Our 5th anniversary - in Venice

September 11 - 16, 2003


Friday, September 12
Our fifth anniversary

"Though there are some disagreeable things in Venice there is nothing so disagreeable as the visitors."

Henry James- Italian Hours


A gentle wake up. Our bedroom is quiet (in large part because Venice has no cars). It was only the bright sunlight prising its way through the cracks in between the shutters that awakened us. But then we were aflutter - we want to be out of the door at 10 am, and we didn't wake up till 9!

Thankfully, we did have time for a coffee that was exquisite. The coffee maker is a tiny little contraption - a kind of mini-percolator that you place directly on the stove flame. The bottom half is a very sturdy stainless steel reservoir for the water. There's room for a little cup/sieve that you fill with coffee, and then you screw on the top bit. As the water boils, it bubbles through the coffee and up the tube into the upper holding area. The result? Really good Italian coffee - mmmm! Unfortunately, the process yields only two scrimpy cups.

OK - even though his favourite actress (Jayne Mansfield - he says he "really admires her dramatic technique") is looking sexy on the Italian-dubbed gladiator movie, TB is now tapping his foot, urging me out to our special celebratory lunch in Torcello.



Now we are on a mission: to find a water taxi to get us there. It was ridiculously easy in the end, of course, but not knowing exactly how to do it, or whether we'd succeed, made it stressful. We hoofed it up the Zattere to the Accademia, and then toward San Marco - TB is sure that there's a taxi stand there. I was a bit sceptical (how would he know, after all?) and he was secretly hoping we could 'hail' one on the canal, which didn't really seem practical. Along the way to San Marco we stopped at two hotels from my 'Disney Memories' (Europa and Bauer-Grünwald) to see if we could commandeer one, but we didn't follow the proper procedure. The uniformed doorman at the taxi stand watched like a hawk to make sure the taxi driver didn't give us the time of day - he wouldn't have gotten another job from that hotel. So we continue to San Marco, me perspiring in my silk 5th anniversary finery, hustling to, through and finally past the piazza San Marco, looking for the elusive taxi stand that Scott was sure was there. I was grumbling - I may have even said a naughty word or two - and then there was the taxi stand. The dispatcher said €90 to Torcello, and we said fine (after all, this was the 'luxury budget' day!). The dispatcher repeated 'nine-zero' to make sure we understood. And then we were off.

Luxuriating on the water taxi


Let me tell you about the Venetian water taxis.

If you're in a group of 10, it's actually cheaper to take a taxi to/from the airport, since the bus is €10 each and the taxi a 'mere' €90. But that ain't cheap for just two. However, getting to Torcello (about the same distance as Marco Polo) is a bit problematic for us - there's one water bus that departs Venice proper once an hour, but it leaves from a point on the exact opposite end of the island from us. Of course, we could have gone that way, but we frankly wanted to treat ourselves and we knew that the taxi would be great fun - when we came in from the airport, many many taxis zoomed past us, and the people riding in them looked like they were having a great time literally leaving us in their wake.

Oh, and the older taxis are beautiful boats - all wood and polished to a perpetual high sheen. The newer ones aren't nearly as lovely - but we were fortunate to get the classic wooden variety.

So now we've boarded, and we're underway and looking forward to getting out of the low-speed area into the 'Freeway' where the (theoretical) speed limit changes from 5 kph to 20 kph.

I hate perspiring. So I stand up in the back and hold on, and the refreshing lagoon breeze dries all traces of sweat beads. Not great for the hairdo, but who cares? We speed past the nearer out-island of Murano (where I was ripped off by the Seguso Glass Factory six years ago), and finally slow when we pass through a canal just this side of Burano. We'll visit beautiful Burano later.


Looking back towards San Marco,
on the way to Torcello

Ruin in the lagoon, approaching Burano

Campanile at Mazzorbo, just by Burano

Canal at Mazzorbo


We pass Burano and turn off onto another side canal toward Torcello. Now we really are 'out in the country'. Our cabbie drops us off at Ponte Diavola - The Devil's Bridge - and swiftly departs. We're on the canalside path, and he points us in what we hope is the direction of the Locanda Cipriani. It is.

At Torcello - Locanda Cipriani is the green awning

Tower and Church, Torcello


Torcello has an interesting history. It was the first of the islands in the lagoon to be settled, back in the 5th century. By the 1100's it was a thriving city, with a population of possibly 20,000. But it was ravaged by malaria, and later the canals around it began to silt up, preventing commerce, so the population gradually moved to Venice proper. Now only about 80 people live there, tending to the tourists that come to visit the two churches, the tiny museum and of course Locando Cipriani.

The ancient church of Santa Maria Assunta (restored in 1008!), is wonderful to see, and the campanile leans gracefully. We skirt an aquatic archeological dig, admire the faded frescoes on the church wall, and sit on 'Attila's Throne' - a stone seat that probably has nothing to do with Attila, but more likely a literal 'seat of justice' in long-ago Torcello. Legend has it that anyone who sits on it will get married within a year. Well, we already are!


Wall fresco, Santa Maria Assunta

Trying out Attila's Throne

Santa Maria Assunta

Writing break on an ancient bench


Locanda Cipriani is unassuming from the outside. Actually, it's very trendy just now for Venetian places to call themselves 'Locanda something-or-other' - 'Locanda' means 'a simple inn', so of course places bearing this name are always expensive. Anyway, Locanda Cipriani presents a simple facade as seen from its own water taxi stand, across from the vendor's stalls. 'Lookie, lookie' the vendors call from their stands, trying to sell lace parasols and cheap tablecloths - typical tourist tat.


