Two Streams Diverged in a City (or The Mothership of the Motherland)

Joann and I have started to effectively tackle Italy city by city at this point, so when there is a special event in a place where we have not yet been, it is a no-brainer for us to travel there. This is how Venice presented itself. Every year in Italy (though I thought it was an original batch Brazilian thing) they have Carnivale. A week and a half long celebration that culminates on Fat Tuesday (Mardi Gras in French), a debaucherous 10 days to get all of your good sinnin’ out before Lent (or for us Hebrews, simply a great excuse to party). I am unsure of the world wide history, but the nucleus of the atom they call Carnivale in Italy is in Vence. This celebration involves a few things. Most places have big parades (kind of difficult in the aquarian city streets of Venice) but EVERYONE dresses up in costume. And Venetians DRESS UP. We are not talking some stupid costumes or ironic T-Shirts, I mean full on capes, three-point hats, and gorgeous masks. Think Eyes Wide Shut orgy scene….but an entire city.

Joann and I are up crazy early in anticipation of the 5 hour train ride to Venice. On a bus to the train station (we have learned neither to walk nor pay for the bus as no one checks your tickets) by 8 am and on the train by 8:45. The train ride is uneventful and we arrive in Venice by 2 pm. A few quick questions to locals and a few wrong turns and we find out Hostel, our home for the next two nights. Its nice and clean…something tells me we have been pretty lucky with hostels up to this point. We drop off our stuff and hit the town. Venice is deceivingly big. Much larger than Siena and bigger than Florence even, or so it seems. Because of the gorgeous water ways that act as streets but are remarkably ineffective for travel, navigating the city is a feat. Everything is very linear. There is only one way from point A to point B, no shortcuts or little alleys…you go the same way everyone does…and it just so happens that where we are staying is about a far away from the action as is possible. We are used to hikes at this point though, so it does not seem such a big deal. This walkway shortcoming is perhaps the only bad thing I can say about Venice however, The place is simply gorgeous. And even though they are more nuisance than navigateble, the water ways are pretty. We make the trek through the small markets and tiny little streets all the way to the other side of the town to the Rialto (the major bridge in Venice). The Rialto is cool and crowded, and offers nothing short of postcard worthy views of Venice. Form there we hang a hard left and head for the famed Piazza San Marco. This is by far the most stunning of the Piazzas we have encountered thus far. For one thing it is the only open expanse in Venice. Top that with a Duomo that is almost literally breathtaking, a population of Pigeons that outnumber the humans, and a view out into the ocean that is flawless. This place quickly became a favorite.

We opt to save the Duomo (which Joann promises will change me) for tomorrow and continue to wander around through the crowds that is a pleasant mix of tourist and Venetians in decadent costume. My excitement for the nighttime is growing and we decide we will go all out…full costume for both of us tonight. Joann starts if off right…she finds an almost too pleasant Czech exchange student who is making extra money by painting faces for kids and utilizes her expertise. She gets a really pretty beautiful red, green, and gold glitter piece done across half of her face (all while I stand behind this girl trying to make Joann laugh as she meticulously adds layers of face paint and glitter). With the celebratory cosmetics done we decide to head back toward the Rialto to piece together our costumes for the evening. Jo settles on a beautiful little purple cape and a pink feathered half mask while I go with a black cape, black three point hat and a red mask. We look cool and are ready to celebrate with the hoards of locals.

We drink some wine at our hostel while getting ready (I will admit to letting Joann put some eye make-up on me…for effect, I swear) and head out on the town around 10 pm. We opt for the water taxi this time and get a tour of Venice by nightfall on the water on the cheap. About half an hour later we arrive at our destination (Piazza San Marco) and are giddily skipping along to the center while we hear the roar of booming house music coming from this womb of celebration. The Piazza is lit up like a U2 concert and there is a show on the main stage that we can’t quite make out. Feeling a bit tipsy from the wine, I start to dance around like an idiot. That is until I get closer to the stage. At this point a few things dawn on myself and Joann. The revelations come in this order:

1. The show on stage is a drag show. Not a big deal, if nothing else gay men at Carnevale will throw a great party.
2. The crowd is about 1/8th the size that we were anticipating. The Piazza is by no means packed.
3. We. Are. The. Only. People. In. Costume.

I mean there were a few drunk stragglers form the (uber) expensive balls that were stumbling home through the Piazza in period clothing, but by and large we are the only ones who have come to party in costume. I have to laugh at this and instead of getting down about this decided lack of spirit on the part of the Venetians, I simply start to dance around like an idiot again. The show ends almost as soon as we get there, so we head to the back of the Piazza to enjoy some mulled wine. I love this stuff; no one else in the area seems to. We meet some American girls from Cali and some local Venice boys decide to head to a “club” called Il Piccolo Monde (the small world). Italian clubs are funny places. Perhaps I have been a bit spoiled in Miami and New York but I swear on my life that these places are nothing more than a really nice finished basement. Which you pay a10 Euro cover to get in. We last one drink and three songs and hit the water taxi to head home. I ceremoniously left my hat and cape in the disco.

