I don’t remember the date on this but I know it was over 10
years ago (from 2012). I’m blogging it because I found it on a drive that I
recently partially recovered and thought I’d like to keep it around.
~~~~~~~~~~
I’ve recently returned from a week on a houseboat/trawler in
Venice. One might consider the equipment list interesting.
For instance:
There was no compass.
There was no depth sounder.
There was no VHF.
There was no fuel gauge.
There was no generator.
The refrigerator was 12 volt - the motor had to be run a
minimum of 4 hrs/day to keep the batteries up.
There were two, ½” well worn poly mooring lines (and one
spare somewhere we were told)..
There was one anchor, but we were told not to use it - no
windlass.
There were 3 massive rub rails around the entire boat inlaid
with stainless, and there were also diagonal ‘bumpers’ (of the same
construction) at the bow from the upper rub rail to the waterline, and another
at the stem.
The boat also had a sunroof over the main cabin, which slid
back into the top so the main cabin was open to the outside air from above.
There was no drive shaft on the end of the 40HP diesel -
hydraulic drive. The boat had been
retrofitted with this smaller diesel - we were told it was because a license
was required to operate a boat with a motor over 40 HP. She once hit 7 mph
according to my GPS.
There WAS a bow thruster, probably because it was a
necessity. It was also hydraulic.
There was a box under a berth at the stern that was open to
the sea below and extended up above the waterline; it had a watertight lid
fastened on with wingnuts. One could remove the top of the box and reach down
through it to clear a tangled prop without otherwise going into the water. I
know because I watched the fellow from the agency pull a 20’ fishing net up
through the box, that had fouled the prop before we were taken out on our
‘instructional’ cruise.
On Wednesday September 6th, we flew from out our
local airport in Spartanburg to Washington Dulles. We arrived in time to be
waiting at the gate when my sister Natalie and her George arrived from Hawaii.
From there, the four of us went nonstop to London, spent Thursday night in town
and toured the next day. Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey. Yes
there’s a lot of history, architecture and pomp, but has anyone been to
Harrods? Took a river cruise: Cleopatra’s Needle, St Pauls, London Bridge (#3),
Tower of London, and in Greenwich -- Gypsy Moth, Cutty Sark and the Old Royal
Observatory where I watched my GPS go to 000 00.000
On Friday we took the Eurostar from London to Paris. My wife
asked me how fast we were going. From the feel of the ride I guessed 70 or 80
mph. I got out the GPS and it was clocking us at over 190 mph. Spent one night
in Paris at a hotel within walking distance of the train. The rooms were very
small; couldn’t get my wife’s wheelchair in the tiny lift (elevator) but it
didn’t matter much as the lift stopped on the stairway between the first and
second floor.
On Saturday, we cabbed to the Charles DeGaul airport and
took an Alitalia flight to Venice. Cabbed again from the Venice airport to
Chioggia. Chioggia was very festive and colorful - it is the kind of place I
expected Venice to be from pictures and reading I’d done. There were brightly
painted houses and boats, beautiful canals and bridges, street vendors and
souvenir stands. The four of us stayed at a first class 2-bedroom suite in
hotel in town. We had unforgettable fish soup for dinner. To me it wasn’t soup;
it was an aquarium that had been warmed up – there where whole shrimp, squid,
mussels and more in that bowl.
We walked to the boat the next day. There was no building
associated with the dock, only about 8 slips for the charter fleet. We were
greeted by Marcelo. It took about 2 hours for him to complete all paperwork and
familiarize us with the boat – his final duty was to take us out for a brief
demo ride; that’s when we discovered the net wrapped around the propeller.
Formalities and demo ride completed; we were on our way with several hours of
sun left.
We spent the first night aboard about 15 miles north of
Chioggia, in S. Piero in Volta tied to the seawall. The agency had recommended
a mooring spot in the vicinity, but I’m not sure we ended up in it. It was very
peaceful as the sun set. We sat up on deck sipping exceptionally good local
wine, marveling at the landscape and complimenting ourselves on our first
successful day in the Venetian lagoon.
