to the province of Tyrol, had been under Austrian rule for four centuries. In Cortina—only seventeen air miles from today’s Austrian border—nearly half the residents spoke German and claimed Austro-Hungarian roots, living harmoniously with their Italian and Ladin neighbors. But that would soon change.

The First World War had already been raging for a year when Italy joined the Allies in 1915 and attacked Austrian troops in southern Tyrol. When they advanced on Cortina, the Austrians fell back to Falzarego Pass and turned Lagazuoi Mountain into a fortress of tunnels, artillery emplacements and machine gun nests. A fierce three-year struggle ensued for control of the region, known as the Alpine Front, with both sides deeply entrenched in a stalemate. When the Austro-Hungarian Empire began to crumble in 1918, they sued for peace and agreed to relinquish South Tyrol to Italy. A young Ernest Hemmingway was a Red Cross ambulance driver for the Italian army on the Alpine Front, and his experiences were the catalyst for his classic novel, A Farewell To Arms.

Today you can explore the maze of tunnels and old fortifications on Lagazuoi Mountain. We spent most of a day here, tramping along rocky ridges and probing into pitch-dark tunnels (headlamps required). The Lagazuoi Tunnels route is a Via Ferrata, which means “the iron way.” It incorporates fixed lengths of steel cable, stanchions, even ladders, on precipitous rock terrain to make the going much safer. They’re also rated for difficulty, similar to rock-climbing ratings, so that you know—theoretically—what you’re getting into. The Lagazuoi Tunnels was rated “Easy”, so we left our climbing harnesses in the car with the hopes that “Easy” meant easy. And it was.

Our visit marked the 100th anniversary for the ending of hostilities in the First World War, and to commemorate, re-enactment buffs in WW1-era uniforms of the Italian and Austrian armies, complete with vintage pistols and rifles, were patrolling the old trenches along the ridge, chatting with tourists and explaining what it was like to fight a war at 9,000+ feet—even in winter with fifteen feet of snow on the ground. Later that afternoon, on the Lagazuoi Rifugio patio, we spotted a group of Italian and Austrian soldiers with mugs of beer, gabbing and laughing. The hostilities are evidently a thing of the past.     
         

The cable car from Falzarego Pass up to the summit of Lagazuoi Mtn (9,300 ft).

Lagazuoi Rifugio at the top of the mountain.

WW1 Italian Alpini soldiers on patrol. All their gear looked authentic: leather backpacks; hemp climbing ropes; ancient ice axes; vintage weapons. The elite Alpini, also known as the Black Feathers (you can see the feather in their caps) were trained for mountain warfare. Formed in 1872, they are still active today, recently serving in Afghanistan.  

An old photo of Austrian mountain troops ascending treacherous terrain.

Entrance into Lagazuoi Tunnels

An observation window in one of the tunnels. Troops literally lived inside the mountain.

The view from summit of Lagazuoi Mountain.
In background is Monte Antelao (10,710 ft) and
the Ampezzo Valley.

Climbing with Walter

We had our heart set on climbing in the Dolomites for a few days, but lugging a heavy bag of ropes and hardware across Italy for close to three weeks did not sound appealing—not to mention the airline charges for extra baggage. 

“Get a guide,” my friend, LeRoy, recommended.

And so, we did. LeRoy referred us to OnTop Mountaineering, the outfit he uses in Europe, and we locked in the dates and guides before leaving home. All we had to do was bring our harnesses and rock shoes; the guides would supply everything else.

Our guide in Cortina was Walter, a wiry fellow who grew up in the German-speaking region of South Tyrol. Like many Tyrolean kids, Walter grew up skiing big mountains and grappling vertical rock. Now he’s a certified IFMGA mountain guide, leading clients on ski tours and climbing ventures, an adventurous job that he has been doing now for eleven years. We had two days booked with him. One of the days, we wanted to sample the routes on Cinque Torri, and on the other, we were interested in doing a classic Via Ferrata, whatever Walter could recommend.

“We’ll do Ferrata Tomaselli,” he proposed.

Eccellente!

So, we had a plan: Tackle the Ferrata Tomaselli first. We packed the night before and set the gear at the foot of the bed. It was around midnight when we were awakened by the crack and boom of thunder. Jagged bolts of lightning flashed outside our window, followed immediately by more thunder. Then the sound of heavy rain pattering on the roof over our heads, which then turned into a clamorous drum roll of hail. Crap. The best we could hope was that it would clear up by morning.   

