I was feeling a little sorry for myself when I left Florence. The rolling hills of Tuscany, the incredible store of arts and culture and the just the feeling of the place were hard to say goodbye to.
Just as time moved on, however, so would I. I had glimpsed the ancient past in Rome, saw traces its passage into the Dark Ages and beyond in Sorrento, and then the sunset of the Medieval and dawn of the Renaissance in Tuscany. In Venice, and Milan, I would travel to the late Renaissance, the Modern Era, and from there… return to the present.
In case you missed it, here are my romps in Rome, adventures in the Amalfi and travels in Tuscany.
The Serene Republic
Like most Singaporeans, I had studied Venice and parts of its history in school. Similar to Venice in its heyday, Singapore is a maritime republic surrounded by much larger powers. Our country, too carved out a niche for itself and has a voice much larger than what its size would suggest.
There are words of forboding in those textbooks; the Venetian Republic eventually decayed, and was ultimately made subject to France, then Austria-Hungary, before uniting with the rest of the former city states to form a unified Italy.
While factually true, I have since come to realise that those textbooks were only telling part of the story. The Singapore experience is practical and grounded in reality, but Venice is the City of Dreams.
It is true that the Venice of today is not the La Serenissima– the Serene Republic- of yesteryear. Its modern power is in its beauty and heritage, not power and influence. Instead of producing war galleys from its Arsenal, it now makes memories. I think it still deserves its famous moniker, but not solely because it was untouched by war for generations.
In every other city I had visited, there was a constant murmur in the background. People chatting, laughing, haggling and arguing, sometimes in what I was told was colourful language. Cars screeching on the highway, horns blaring, music playing. The din of humanity is aptly named, so omnipresent that it’s easy to forget that it’s there.
Often, however, there was a foggy silence that blanketed Venice.
Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t eerie, oppressive silence. Starting from noon or thereabouts, there is clamour and commotion enough from St Mark’s Square to fill the ears to bursting. Along the main path from train station to attractions, there is a steady stream of people, and they certainly weren’t quiet. Selfie-taking visitors choking up the paths are a common sight. Venice’s reputation as a tourist magnet is entirely deserved.
In the city’s many side paths, however, you could hear a pin drop even during the day. After dark, I could often hear my heart beat. There weren’t insects buzzing, toads croaking, bats squeaking. There wasn’t the murmur of waves lapping on a beach. Most of all, there wasn’t anyone around, no footsteps, no whisper, no odd car passing by.
It’s quiet. Some might even call it serene.
The reason was simple, as it turned out. Most people who are in Venice in the day, don’t live there at night. The property prices are too high, the jobs too few. The young moved out, the old passed away and left the houses vacant. Tourists leave after sundown like reverse-vampires. Venice is more destination than home.
Not all who wander are lost
Venice is a city of countless alleys and little nooks, a maze of pathways sometimes leading to nowhere- or straight into a canal, if you’re not paying attention. A city built in the middle of a lagoon didn’t always have the luxury of clean gridlines, and there seemed to be a lot more attention to the waterways rather than the footpaths.
Unsurprisingly, people on foot tend to keep on the main path winding through the city, and even then, they can’t walk in a straight line for long. It is easy to wander off it. I got lost a lot, and it was disconcerting at first.
I was of course, missing the point.
Off the city’s main path, I was often alone with my thoughts. It reminded me of the passages in Siena, but while those were exciting adventures, the passages in Venice were strolls into the past. After my third or so little jaunt into nowhere, I realised it was more enjoyable to me than following the well-worn path. The whole point of being in Venice is to get lost in Venice.
How does one find the time to appreciate the most beautiful city in the world if one is simply rushing from place to place? Venice is one of the most elegant, almost exquisite cities I have ever seen. It would be a shame to completely miss it.
Its squat, square buildings are often richly coloured; they’re dressed in reds, golds and oranges- the colours of the Venetian Republic’s flag. Their exposed bricks, many of them cases of the exterior plaster peeling off, do not mar the city’s beauty, but enhance it, gave it its own character. The city’s palazzos number over two hundred, many of them as grand today as they were at their height, though perhaps lined with age. As the Venetians say, “Sempre crolla, ma non cade”; it is always crumbling, but it never falls.