Our serenity was terminated in the early morning hours when
the fishing fleet began moving offshore. This picturesque little town we had
chosen to spend the night in is right next to Porto di Malamocco, an inlet used
by fishing boats in the area. The unforgiving seawall punctuated our rocking
from the wakes to the point that sleep was impossible, we came to an understanding
that for practical purposes, our boat was ‘invisible’ to local craft. Before
first light, I went ashore and meandered the ¼ mile to the Adriatic. The glow
of the spectacular sunrise gradually made the 40 or so fishing boats
materialize on the water.
The run from S. Piero in Volta to Vignole the next day (about 15 miles) was extremely pleasant.
There are briccole (markers) every 50 meters making navigation somewhat less
than challenging, but stress free passages were taken advantage of in absorbing
local sights and vessels. That afternoon, we moored at a secluded, special
agency mooring site in the canal that divides Vignole. We used this spot as a
home base while we did Venezeia and Morano by waterbus. After getting the boat
properly situated at the agency mooring, we hiked to the water bus stop and
were ferried to Venezia.
Venezia is spectacular, but crowded. In addition to the
regular water traffic, there are huge cruise ships and yachts to contend with.
I did get a kick out of the familiar khaki uniform of the UPS man standing
proudly at the helm of his gondola, heading up the Grand Canal for his next
delivery. St. Marks isn’t to be missed, but the density of tourists in the
square was above my tolerance (not to mention the pigeons). Some of us stopped
at an Internet café on the way back to the waterbus, but I abstained; eMail was
one of the things I was on a vacation FROM.
The next day, Wednesday, we again walked the ¼ mile from our
boat to the waterbus and lit out for Morano. Morano is the ‘glass’ island.
There are glass factories, which produce glass in every shape, color and size
from beads and jewelry to knickknacks to tableware to massive decorative
sculptures. Murano is smaller, less crowded and there are fewer bridges to
negotiate with the wheelchair. We thoroughly enjoyed Murano.
On Thursday, we needed to pick up a couple more crewmembers,
Kurt and Richard, at the Venice airport. They had both spent time aboard with
Natalie and George last year on the canals of France. We took the boat to get
them, there’s water right up to the baggage claim area. The water traffic in
the narrow channel to the airport was almost overwhelming. The well-marked
channel to the airport was about 4 boats wide. We ran at cruising speed, 6 mph,
for that run of 5 miles, being overtaken in one direction or the other every 15
seconds or so. Keeping out of the way of commercial traffic and compensating
for their wakes, while trying to stay in the channel was a monumental task. A
single turn of the wheel would change the attitude of the boat, but it would
take a couple hundred yards for boat to realize a new course. The only way to
make an immediate course adjustment was two and 1/4 turns (hard over), then it
took a series of 6 or 8 corrections to get it normalized. This part of the
vacation was more work than pleasure.
With the new crewmembers aboard, we headed back to our
hidey-hole at Vignole. There was a dredge in the airport channel on this
passage back. The dredge was positioned a little off the center of the channel
to my side and if I wanted to leave him to port, I’d have to venture out of the
channel. If I left him to starboard, I’d be blind to oncoming traffic in an
area wide enough for only a single boat, until I was on his beam (at 6 mph this
would have been an eternity). I was still weighing the options at about 100
yards, when a deck hand on the barge signaled me to leave him to starboard,
indicating that my course should be under the bucket, which was positioned to
plunge for another batch of spoils. I was within 50 feet of being directly
under the bucket, when the operator swung the crane over the barge and out of
the way. I think he did this when he saw the sweat running off my face in a
manner to rival Niagra Falls. The rest of the way back to Vignola was a piece
of cake.
Venetians are pretty casual about the way they leave their
boats. In most situations, there are pilings right off the seawall. Where there
are no pilings, there are rings at regular intervals built in along the wall.
This place in Vignole had the pilings, but they were far enough off the seawall
that the fenders were useless. The technique was to tie the mooring line to the
cleat, make one loop around the piling, and back to the cleat – one at the bow,
one at the stern. The boat just rode against the pilings. The loops would slide
up or down as needed to allow for the tide. In the case of rings on the
seawall, one just left enough slack…
Once we were again securely attached to the pilings in the
quiet canal of Vignole, Suzy and I stayed aboard while the others took the
waterbus to Venice and Murano. It was nice having the boat to ourselves – we
took advantage of the opportunity for a nice nap. When the troops returned,
they brought armfuls of wines, cheeses, breads and fresh fruits and vegetables.