FERRATA TOMASELLI
Walter and his German girlfriend, Miriam, met us in the parking lot at Falzarego Pass first thing in the morning. The storm clouds were breaking up as we rode the aerial tram up to Rifugio Lagazuoi, where it’s a two-hour approach to the base of the Ferrata Tomaselli. And as soon as you clip into the steel cable and start climbing, you start hoping that it doesn’t get any tougher, because right off the bat, it’s steep and exhilaratingly exposed. Which is why Tomaselli gets a 5C rating, the top end in technical difficulty and commitment on the Via Ferrata scale. (In comparison, the Lagazuoi Tunnels that Ter and I had done the prior day was rated 1A, as easy as it gets.) Even more mind-boggling, the first ascent was done by the Austro-Hungarian army during WW1; some of the original ladders—dilapidated and scary-looking—are still hanging on the rock walls.

We were two-thirds up the route, however, when Walter called us to a halt and scrapped our summit bid. Ominous dark clouds were coming our way, and we were clipped to a steel cable that ran all the way to the summit. If a thunderstorm struck… Basically, we were attached to a lightning rod.

Now what, you ask? Walter had a plan. We followed him west along a ledge system that traversed across the sheer face of the mountain. After a considerable distance the ledge terminated at the entrance to a WW1-era tunnel, and donning headlamps (sure glad we packed them), we scrambled through solid rock to the other side of the peak! From there we worked our way across snow, rock and scree to the descent route and started the long hike down to the parking lot. We were halfway down when it started to rain.     

Starting our approach. The objective is the highest
butte on skyline at center of photo, which is Cima
Fanis Sud (9,780 ft). 

The Ferrata Tomaselli is shown in red. The climbers descent route is in green. 

Geared up near the start of the climb and ready to go. It was mostly sunny at first... But it wouldn't last.

Walter and Terry on the crux traverse. Big air down
to the deck here. 

Rickety remains of the original route put up by the Austrians during WW1. Not recommended. Obviously.  

The route now goes around the rickety ladders. Quite steep, but the holds are there when you need them. 

Getting higher.

Miriam and Terry at the tunnel that leads to the other side of the peak.

Nice views on the hike back down to Falzarego Pass.
It started raining soon after I took this shot.

CINQUE TORRI
The Five Towers rise majestically along a ridge just below Falzarego Pass, the highest about four hundred feet tall. It’s a rock-climbing paradise—and you can’t beat the approach. Walter met us in the parking lot for the chairlift that takes you up to Rifugio Scoiattoli. From there, it’s a mellow six-minute stroll over to the crags! We climbed a bunch of routes, but here were the most memorable…

Standard Route (5.6) on Torre Quarta Bassa. First ascent was in 1911 by Cortina hardman, Angelo Dibona. He served as a mountain guide in the Italian army in WW1, and afterwards, put up a slew of first ascents in the Dolomites.

Northwest Corner (5.6) on Torre Seconda. All I can say is… 5.6 my ass. More like dead-vertical 5.8+ off-width squeeze chimney grunt-fest. I got spanked. Ter got spanked. Walter didn’t even break a sweat. First ascent was in 1934 by Angelo’s son, Ignazio Dibona. 

Rosamunda (5.8) on Torre Grande. Sport climbing in Italy! A beautiful bolted line up a steep arete. First ascent unknown. (Maybe late 1980s by sport climbers in Spandex tights?)

Cinque Torri basks in the sunlight in foreground. Torre
Grande is the largest tower. The tiny structure (which
isn't so tiny) on the grassy ridge to the right of the towers
is the Rifugio Scoiattoli.  

"Standard Route" on Torre Quarta Bassa is shown in red. Three pitches of fun climbing. The crux is turning the triangular roof a third of the way up.  

Under the triangular roof at top of Pitch 1.

Firing the roof and up she goes...

Looking across the abyss at two climbers on Torre Inglese. 

Walter and Ter at the rap anchors. It's a double-rope rappel to get off Torre Quarta Bassa. 

"Rosamunda" on Torre Grande.  

After a superb day at the crags, what better way to enjoy Italian beer than on the sun deck of Rifugio Scoiattoli. I could get used to this. No problema.        