Look closely and one finds the legacy of many ages and places in Venice’s buildings. One can see the inflected Byzantine arches in the windows, romanesque columns of the palazzos, the towering baroque churches, the renaissance St Mark’s Campanile (compare to Siena’s Torre del Mangia), and its own Venetian Gothic style- a unique blend of Byzantine, Islamic and Western Gothic styles.
Off the main road, I would often be only one on the street, and I would soak in the sights. It’s a lonely, almost melancholic kind of beauty, but to me this is the true atmosphere of everyday Venice. Its air of quiet dignity was vastly more appealing to me than the hives of tourist activity.
Here is a floating city that has stood proud for a millennium. Its very bones have stories to tell, if one takes the time to listen.
Wending through the waterways
Venice is a meld of contradictions in many ways. While a grand, palatial destination today, its original purpose was a bastion. While they became justly proud of its accomplishments, the inhabitants of Venice were originally refugees fleeing the Lombards and the Huns.
For safety’s sake, the early Venetians chose to build a home on 118 islands in a swamp that we know today as the Venetian Lagoon. On land, they were easy targets, but surrounded by water, their homes were virtually impregnable.
A city of floating palaces rose out of a muck-ridden swamp.
While it looks like a big city, Venice is really 118 tiny townships interlocked like a jigsaw, and that’s why it has canals in place of roads. Over time, this practical limitation has become part of its charm. I often hear how this place or that is the “Venice of East”, or “Venice of North Europe”. It might not be imitation, but it’s definitely the best type of flattery.
How could one travel to Venice without venturing into its waterways? Millions of litres of ink have been spilled about its romantic boat rides and its status as the honeymoon destination of choice. After all, if it was good enough for Casanova, it should be good enough for the rest of us.
The cheapest and most efficient way to traverse the canals are the Vaporetto, barges that sails Venice’s main conduit, the Grand Canal. Speedboats also frequently zip around the lagoon. Swimming, of course, is completely out of the question.
For the best experience, however, one has to turn to the Gondola.
There is nothing modern about the gondola; the original flat bottomed boat was invented in the eleventh century, changed to its present asymmetrical shape in the 1800s, and has remained the same since. Maybe that’s its appeal.
The gondolas are rowed by trained, certified gondolieri, who wear their trademark striped shirts even to this day. It’s an old tradition that isn’t for amateurs; it requires a license from a guild and has its own dialect!
Despite the stringency of membership, there are a surprising number of gondolieri navigating the canals of Venice, and some of the enterprising ones don’t merely row- they sing. The truly exceptional ones can even belt out excellent renditions of O sole mio (a Neapolitean song, to be sure). The services of a gondoliere costs a pretty penny, but the truly wealthy tourists will even hire tenors along for the ride.
Myself, I prefer a quiet ride, perhaps with some narration on what I’m seeing. For me, the experience of cutting through the water on the sleek gondolas and taking in the sights and spectacles doesn’t require embellishment.
The Merchants of Venice
Venice, with its natural moat protecting it, eventually rose from its beginnings as a refuge to become a powerful force in the Mediterranean. At its height, it controlled parts of modern Croatia, Veneto and Dalmatia, and stretched all the way to Cyprus and parts of Greece, including Athens and Crete. In its golden age, its power eclipsed the power of its progenitors- who were- surprise, surprise- the Byzantine Romans.
Fun fact: the Venetians were powerful enough, and the Byzantines weak enough, that the Venetians managed to sack Constantinople with the aid of the crusaders. Some of the plunder is still on display!
A great part of Venetian power was contributed by its powerful merchants and emissaries, who made the city rich even as they themselves prospered. The most famous of these merchants was no less than Marco Polo himself!
Venetian control of important trade routes to Asia, the Middle East and Africa gave rise to enormous profits, and with coin came a formidable navy, which kept the coin flowing. Even during the Crusades, Venetian merchants continued trading with both the Arabs and Europeans, and got fabulously wealthy in the process.
Today, however, the merchants that most people will associate with Venice are those on St Mark’s Square, the most popular of the city’s public spaces. Small wonder, since that square has the Doge’s Palace, St Mark’s Basilica and St Mark’s Campanile all in one convenient place. The enterprising Venetians filled the sides of the square with restaurants and cafes. These merchants have done so well that their establishments are now tourist attractions in their own right!
