Walking on Water

Venice is an assault on the senses, but in the best possible way.  Yes, yes, tourists crowd the streets and piazzas as ants cover a pool of honey.  And, yes, there are more eateries and shops per square inch than anywhere else in the civilized world.  But, if your mindset is right, and you've had just the right balance of wine and gelato, you can look past the mobs and merchandise and see the beauty and uniqueness of that Gothic and Byzantine architecture that has moved millions for centuries. 

It is often written that Venice was created out of fear that the crumbling of the Roman Empire would leave the mainlanders easy prey to those nasty Huns and Visigoths. Establishing an offshore, less approachable, community would be a good idea, or so they said. What the history books too seldom recount, however, is that there was another scheme afoot, one more subtle and devious in its design. In fact, Venice was created to instill a sense of humility in what was apparently way too many narcissistic and arrogant navigators of the time. Oh sure, these fellows could navigate the Mediterranean with ease; they could do that blindfolded. But, just let them try to navigate on foot from the Piazza San Marco to the Campo della Madonna dell' Orte. Very humbling. Just when you think you've nailed the perfect route, there's a canal keeping you from getting from here to there and, as GPS devices around the world will tell you, you need to constantly “recalculate.” There are no straight lines of passage in this bewildering city. One must be nimble and flexible in one's approach if one is to avoid a healthy dose of exasperation. Specifically, the phrase, “as the crow flies,” really has very little meaning in this water-filled kingdom.



And so the legacy remains. Today, Venice is a city that among its many wonderful qualities is home to the tourist, head arching upward, eyes dazed, camera lens cap dangling, map unfolded, with an expression of puzzlement and slack jawed resignation wondering, “where the hell are we?” We see all too many shopkeepers being asked for the 14,000th time that same question by these lost souls seeking no more than another Murano glass shop or perhaps the comforts of their hotel rooms. You can tell the shopkeepers immediately; they're the ones wearing the world weary, bored expressions seemingly on the verge of screaming something they might later regret. It is a tableau that M.C. Escher could only dream about. It is all because the city was designed by charter members of the Satanic School of Navigation.



But, I digress. Venice is sinking, we are told. In fact, one recent study concluded that it is sinking five times faster than previously thought. In certain parts of the city, depending on the tides, water overflows walkways and, in some areas, slightly raised wooden walkways have been created to keep everyone’s tootsies dry. In autumn and winter, even the Piazza San Marco -- the geographic heart and soul of this city -- is underwater at high tide. To complicate matters, Venice is moving slowly eastward toward the open spaces of the Adriatic in what perhaps may be its own feeble attempt to escape the millions of tourists that possess it daily. When these overflows occur to the ancient walkways of this city, you can reasonably argue you are walking on water, or something akin to that. 

 

And, so, you ask, if the water poses the problem, then make it your friend, right? Inspired by Lily’s sister, Ann, we decided to see Venice by kayak. After all, who needs vaporettos or gondoliers? Ann, at least, had credentials for this adventure. The rest of us? Not so much. It was not the city’s canals that gave some of us pause; rather, it was (or, at least in our minds it was) the seemingly vast expanse of water we had to cross to get from Certosa, an island across the lagoon from Venice, and also home of Venice Kayak, to the city proper. And, the knowledge that our adventure would have us paddling for three hours. Timing our sprints to dodge the constant onslaught of the high powered vaporettos, we made it to the city, and breathed deeply. From here, the magic began. Wending our way up the residential, non-touristed, areas where the locals live, you could almost hear a pin drop. The only sounds we heard were those of giggling school children and occasionally the sounds of workers unloading goods from their boats. The canal water was not just calm, it was perfectly still allowing clear reflections of the ancient buildings lining the route. Our guide, Loretta, would approach each “intersection” and yell out our approach to potential unseen traffic around the corner lest we be steamrolled. We passed under bridges, some so low I had to duck my head to avoid scraping my nose against the bridge’s underside.



As we proceeded through more touristed areas, people looking down on us from the bridges and walkways would gaze at us with amusement in their eyes, or delight, and some with looks of bewilderment as if to say, “you’re doing what?” Often we would be met with a chorus of “ciaos” from those ashore. Apparently, this is still somewhat a novelty here. No folks, it’s not a gondola, it’s not a vaporetto, it’s a kayak! And, so it went as we made our way down the Grand Canal, under the Rialto Bridge and down toward Piazza San Marco. We even had to hold up to let a monstrous cruise ship, at least ten decks high and the size of Wyoming, pass by us before we could begin our trip back to base. Did we bump into walls and other boats along the way? Sure. Was it not until we were through at least a third of our journey that I was advised I was using my paddle backwards? Yes. Did my back ache and my hands get scraped by a totally unorthodox paddling style? Sadly, yes, this is true.



But, we were walking on water and it felt wonderful.