Canazei and South Tyrol

Forty twisting, mountain-road miles west of Cortina d’Ampezzo, passing over two high passes along the way, lies the unsullied hamlet of Canazei, where we would stay for the next three nights. We rented a room at the Garni Stella Alpina, a Tyrolean-style inn near the old town center. Next door was a quaint, 500-year-old church. Across the street was a tavern called Osteria La Montanara (Mountain Inn), where specialties included sauerkraut, goulash, wild boar when in season—and, of course, a good selection of local beers. Canazei is primarily a Ladin community, where the spoken language and customs hark back to Roman times. So, while the road signs and official language may be Italian, it frequently takes a back seat to Ladin and Germanic influences. 
   
Like Cortina, Canazei is all about the mountains—only more so. Maybe it’s because the highest peak in the Dolomites (Mt. Marmolada, 10,968 ft) is just five miles away, its ramparts gleaming with the only large glacier in the range. Or maybe it’s because everywhere we ventured was like the opening scene from The Sound Of Music (Ter is a fabulous singer and can pull this off. I can’t). Irrefutably the alpine meadows were in full bloom.

And what trip to the Italian Alps would be complete without a drive up to South Tyrol, home to not only our Cortina guide, Walter, but also the legendary alpinist, Reinhold Messner? Outside the town of Bruneck, we caught the aerial tram up to the summit of Mount Kronplatz, which is where you’ll find the Messner Mountain Museum. Reinhold Messner is one of the most—if not THE most—prolific alpinist/adventurer of modern times, and I could go on forever here talking about his mountaineering achievements alone. (But I won’t.) Now in his mid-seventies, Messner has climbed in all the great mountain ranges of the world, and along the way, collected all sorts of things, from indigenous artwork to mountaineering memorabilia. The climbing stuff he collected is on display at the Mount Kronplatz museum. (In all, there are six in the Dolomites, each focusing on a different theme.) There’s an oxygen tank that was used in the first ascent of Mount Everest in 1953; Edward Wymper’s hemp rope that was used in the first ascent of the Matterhorn in 1865; the ice axe belonging to Toni Egger, who fell to his death in 1959 while attempting a controversial first ascent of Cerro Torre in Patagonia… The vibe was like going to church to behold sacred artifacts. Or coming home to the mountains.   

Charming Canazei, where we stayed at the inn at right.  

The stream that runs through Canazei.

The view from Sella Pass. Canazei can be seen far
below in the distance. 

Horses in an alpine pasture.

Village in Gardena Valley.

Messner Mountain Museum Corones on the summit of
Mount Kronplatz. Completed in 2015. Designed by the 
renowned architect, Zaha Hadid.  

Mountain maiden.

Climbing with Marika

Our last full day in the Dolomites was spent… Wait for it… Rock climbing. Our guide this time around was Marika, a dynamic woman with a beaming smile. She grew up right here in the Fassa Valley in a Ladin-speaking community. Her dad put her on skis when she was three years old. At age six, she was competing in races. She made the Italian Alpine Ski Team, her forte being the super-G and downhill—the fast and scary events. This landed her an athletic scholarship to Sierra Nevada College in Lake Tahoe, where she competed on their ski team. After graduating, she returned to her beloved Dolomites and became a ski instructor until she could figure out her next move. That’s when she took up climbing as a serious pursuit. Her father had made a living as a mountain guide. Why not her?

Marika met us at our Canazei inn, and the three of us took our car up to Sella Pass. We already had our route picked out, courtesy of Marika’s recommendation. Looming above the pass are the impressive Sella Towers, and our objective was a classic, five-pitch line on the First Tower called the Trenker Route (5.7). The first ascent was done in 1913 by Luis Trenker, a South Tyrol hardman who was just twenty-one at the time. Young whippersnappers.

At the base of the climb, Ter and I flaked out the ropes as Marika selected the gear: just eight cams, that’s all she was taking. Which means she’s done this route many times and knows exactly what’s needed and nothing more. I asked her about belay signals, just to be sure we were on the same page.

“When I’m off belay, I whistle,” she said. “When I’m ready for you to climb, I whistle again.”

Umm… But what if we don’t hear her whistle?

She flashed us that beaming smile. “Oh, you’ll hear.”