I visited Caffè Florian, which has sat in the same space on St Mark’s since 1720. It now holds the record for oldest coffee house in the world, and longest running coffee house. It’s certainly beautifully furnished in the rich Venetian style.
Well, I ordered the Aperol Spritz and a small dish of pastries. Total cost? 30 euros or so. Certainly not cheap, but at least they tasted fine. I guess I was really paying for the ambience, anyway.
Not long after, I ended up paying for fame too. Harry’s Bar is famous for its Bellinis, having actually invented them. At 21 Euros a pop, I think it’s definitely on the higher end of the scale. It wasn’t a horrible Bellini by any means; the peaches were definitely fresh, the prosecco of reasonable quality, and the overall composition pleasing.
I believe that’s what it means to damn with faint praise. Go there for the experience of sitting in a famous bar, not for the best tipples in Italy, and you’ll be fine.
Meals and lodging in Venice proper weren’t cheap, either. The property prices are still fairly expensive and I expected no less.
It’s probably no surprise that one of the richest states in history has an eye for traditional luxury, and plush velvets, gold trim, and dark wooden panelling is part of the look. You have to expect to pay for those, which is why many people stay outside the city and travel in every day if necessary.
Was the food and wine good, at least?
Well, it wasn’t awful. The traditional cuisine of Venice includes a lot of shellfish and molluscs like squid and octopus. Popular, too, are sardines and other bounties of the Adriatic Sea. The clams in my pasta were pretty delicious; juicy and bouncy in texture. I can’t speak for the sardines, which I don’t like and didn’t order.
Venice is also famous for its greatest festival. It wasn’t the time of Carnivale when I was in Venice, but I love the concept of the masquerade- quite literally, masked balls paired with old-fashioned costumes.
The Venetian masks are so popular popular that you can probably get a factory-made one for cheap wherever you live. In Venice proper, many of the masks are still handcrafted. The traditional materials are still used; paper mache, paint, fabric and occasionally, beads.
It’s painstaking effort, but the products are mesmerising.
A Sight and a Sigh
My last real stop in Venice, and one I found very interesting, as a Singaporean, was the Palazzo Ducale– Doge’s Palace. Some of the more internet-immersed among you might be snickering, but the Doge is not a cartoon Shiba Inu, but the elected leader of the Venetian Republic- the Duke of Venice.
An elected duke- it sounds like farce, but that is not so. The doges of Venice led the republic for a thousand and a hundred years, many of them very successfully. The key is the term republic. There was no hereditary succession. Each doge was chosen by a council of dozens of Venetians, and the process was labyrinthine and extremely rigorous. While in office, the doge would be under constant checks, and after his death, his estate could be fined if he had part in any malfeasance. Oh, and the pay was unspeakably poor.
In short, the position was a civic duty, not a road to riches. There’s something refreshingly modern about it, and the concept isn’t lost on us here on my own island home.
If there was any doubt in the wealth and power of Venice, those feelings dissipate quickly in the Doge’s Palace. It’s not secreted far inland, in the geographical center of the city. It’s right next to the open sea. There are no towering walls or giant turrets to ward off invaders. It is a statement of its confidence- a dare to enemies of the Republic.
The winged lion of Venice, the symbol of St. Mark, comes in two version; one holding a sword, and the other a bible. War, and peace respectively. In the palace, the lion holds the bible, and wields its power more subtly.
If there’s a room of government that’s more lavishly decorated than the Sala del Maggior Consiglio– Chamber of the Great Council, I do not know it. 53 meters long and 25 meters wide, every available wall covered in gilded wood and sumptuously painted by the greatest artists of the Renaissance; Titian, Bellini, Pisanello among them. The paintings are not of Roman gods or scenes from the Bible, but scenes from Venice’s millennium of history.
What an expression of power and wealth that whole place is. Paradoxically, the doge’s own throne is comparatively modest.
While grander than the other chairs, the throne isn’t raised far above the seats of the council. When full two thousand members of the council congregated in the room, the doge didn’t look down upon them. The greatest glory was reserved for Venice, not for its leader.
