Ricochet: April 2015

Thursday, April 16, 2015

Venice at Carnivale Time-.....February 2015

You can enlarge any photo by clicking on it.

We rode the train east through the countryside of the Veneto region, from our home base in Verona across the countryside to Venezia, as Venice is known in Italy.

Never mind Treviso...Venice is due south of it.

The train station ends at the shore of the Adriatic Sea, and from there we boarded the Number One Vaporetto (water bus) and took the scenic tour from the station through the more industrial fringe of Venice toward the San Marco district. As the broad waterway curved to the north, the fantastic skyline of Venice revealed itself. Here was the Doge's Palace, a confection of marble gleaming in the hazy February sun ...the Campanile San Marco towering above the famous Piazza San Marco.

Approaching San Marco square...it was breathtaking

The towering Campanile, the Doge's Palace and a vaporetto.

The fabled Basilica of San Marco presides over the Piazza as it has for a thousand years. It was a moving sight. Marco Polo returned from his groundbreaking journey to China to this very city, and saw many of the same buildings we were looking at now.

Basilica of San Marco with the Carnivale crowds.

We disembarked and made our way through the labyrinth of streets and lanes to our apartment at the Hotel Corte Grimaldi, where we were welcomed and shown to our elegant room overlooking a narrow canal, and just a short distance through winding lanes from the Piazza San Marco.

Bridget on the steps of our guesthouise

We quickly settled in and went out to explore the Piazza. It was Sunday and the city was filled with people, mostly Italians, here for the Carnivale festivities preceding Lent.

Venice is amazing, and its Carnivale is uniquely spectacular. Long famous for the beautifully worked, elaborate costumes of mysterious and whimsical character, they are marvelous!. Turn any corner and you are likely to see a tableau vivant of extraordinary beauty and creativity.

A mysterious swordswoman poses near the Bridge of Sighs

The photos speak for themselves...

The second day we visited the Basilica of San Marco in the morning. It's splendid golden mosaics gleamed in the morning sun.

The regal bronze horses, brought from Constantinople.

The golden mosaic from the middle ages.

Inside, the soot from a thousand years of candlelight had dimmed the creamy marble and golden finishes, but it only enhanced the feeling of antiquity and grandeur.

The entire floor inside the sprawling Basilica is a marble mosaic.

I visited the Treasury, where bejeweled golden treasures of the Doge were on display.

There was also a macabre collection of saints' relics......

Arm bones of the saints are inside these silver reliquaries.

Teeth, ribs, hair, femurs of the saints...and it gets worse...

The actual mummified hand of a "saint"! (A child-sized saint... Ew....)

It was a brisk sunny day, and the wind was sharp. We walked down the sunny side of the canal to a large park, then returned to the San Marco district via a more sheltered way, enjoying the scenic views, the renaissance architecture, and the surprising appearance of costumed Carnivale figures. Marvelous!

Our trip to Venice was a quick sight-seeing tour. The sights were so memorable and unique, from the exquisite Fortuny fabrics, burn-out silk velvet and graceful silk lampshades...the artful Murano glass, seen everywhere in graceful chandeliers, fountains, and of course jewelry and figurines

Hand embroidered Carnivale costumes...get some for the kids!

Fortuny silks..

Handmade masks

...and fantastic Carnivale masks made of papier mache in sensous and sometimes disturbing characters (such as the Plague Doctor, the haunting long-nosed, bespectacled mask which medieval doctors wore, stuffed with medicinal herbs, in vane attempt to ward off the Black Death.)

The Plague Doctor...Medico della Peste

It is a majestic, magical and timeless city....La Serenissima.

More pictures follow:

A lute player in the plaza by a church

Harry's Bar, historic home of the 18 Euro Bellini cocktail!

The Rialto bridge, crossing the Grand Canal

The Grand Canal

Gondolier chillin'...

Every alley should have a baby face ...

Ciao, amici!

Articles by Di Published in Blue Water Sailing Magazine

Song of the Open Road, by Walt Whitman

Afoot and light hearted, I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good fortune--I myself am good fortune;

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,

Strong and content, I travel the open road...

...From this hour, freedom!

From this hour I ordain myself loos'd limits and imaginary lines,

Going where I list, my own master, total and absolute,

Listening to others and considering what they say,

Pausing, searching, contemplating,

Gently but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me....

...I inhale great draughts of space;

The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.

I am larger, better than I thought;

I did not know I held so much goodness,

All seems beautiful to me;

I can repeat over to men and women, You have done such good to me,

I would do the same to you.

I will recruit for myself and you as I go;

I will scatter myself among men and women as I go;

I will toss the new gladness and roughness among them;

Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me;

Whoever accepts me, he or she shall be blessed, and shall bless me.

Ithaka

ITHAKA

When you set out for Ithaka,
ask that your way be long,
full of adventure, full of instruction.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - do not fear them:
such as these you will never find
as long as your thought is lofty, as long as a rare
emotion touch your spirit and your body.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - you will not meet them
unless you carry them in your soul,
unless your soul raise them up before you.

Ask that your way be long.
At many a Summer dawn to enter
with what gratitude, what joy -
ports seen for the first time;
to stop at Phoenician trading centres,
and to buy good merchandise,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensuous perfumes of every kind,
sensuous perfumes as lavishly as you can;
to visit many Egyptian cities,
to gather stores of knowledge from the learned.

Have Ithaka always in your mind.
Your arrival there is what you are destined for.
But don't in the least hurry the journey.
Better it last for years,
so that when you reach the island you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to give you wealth.
Ithaka gave you a splendid journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She hasn't anything else to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka hasn't deceived you.
So wise you have become, of such experience,
that already you'll have understood what these Ithakas mean.

Constantine P. Cavafy

Sea Fever

BY JOHN MASEFIELD

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking,

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

Cargoes

Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amythysts,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.

Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.

By John Masefield