She flew up the first pitch and quickly built a belay anchor. After clipping into it, she whistled down that she was safe. And oh yes, we heard her. Easily. Terry took her off belay and Marika pulled up the slack in the twin ropes. When they were taunt, she emitted another whistle-shriek to let us know that she had us on belay and to start climbing. That became the natural rhythm of things, pitch after pitch, higher and higher, until we were sitting on the summit of Prima Torre Sella.

I asked Marika who taught her to whistle like that, and she smiled.

“My father.”

Delicate downclimbing and two double-rope rappels got us down to the climbers’ trail leading to the Sella Pass parking lot. We grabbed some food and beer at a small, outdoor bistro nearby and basked in the afternoon sun. It was an excellent way to end a day on the crag. And for that matter, an excellent way to end a week in the Dolomites.   

Marika is all smiles at the base of the climb, ready to start up the first pitch. 

First Sella Tower with "Trenker Route" shown in red. Five pitches up a giant corner, and then 4th class scrambling (dotted red line) up the tower's west arete to the summit. 

Luis Trenker in the 1931 film “Mountain On Fire”, in which he wrote, directed, and played the leading role. Trenker led a prolific life. He was an avid climber and skier; served in the Austrian army on the Alpine Front during WW1. He later became a successful actor and filmmaker of Italian and German language films, his tough and rugged demeanor earning him the nickname “John Wayne of the Dolomites”. He passed away in 1990 at the age of 98.     

Marika leads the crux Pitch 2: a steep, off-width corner where wide stems are the rule. Also, the limestone is polished from a century of foot traffic, so all the holds felt greasy. “Trust your feet” was the mantra. Oh, and it’s fairly runout: glad Marika was doing all the sharp-end work.  

At the top of Pitch 4. The views just keep getting
better and better.

Summit photo. The higher Second Sella Tower lurks in the background.

Alpine bliss on the trail back down to Sella Pass. 

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We packed our bags in the morning with some regret and checked out of the Garni Stella Alpina. It was akin to half of you not wanting to leave. Reinhold Messner once said: “All climbers come to the Dolomites—just as they go to Yosemite—at least once in their life.” He may be biased, for Le Dolomiti has been his home and back yard since birth. But after spending a week climbing, hiking and driving around Reinhold’s “back yard,” I would have to agree with him. Which made it difficult to say ciao. Nevertheless, it was time for us to move on. Next stop: Florence…

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PART ONE      PART THREE      PART FOUR

On the Road in Italy (part 1)

Terry and I touched down at Marco Polo Airport late in the morning, the dome of the sky a marbled creation of resplendent sunlight and misty clouds. Once through customs, we followed the signs to the swift-moving walkways that would deliver us to the water transport terminal. The airport is on the mainland, but our destination was three miles off shore, glinting on the horizon: Venice. We were embarking on an eighteen-day tour of northern Italy that would begin and end in this city. In between, we would venture high into the Dolomites, and then descend upon sun-drenched Tuscany, the cradle of the Renaissance, where one can sit under a hillside olive tree all afternoon and watch clouds drift across the sky and not feel that the day was wasted. Our plan was to take it slow and easy; bask in the vibe that is Italy. La vita bella! 

Aboard the water bus, we plied across the Venetian Lagoon and watched the city grow on the horizon. Bell towers, cathedral domes, columned facades, all built of weathered stone and brick, gradually consumed the cabin windows. There was not a speck of bare ground to be seen anywhere, not even a small hill. The city literally appeared to rise from the water and float upon its surface. 
 
San Marco was our stop. We wheeled our luggage off the water bus into a swarm of people, enraptured by the sights and sounds of another world. Through a labyrinth of colossal buildings and crowded plazas we wandered, searching for our hotel with map in hand. It was supposed to be a “600-meter walk” from the bus stop, only we strayed off course more than once. Sometimes an avenue’s name is painted on the corner of a building. But most times, it’s not. Welcome to Venice. The adventure begins.

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Venezia

The Hotel Al Gazzettino where we were staying is right in the middle of the San Marco borough: a five-minute walk to the Rialto Bridge in one direction, and a five-minute walk to Saint Mark’s Square in the other direction. We had three days to explore the city—and in retrospect, that wasn’t enough time. But we made the best of it.