When the winged lion brandished its sword, the city could be quite cruel to its enemies, whether they came from within or without. Prisoners who had taken up residence in the palace dungeons could be subject to a lightless hell, but what was worse was the walk there.
Since the cells were across a canal from the palace, the prisoners were escorted across a bridge, where they would be given one last look at the City of Dreams before being left to rot in their cells.
Cruel, isn’t it? That bridge is called the Bridge of Sighs, for the last thing that the prisoners did when walking across it was look upon the beautiful city and sigh in regret.
Well, I was no prisoner, but that bridge was the last of the big attractions I saw in Venice before leaving the very next morning, so I suppose that it’s thematically appropriate.
Sigh.
Almost home
By now, a familiar routine had been established, and my now-bulging suitcase and I presented ourselves at the train platform bright and early. I would once again be skipping across Italy to another city. This would be the last time, however; two days in Milan and then I would not be boarding a train, but an A380.
Milan is a cosmopolitan, developed city. The north of Italy is much more industrialised and commercialised than the south, and that seemed to be true from anecdotal experience. For the weeks of my travels, I trod on paved cobblestones, gravel or even marble. I saw ancient monuments and thousand year old buildings.
Milan was not like that at all.
Mostly, Milan is modern, developed, and quite similar to many other Western European cities. For the first time in weeks, I saw glass-paned skyscrapers, broad city avenues and a whole wealth of billboards. For the first time, the city didn’t feel walkable, and I would resort to (the horror) public transportation. Heck, there’s even a shopping center- Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II- Italy’s first and oldest.
That is not to suggest that Milan is lacking in culture, or that the rest of Italy is backward. Milan is, in fact, old enough that the Romans called it Mediolanum.
It’s just that, to me, Milan felt more like home than any other place on my travels so far. Maybe a little too much.
That said, Milan still possesses some of the architectural beauty that characterises many of the cities in Italy, even if they’re not its most common feature. The most famous of its landmarks, of course, is the Milan Cathedral.
The Milanese duomo took almost six centuries to finally complete, and the final details were only added in 1965. I was surprised to learn that its appearance was controversial. Its long construction meant that several styles were blended, and it could be called…broadly Gothic. Critics also took exception to the incredible amounts of detail layered on it, calling it overelaborate, overwrought.
It doesn’t look overdone to me; it’s almost ethereal.
A hundred and thirty five slender alabaster fingers reaching out to touch the heavens. Ivory arches climb gracefully skyward. Three thousand statues so lifelike it seems that life was captured in marble. Milan’s duomo might have taken a while to complete, but perhaps the wait was worth it.
Milan’s also famous for the shopping, and I decided to give in and loosen the purse strings. Me being me, I indulged in two things.
The first was, naturally, booze.
I didn’t do that much wine shopping in the other cities, being quite reluctant to haul a bag full of bottles everywhere. Milan was where I let fly, and I wasn’t disappointed.
Milan, being the commercial and industrial heart of Modern Italy, with lots of people who love (and need) wine, it wasn’t hard for me to find wine on both the low and higher ends of the price spectrum. It was similarly easy to find wine from nearby Piedmont, and even those from as far away as Tuscany, Rome, Sicily and Sardinia. Many of them were excellent. My suitcase can attest to that.
The second indulgence was fashion. Milan is also the fashion capital of Italy, and menswear is extremely well represented. Back home, sadly, this is not so. While I didn’t go around take pictures of men on the street, I believe the definition of Milanese man contains the term “well dressed”. In typical Italian style, they embody sprezzatura, loosely translated as nonchalance of their attire. That couldn’t be further from the truth, but they’re very good at making attention to detail look very casual.
I am something of a clothes-horse myself and I love jackets made from Italian fabrics. It’s stylish, of high quality, and very importantly, usually come in a light weight that make for comfortable wearing in the tropics.
Milan has been in the fashion game for so long that there are small shops selling bolts of vintage cloth all over the city, and I spent close to a day or two rifling through mountains of old wool. I finally found some gems at Il Vecchio Drappiere; some truly striking pieces in a bold Italian style. If you ever see me, go ahead and ask- I might be wearing them.