We get some bad news. Joann’s Nonna (grandmother) has fallen in ill in Sicily. We decide to audible and head there immediately. We leave around 2 pm so we get up early to catch a morning in Venice. We head immediately to Piazza San Marco and into the Duomo. This place, this “house of God”, is so decadently beautiful and is an achievement of Gothic art. The entire building is a mosaic. And the building is massive, Top to bottom, the most awe inspiring, gold inlayed, mosaics depicting everything from the annunciation to the birth of (8 lb, 10 oz) Baby Jesus, to the apostles, etc. It truly was moving and inspiring. It now tops my Duomo list, if only by a whisker over Siena’s. We walk around a bit more and window shop the big ones (Prada, Dolce, Fendi) and I have to, once again, help Joann escape the clutches of Gucci. Something tells me this will be either a Phyrric victory or just an all out, gloves off brawl once we get to Milan.

We are booking it to the airport and make it in time. We are headed for Sicily. The mothership of the motherland. The essence of Italy (for a few reasons). I am excited. Joann is acting as if she has been granted the chance to breathe again; the chance to recharge her batteries in a way only Sicily can.

We get there late (after a 3 hour lay over in Rome) and quickly meet her cousin Nino and Zia Caterina at the airport.

I do not want to talk about anyone in either of our families in this blog specifically (I just don’t see the angle in it), so I will simply say this. Most of our time was spent with family in Sicily. And EVERYONE was so amazingly hospitable, nice, loving, accepting and patient with me. I felt immediately at home in a place that is about as far away from where my childhood home as you can get. I could not thank them enough for bringing me into their homes, feeding me (whoa…the food), and loving me. It was special and really great for me…and on top of everything else, since only a few spoke broken English, my Italian was forced to step up its game…it was like a great, week-long crash course.

Anyhow, more about Sicily. I finally understand why the Mafia left here for the far reaches of New York City and Chicago…and its not because this place is not gorgeous. It is, the landscape could have housed the next installment of the Lord of the Rings (just with more farms). Rolling mountains, tiny villages everywhere and a coastline that rivals southern California. The mobsters left because they were bored. I say this delicately and with love in my heart (and knee caps), but there is very, very little to do in Sicily. Jo and I would take walks everyday to pass the time. OK, maybe I should not say there is little to do. There is one very important thing to do all the time…eat. It really feels like the entire time you are in Sicily you are only killing time between meals. And the food is to die for. It quickly becomes apparent where Joann gets her culinary ability (and dishes) from…everything I had heard about or attempted to re-create in my kitchen in Miami was presented to me on a platter (everything is on a platter) and in all of its succulent, delicious glory. Sausages, Broccoli Rabe, Veal, Pastas, Cakes, Meatballs (!), Chicken like I have not had….it was all amazing. And the best part of it all, was that everything we had was so authentically home-cooked. Not in a hidden kitchen at a restaurant. It made in front of my face and then quickly stuffed down it. The only way to get my attention eventually became to say, “MANGIA, JAY,MANGIA!”. (quick funny story about Nino. Joann’s first cousin Lina’s husband. He spoke no English whatsoever, but was impossibly sweet. And for the life of him he could not get my name straight the entire week I was there…”more wine, james?”…”Mangia, Jim, Mangia”…Joe, Jack. Jon, JANE (!), it went on and on….everyone got a kick out of it including me).

We eat, sleep and explore our way through a week of Sicily and love it. Then comes Sunday. We go to a town up in the mountains with some of Jo’s cousins, to meet more cousins, for Carnivale. We come upon a full on party and parade. Literally this place was Mardi Gras (New Orleans style) for kids. Small streets with balconies and snow-drifts of confetti. Instead of beer and boobies, its silly string and streamers. It is what I imagine Mardi Gras in New Orleans would be like if the Fench Quarter had an inkling of morality. It was a lot of fun and a sight to see. We went to Joann’s cousin’s pizzeria, aptly called “Good Pizza” and ate like…well, like family. It seems I have found what my Jewish and her Sicilian family absolutely have in common….as soon as you walk in the door (any door, for that matter), you are asked if you are hungry and a meal is already half prepared.

We leave for Calatafima (where we have been staying) in time to catch the Super Bowl on sattelite TV. Some other NFC East teams wins. Joann is happy. I am indifferent. Joann is upset that I am indifferent. Such is the life of a Redskins fan.

We visit Joann’s Nonna one more time before we leave and he is exponentially better. Up, conversing and interrogating me about how I am going to provide for Joann. I feel oddly comfortable with the whole thing….somehow I think I have heard this conversation before. Nino picks us up and drives us to the airport. As he hugs and kisses us goodbye, he emphatically says to me, “ Buon Viaggio, Jay”.

Back to Siena by 10 pm and early to bed…tomorrow is the first day of school.

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