The founding of Venice goes back fifteen centuries to the collapse of the Roman Empire, when the region suffered from Germanic and Hun invasions. Its name is derived from the Veneti people who settled in the marshy lagoon islands to better defend themselves against marauders. Unlike most feudal realms of the Middle Ages, the Venetians gained their wealth and power not by owning large parcels of land that were worked by throngs of serfs, but rather by securing lucrative trade routes: silk from China; spices from the Indies; gems from Egypt. They would become the virtuoso merchants, presiding over most of the commerce to and from distant lands and making Venice the first international market hub in Europe.

Ocean routes established by Portugal and Spain to the Far East in the 16th century severed Venice’s trade monopolies to those lands. But always the savvy merchant, the Venetians leveraged their wealth to expand commerce in other directions. This acquired wealth shows in the old palatial homes, government buildings, music halls, and cathedrals of yesteryear. It was a city-state republic for nearly a millennium—from the 8th century, to its surrender to Napoleon Bonaparte in 1797. The Renaissance artwork of Bellini and Titian (both natives of Venice) adorn the Doge’s Palace and several churches, and the pitch-perfect notes of opera and the music of Vivaldi still waft across the Piazza. Walking the streets here is indeed like walking through time.

Church of San Giorgio Maggiore. Completed in 1610.
Designed by Andrea Palladio, one of the most influential
architects from the Renaissance era.

Greek warrior, Saint Theodore, stands atop one of the two Pillars of Justice. The two giant columns were pilfered from the Holy Land in the 12th century and erected here at the main entrance into Saint Mark’s Square. Public executions and punishments were carried out at the base of the columns during the Middle Ages. The building at right is the colossal Saint Mark’s Library, completed in 1553.     

Saint Mark’s Square. Known to Venetians as Piazza San 
Marco, or simply the Piazza, it's the eternal heart and soul 
of the city. At the far end is Saint Mark’s Basilica. The 
323-foot tall bell tower is a replica of the 16th-century 
original that collapsed in 1902. 

Another view into Piazza San Marco. 

Venus and the winged lion of Saint Mark at the base of the statue of Victor Emanuel II, first king of a united Italy. Venice joined the new nation in 1866 after seventy years under French and Austrian rule. 

Hiding from the Paparazzi.

Sangiovese and summer showers.

A quiet neighborhood.

Early evening on the Grand Canal.

Lost in the Castello borough.

Water World

Soon after reserving our rental car for the trip, I had emailed our Venice hotel to inquire about guest parking accommodations. Their reply—which no doubt came after a bout of hysterical laughter—was quite simply: “DON’T BRING CAR. NO STREETS!”

How did this detail get by me?

Venice is built on a cluster of 118 small islands that are not much higher than high tide, linked together by a network of 150 canals and over 400 footbridges. To keep the buildings from settling into the marshy ground, even the giant Saint Mark’s Basilica, millions of wood pilings were driven vertically into the mud (by hand!) to form a solid foundation—an engineering marvel when you consider how long ago it was done.

Hence there are only two modes of travel in this city: by foot, or by boat. Water buses run on regular schedules around the islands and along the Grand Canal. There are also water taxis for hire (but they’re not cheap). Many residents own a motorboat of some sort, which they tie up in front of their home, or keep in a boathouse underneath the home. And then, of course, there’s the iconic gondolas, which are mostly used now to pole tourists around. Need an ambulance? It’s a speedboat with a siren and flashing lights. Police? Same thing. Garbage is collected and taken away by boat. Your Amazon Prime delivery comes to you via boat, as does all the merchandise that you buy in town. The canals have a speed limit and the cops use radar guns to enforce it. And what’s in the fire station? You guessed it.

Morning "work traffic" on a side canal. Vessel at right foreground is city police.    

Private powerboat on the Grand Canal. 

A 1732 painting by Venetian artist, Canaletti, portrays the Ascension Day Regatta on the Grand Canal, a festive event that is still held today.  

Delivering a refrigerator.