Food, and definitely drink
Milanese cuisine is quite different from what most of us back home associate with Italian food. This far north in Italy, one often finds a French, Austrian or German influence in the food, and Milan’s signature dishes definitely contain elements of the above.
Its most famous dish is the cotoletta alla milanese, a wiener schnitzel-like pork cutlet, which incidentally, I did not have. I opted for veal with a butter-cream sauce, also typical for Milanese cuisine.
To close off the trip, I also had one of the classics of Italian haute-cuisine that I had saved up for for a long time. If you’ve followed me this far, you know what it is.
Truffles are the diamonds of Italian cuisine, sought by gourmands the world over. They’re not found solely in Italy, but those from Italy- the black summer truffles found in Tuscany, Marche, Piedmont, and Umbria, and the white winter truffles of Alba, Piedmont are particularly prized.
Why the fuss? Each little tuber, with its pungent aroma, is titillation in solid form. Shaved lightly over food, it brings a new earthy dimension to almost anything it’s used in, but particularly eggs, cream and mushrooms. Oh, and coincidentally, Milanese food has plenty of eggs, cream and mushrooms.
Unfortunately, truffles are rare- and expensive. Still, I thought it was worth it to try it fresh- and there are not many places in the world where one can do that. Milan is one of those places.
One for the road
Of course, on my last night in Italy, I couldn’t very well skip the farewell drinks. One for the road, or the open sky, as it were. I can’t ever get sick of good wine, but at the time, I remember thinking that some cocktails were in order.
Cocktail bars are not prolific in Italy; while almost every restaurant that serves drinks will serve an aperitivo of some sort, and definitely some kind of spritz. Full, specialised cocktail bars, however, are not as common as here in Singapore. Milan has probably the greatest density of them in Italy.
Being alone at the time, I wasn’t quite ready to go wild and paint the streets of Milan red, but I did go to a cocktail bar that was highly recommended. It happened to be within walking distance of my hotel. Funny how that turned out…
Well, Octavius Bar turned out to be quite excellent. A nautical theme, a row of shakers on the bartop, and a serious collection of bitter amaros behind the bar are incredible confidence inducers.
Naturally, I had a Negroni. It’s still my favourite cocktail of all time, and here, in Milan, it’s on theme. Campari was founded in Milan, and Martini produces its sweet vermouth in Pessione in Turin , which is about two hours’ drive away.
Of course, for all things Italian, I had the bar’s own original Raffinato as well, which was made with Martini “Vermouth di Torino”, “Milano style red bitter liqueur”, Barolo Chinato and dashes of orange and mandarin bitters. A longer, richer Negroni, in other words. I left the bar with the flavour of aromatic herbs and oranges still on my tongue. The taste was bittersweet, long and lingering.
A fitting goodbye to- and from- Italy, I think.
Memories
The next morning, I was at Malpensa Airport, ready to go return home. By midday, I had boarded the plane, and the mixed feelings welled up; a cocktail of wistfulness and longing for home.
Seated and strapped into my seat, I did not, for once, turn on the inflight entertainment. My desire was to fix my gaze outside the window and savour every last second. Not long after, Italy disappeared beneath the clouds.
Now, years later, my thoughts are of the present. The virus has hurt us all, and the people in Italy have been hurt more than most. But, if it’s anything that my travels have shown me, it’s that Italy and Italians are resilient. They have survived the collapse of empires, the ravages of plague and the fires of conflict and emerged into a renaissance, preserving their culture and the legacies of their forefathers. The proof of that resilience can be found in every picture.
In writing this travelogue, I had set out to show that Italy is a beautiful place, worth visiting and certainly worth remembering. Italian food and drink worth consuming, Italian culture worth appreciating. It’s worth supporting Italy. I hope you agree.
I just have one last thought to share.
When people say that an experience is unforgettable, they’re often exaggerating. In my case, however, I think it’s true.
It’s been some years since I was in Italy. While writing, I was a little surprised at how the details came back easily. How each city looks, how it smells, how it sounds. How the marble feels, how the food and drinks taste. All I have to do is close my eyes.
In an instant, I am whisked a thousand miles away.
For a moment, I can live in my memories. Memories of Italy.