Before it was all stowed, a party went off on foot to bring back desserts from
a nearby restaurant. Thanks to my sister Natalie (a gourmet cook) all our meals
aboard (including breakfast) rivaled or surpassed the culinary delights we
experienced ashore.
The next day, Friday, we all went to Murano. As this was our
second trip to this island, we were able to take in details rather than being
overwhelmed by new sights. I’m a people watcher and there was no shortage of
opportunities to hone my skills. Also, while I seldom have the urge to venture
inside stores, I do enjoy window-shopping. Suzy and I spent the morning
watching people and peering into store windows.
Lunch was enjoyed at a first class restaurant on the Grand
Canal (main street) of Burano. We sat on a terrace that was built out over the
water. The seafood in Venice is unbelievable, probably because it’s fresh
daily.
We wanted to experience the Grand Canal of Venetia from the
water, and because our houseboat was not allowed there, we decided to do it by
waterbus. We took a waterbus from Burano to Venetia, and then got on a ‘local’
to ride around Venetia and through the Grand Canal. We had planned to stop at
Lido after our excursion, but this local waterbus made so many stops and was so
crowded that we all began wishing we were back aboard the houseboat sharing a
bottle of wine. We unanimously decided to cut Lido from the schedule and headed
back to the solitude of our secluded mooring in Vignole.
Saturday was a day of preparation for the trip to Burano.
The first task was to top off the boat’s water tank. We’d done this earlier in
the week, so we knew the drill, especially the part about not having the
current push us into the low bridge, which was only a few feet from the water
source. We waited until the tide was against us, and then motored to a spot in
front of the public fountain. We spun the boat in the narrow channel using the
bow thruster and quickly tied the stern to a tree ashore, letting the current
swing the bow parallel to the seawall. After the bow was secured via a long
loop to a light post we broke out the tank filling paraphernalia.
The public fountain was short a stone column with a gargoyle
head on one side which dribbled water out of the mouth. The flow ran 24/7 at
about a gallon a minute. To catch the water, one cut the bottom off of a
plastic liter bottle, poked a couple holes in opposite sides of the rim and
looped a string between the holes. A hole was made in the cap that was just
large enough to accept the end of an unterminated length of hose. Then all one
has to do is loop the string over the gargoyle’s head so the stream from the
gargoyle mouth is directed into the plastic bottle. The bottle then funnels the
water into the hose, the other end of which is in the fill hole for the boat
water tank. Wallah! In a matter of only
a couple hours you’ve taken on more than a hundred gallons of water.
The next task was to top off the fuel tank. The boat didn’t
have a fuel gauge; Marcelo had told us to calculate fuel usage based on X
liters per engine hour. We’d done that, and figured we could probably get by,
but the route to our next destination, Burano took us reasonable close to a
fuel stop. The fuel dock was just off the right of way for waterbusses, taxies,
gondolas; UPS barges etc. so it was not only congested, but also wakes were
also plentiful. Negotiating the approach through the traffic was a little
daunting and there wasn’t much room for error as the fuel dock is just that,
only a dock…room for one boat. We bounced through the wakes and I got the bow
in close with the help of the bow thruster. We threw a line around a piling on
the starboard side, and hurriedly offered a stern line to the attendant. The
attendant waved off the stern line, and I truly considered teaching him some
four letter docking words in English, but I decided to go with the flow. I
cranked her hard to port and put her on about 1,200 rpm. As the short bow line
strained, the stern made it’s way to a firm position at the dock. The wooden
pilings attenuated the effects of the wakes as our stainless rub rails slid up
and down their worn faces. We were all happy to get under way again for the
peaceful trip to Burano.
On the way to Burano, we were passed by newly weds in a
water taxi. The boat was festively decked out in flowers and ribbons. As they
passed us, we had a good view of the happy couple cuddling in the back of the
boat, he was in his tux and the breeze was blowing about her veils.