GONDOLA FACTIODS
~ They go back to the beginning of Venice. 
~ Contemporary ones are eleven meters long, 
made of 280 hand-crafted parts using seven different
types of hardwood. 
~ Only three boatyards remain that still build them. 
~ A new one today will set you back $40,000. 
~ They are all painted black per a Great Council 
decree dating back to 1609. Black was considered the 
color of elegance.  
~ There were around 10,000 gondolas in Venice in
the 16th century. Now there are only 350. 
~ The gondolier’s profession is controlled by a guild, 
which issues a limited number of licenses (approx 400), 
granted after rigorous training and apprenticeship, 
and upon passing a comprehensive exam which tests 
knowledge of Venetian history, landmarks, foreign 
languages, and adept skills in handling a gondola. 
~ In 2010, Giorgia Boscolo became the first fully-licensed 
female gondolier. (It took how many centuries?) 
~ A good gondolier today can make $150k a year.

Empire

According to Forrest Gump, “Life is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you’re gonna get." In that respect, wandering the cobbled lanes of Venice was sometimes like a box of chocolates—you never knew where you might end up next. We roamed the San Marco and Castello boroughs one day, from the crush of the Piazza San Marco to the tranquil, off-the-beaten-path nooks in Castello—which is how we stumbled upon the San Lorenzo Church where Marco Polo is buried. Then again, not everything we did was random. Here are three of them…

MUSEO STORICO NAVALE    
In the year 1204, Venice allied with the Franks for the Fourth Crusade with the intent of taking back Jerusalem from the Muslims—only they didn’t quite reach the Holy Land, and sacked the Byzantine Christian capital of Constantinople instead. The Venetians, who had the most formidable navy in the Mediterranean throughout the 13th and 14th centuries, built the entire war fleet for this endeavor in the fortified Arsenal shipyard behind the Naval Historical Museum. The Arsenal was the largest factory complex in Europe before the Industrial Revolution, employing 16,000 Venetians at its peak. Today the 110-acre site is an Italian navy station, closed to the public except for the buildings that house the museum. Plenty of maritime exhibits to be seen here, from scale models of medieval war galleys to full-size restorations of various boats.   

Entrance to the Arsenal. 

Bragozzo fishing boat: a Venetian shallow-draft design that goes back 600 years. 

The winged lion of Saint Mark at the bow of the Royal
Barge used by King Emmanuel II in 1866 when Venice
joined the Kingdom of Italy. 

   

Guilded engravings on the Royal Barge.

SAN MARCO BASILICA

In the 9th century, two Venetian merchants in Egypt absconded with the mummified remains of Mark the Evangelist and spirited him away to Venice, where he was to be entombed under a grand cathedral that had yet to be built. Saint Mark’s Basilica was completed in 1094, though additions and enhancements would continue for centuries. The opulent Byzantine domes and spires are a sight to behold. Inside, the entire ceiling of the vaulted nave is adorned with detailed mosaics on a background of gold tiles. One can also venture down to the crypts and behold Saint Mark’s tomb. It rests directly below the main church alter on the floor above. Impressive.    

The saga of the Horses of Saint Mark is a lengthy one. There are four total, cast from copper in the 2nd or 3rd century, probably in Rome. But by the 5th century, they had found a new home at the Hippodrome in Constantinople, where they would grace the race track there for 800 years—until the city was sacked during the 4th Crusade and the Venetians snatched the horses for booty. They were shipped to Venice and placed here over the entrance to the Basilica. This would be their new home for over 500 years—until Napoleon Bonaparte conquered Venice and stole the horses away to Paris in 1797. It was a short stay, though. (Remember Waterloo?) Eighteen years later, they were returned to their places on the Basilica. And that’s not the end of the story! These horses are not the originals, but copper replicas that were swapped out in the 1980s. The real ones were moved inside to prevent further corrosion from air pollution and pigeon poop.

More war plunder: Ancient Greek and Byzantine columns (over 500!) that were looted from Constantinople embellish the front of the Basilica.    

If it looks like gold, it is.

PALAZZO DUCALE
Sited adjacent to Saint Mark’s Basilica, the Doge’s Palace was the power center of the Venetian Republic. It was not only the Doge’s residence, but also housed the Great Council’s governing chambers and halls. There are sculptures and artwork throughout, created by Venice’s greatest masters: Carpaccio; Vivarini; Giorgione; Bellini; Titian… Our three hours spent with an awesome guide, who showed us both the Palazzo Ducale and San Marco Basilica, was worth every minute.

Interior courtyard of the Doge’s Palace (Saint Mark’s Basilica on the skyline). The initial structure was built in the 1340s with subsequent expansions and modifications added over the years. Its Gothic architecture imparts influences from both the Islamic and Byzantine worlds where Venice conducted much of their business.