The unassuming facade


We walk in through the tiled front room, past the fireplace then left to the tiny bar set at right angles to the room, where we are listed in the reservation book at the unfashionably early time of 12:30. We are not part of the gauche cruise ship party - some dressed in baseball caps and shorts - nor are we with the refined, elegantly dressed wedding party of about 20. It's just us. And they've given us the best table in the house.

We sit outside, under the lanai, overlooking a wonderful garden. There's a grove of almost-ripe pomegranates, and healthy lavender - already pruned for the winter, but still growing rebellious stalks in the late summer sun. There are roses and star jasmine as well, and the old, old Byzantine church rises behind in the golden air. This is exactly what we'd dreamed of.


The sublime view from our gardenside table

The not-so-sublime cruise ship party


Everything is bathed in gold - we have bees, and we have bellinis. The bellinis are not merely 'good', they are absolutely glorious. They taste expensive.

We have a gracious Italian waiter - not more than 40ish but with prematurely grey hair, perhaps from dealing with too many cruise ship parties. I surprise and embarrass myself by asking for a menu in English. "No, we don't get much call for that but I am happy to translate for you." Yes, I am an American tourist.

But I am immediately forgiven by the wine I order. It's not the most expensive - far from it - but the waiter shows pleasant surprise and remarks that it is a really good choice (and it was!). We order a bottle to go with our antipasti and prima courses.

For antipasti we've got two salads that we share - the waiter suggests that the kitchen puts a portion of each onto both plates. The first is a scampi with black bean, and I figure I can push the beans aside to enjoy just the seafood. But wait - the combination is magic. Not only is the consistency of the shrimp and bean most pleasant, the taste combo is wonderful, and even the beans on their own are superb. An odd combination, perhaps, but it worked!

The other salad is made of perfect lobster bits. Perfect morsels - with three thin slices of what I assumed was red pepper. I put them aside. TB mumbled something about tomatoes - then he said "they're a 9.5 [on his famous tomato scale]", so I passed the slivers to his plate. "You really should try some". So I do. It's heaven "This is what a tomato should taste like". I don't try to take my slivers back from his plate, but I think about it.

The starters, the wine, the setting and of course each other make everything good. Happy. Sublime. And it does not get worse.

There is however one little blotch on the day. The maitre d' approaches the table behind us and whispers a question. The answer is no. He moves to our table - "Mr. Burgess?" Uh oh. "A telephone call for you, madame". Oh shit. The only person who knows where we are right now is my boss. The mobile is brought to our table.

"Hello?"
"JoEllen?"
"Yes?"
"So sorry to bother you. I trust you're having a good time." [not right this moment]
"What's wrong?"
"You sent us a document that's password protected and we can't get open it."
"Try Phil."
"Oh, no, that doesn't work. Oh, but now it lets us access it 'read-only'. Great. Good. Enjoy yourself."
Hmmm ... now maybe I should expense lunch since I had to work!

That over, we move on to the next course: TB has a funghi soup, and boy was it pure. No 'cream of' here. Just pure mushroom and pure essence of mushroom. As for me, well, my boss had suggested I try the risotto. So I had the risotto scampi funghi. Perfect. It brought back my first memory of risotto - at Joanne and Bill MacNabb's house in Sacramento. She was my client, and they had returned to California after spending two years in France, much of it on a canal boat, the other bit in Provence. They both knew how to cook, and Joanne knew risotto. Her's was perfect, and this is just as good.

The wine clearly comes in a magical bottle, just for us this magical day, because it didn't seem to be emptying at all. After we finished our first course it was hardly touched, and after our 'primi' it still wasn't even half done. Most uncharacteristic - it must be magic!

Our main course arrived in a leisurely fashion (as is appropriate) - beef and mushroom for TB, veal marsala for me. Neither was as good as the first two courses, but we still had perfect weather, perfect wine, a perfect view and perfect us.

The final course was cheese and porto for TB and a Bavaroise with vanilla sauce for me, along with a glass of dessert wine.

Of course, there were once again the interesting people and groups around us. I was watching the German couple behind Scott, and an eccentric trio behind them, a paparazzo and his entourage of two - the male grunt and the female bohemian who nevertheless loved her food. You couldn't tell by her gorgeous figure, but she could - and did - fork in whole slices of tomato and Mozzerella di Buffola in one go. Three times in a row - with a lace, fingerless glove on the left hand (which she for some reason took off just before the end of her meal).

The paparazzo himself was eccentrically built. He was short (about TB's height) but had a big belly and an even bigger ass. Jeans clinched tighly under the former and over the latter, bound with a too-tight belt. He did have longish black hair - but his forehead was unencumbered by it - it didn't start until the mathematical top centre of his head.

There was the wedding party in the garden, and the cruisers continued their loud braying behind us on the terrace. Next to them was a mafia threesome - the frighteningly well-groomed one (the boss), with his glasses on a cord around his neck, and his two henchmen with expensive suits and sunglasses on, although they're sitting in the shade. "Don't look - they'll kill you!"

After enjoying my dessert, I finally succumbed to the call of 'washing my hands'. On the way back, I discreetly asked the lovely lady in charge "Can I get a taxi?" "Yes, where?" "To the Accademia." I whisper "How much?" "I just happen to have a taxi driver here - let me check." So she pops into the other room, and comes back with the perfect model of a short, black haired Neopolitan water taxi driver who says "€80" "Yes please. 10 minutes."

I return to the table, my mission accomplished. Scott has asked for the bill - €218. We can't complain after such a heavenly experience.

Now let me tell you about the ride home.


Boarding the taxi for the ride home.




Friday, September 12 - our fifth anniversary! - After Lunch