Stairway to the Doge's residence.

"Doge Antonio Grimani Kneeling Before the Faith", by Titian, 1576. The painting depicts Grimani’s ducal coronation in 1521, becoming the 76th Doge of the Republic. The great Titian, known to his artistic peers as “The Sun Amidst Small Stars,” died just months before he completed the painting. His apprentices would finalize it. This would be the last work that touched Titian’s hands.     

Taking a break. (Hey, being a tourist is hard work!)

The cavernous Hall of the Great Council, where the
power brokers of the empire gathered. And yep,
that’s all gold on the ceiling. 

The infamous Bridge of Sighs. On the far side of the canal is the Palace. On the near side are the dungeons and garrison. Believe me, you don't want to end up in the dungeons: the accommodations suck. 

The weapons room in the garrison. 

Island of Glass

My wife loves all things glass of the artistic flair. When we were in Ireland three years ago, the Waterford factory was on her hit list of things to see. Happy wife, happy life. Though to be honest, watching a glass-blower create art out of sand was pretty cool—or should I say pretty hot, because a lot of flame and heat goes into the process. And now that we were in Venice, guess what? It’s renowned for making fancy glass things.

One morning we hopped on the water bus that goes out to Murano Island, a small isle about a half mile northeast of Venice. That’s where all the glassmakers are now, ever since the year 1291 when they were banished from Venice for starting too many blazes (it’s that flame and heat thing). Many of the five thousand residents on Murano have some connection to the glass trade. Tidy homes and shops line the streets and canals. I followed Terry through a couple of workshops where glass-blowers were demonstrating their talents. We also browsed through the Museo del Vetro (Museum of Glass) and I don’t know how many glass stores. Ter was in her element. Like I was saying: happy wife, happy life. 

The serene, downtown Murano.

Artisans and craftsmen here held a monopoly on high-quality glass for centuries, refining many technologies for enameled glass (smalti), multicolored glass (millefiori), milk glass (lattimo), and essentially invented aventurine glass. The optical lenses in Galileo’s telescopes also came from Murano. Today, they still employ many of the age-old techniques, crafting everything from chandeliers to brooches.

Lost in a glass shop.

I'm thinking this would look fabulous in our entryway.

A Night at the Opera

My first exposure to opera came at the age of nine. I was watching The Little Rascals on TV where Alfalfa warbled out a madcap rendition of “The Barber of Seville.” And then, of course, there was the rollicking Lone Ranger theme song, another show that I watched every day after school with cookies and milk. Little did I know at the time, but both songs came from operas, and both were composed by Gioachino Rossini almost two hundred years ago. Or take the latest Volvo commercial that lifts an aria from Mozart’s "The Magic Flute." It tells you something about the permanence of the genre. Old, maybe. But everlasting.

Opera may have got its start in Renaissance-era Florence, but Venice is where it evolved into a phenomenon, with six large opera houses in operation by the late 18th century. They were the rock concerts of the day, steeped in pageantry and theater. Neither of us had ever been to one before. So, it only made sense that if in Venice…

I found a concert featuring arias from renowned operas by Puccini, Mozart, Rossini, Verdi… That would get our feet wet. The performance was at the Scuola Grande di San Teodoro, a grandly-refurbished music hall that was built in 1580 to serve as a music academy. The singers were extraordinary, backed by a very adroit twelve-piece orchestra. The soprano’s voice especially resonated through the hall like a miracle. Mesmerizing. In all, it was an engaging night at the opera. In Venezia!

The best restaurants are tucked away on the side canals.

The opening aria from Rosinni's "The Barber of Seville."

A duet from Mozart's "Don Giovanni." 

The ever-popular "Drinking Song" from Verdi's "La Traviata". This was the finale and brought down the house to a standing ovation. 

Late-night gondola ride. Best time to go. 

Walking back to the hotel. 

~~~~~~~

On the morning of Day 4, we checked out of the Hotel Al Gazzettino and hoofed it to the Rialto ferry terminal to catch the water bus out of the city. The sidewalks and plazas were still quiet. Shopkeepers were busy opening their stores, preparing for the crush of tourists that would soon come. As for us, we were returning to the mainland to pick up our rental car and start the next leg of the adventure: The Dolomites… 



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