We moored beam to the fetch in Burano, at the place
recommended by the agency. We were rocked regularly by wakes as we were right
on the channel, but the motion wasn’t too bad. We split up as we left the boat
to explore this rather small island. I call Burano the Lace Island, because
that’s the specialty there, lace in all shapes and sizes, similar to how Murano
was with glass. Burano was busy but not overly crowded. The tourist shops were
concentrated near the town square along with several restaurants. There were
residential areas and there were areas of small stores where the residents
shopped. The local children played hide-and-seek and soccer in the square. The
houses were brightly painted and in good repair, some with unbelievable gardens
of fluorescent flowers. The people were
friendly. This was my kind of place.
We eventually all got together for a late lunch – this was
facilitated by each group carrying a walkie-talkie. Those little 2 way radios
are great for this kind of thing. Richard picked out a restaurant right in the
midst of the busy tourist area; there would be a 10-minute wait. As we were
being led to our table, we realized that the bride and groom that we saw in the
water taxi were having their reception at this restaurant. Not only that, but
our table was between the wedding cake and the keyboard player. George said he
felt like he was part of a scene from The Godfather.
We all smiled and well wished the couple when they came
within earshot, and we cheered the dancers and gave them thumbs up when the
conga line passed by our table. My sister and her husband had their picture
taken with the wedding cake. Even though we couldn’t understand the words, the
music was outstanding – we felt like family at the wedding. As we were leaving,
George boisterously congratulated the newly weds, and the entire wedding party
rose to give him a standing ovation as he exited (maybe they were shouting good
riddance?)
We were all back at the boat relaxing on deck, when we were
approached by a local. Kurt speaks French and French is evidenlty closer to
Italian then English, so Kurt became our interpreter. We got the idea that the
local, now known as Bruno, wanted us to relocate (to a spot across and up the
canal) because there was a forecast for severe weather. I wasn’t sure whether
Bruno was concerned for our safety, or he just didn’t want our honkus houseboat
moored in front of his house. Ultimately, we decided not to relocate. It was
getting dark, we’d all had a few glasses of wine, I didn’t think the couple
hundred yards of fetch over 15’ of water would pose much danger even if the
weather did get nasty, plus that spot across the canal looked mighty small.
Bruno reluctantly accepted our decision not to move and
invited Kurt to his house. Kurt returned, explaining that Bruno had shown him
some of his work – Bruno was a painter. It wasn’t long before George and Kurt
both went back to Brunos, then returned with a Bruno original. Bruno came by a
short time after, presenting us with a bottle of Grappa. I’m not sure what the
official description of grappa is, but it tastes like it’s in the gasoline
family.
Not long after we got to the ½ way mark on the grappa,
another native came by to warn us about the bad weather – we thought we
understood him to say “tornado”. I still wasn’t game to move, but I was
outvoted. Of course by this time it was dark.
George took the helm, I untied us and we proceeded around
the corner to Bruno’s recommended spot. This spot was just off of a dogleg up
in the canal. With the aid of the bow thruster, we were able to get the bow
tied off, then realized that no matter how we oriented ourselves from there,
the stern would be hanging out in the channel so far that it would be
impossible for larger boats get by. We ended up mooring at a spot directly
across the canal from where we had been (< 50’ away) except in this spot we
were stern to the fetch instead of bow to. I get really nervous when people are
jumping on and off the boat in the dark, after a few drinks, but in this case
there was no harm done. The ‘tornado scare’ turned out to be little more than a
lightening display that kept it’s distance.
Sunday morning we were fortunate enough to be able to go up
on deck and have front row seats for a parade of Venetian racing gondolas,
oared boats, scows, power boats and small sailing ships. This parade was the
beginning of a Regatta. The town was bristling with associated activities
including a seafood festival. They had mounds of little shrimp, squid, octopus
and who knows what else that were heaped together in a bucket of batter,
shaken, then deep fried. There was no preparation prior to this battering;
these little guys were whole and almost kicking. After they cooled a little,
you popped a pinchfull into your mouth; Mmmm good! I’d go back to Burano for
nothing more than a handfull of those little fried critters.
I was the helmsman for the 6 hour trip back to Chioggia that
afternoon. We had to have the boat back early Sunday, and it was customary to
spend the last night at the dock to avoid a late return because of weather or
other unexpected conditions. We did take the houseboat out the last inlet
before hitting Chioggia, just to get a little Adriatic Sea spray in the face.
Chioggia was a different town when we returned. It was still
charming, but the festive atmosphere we had stumbled on when we arrived was
missing. We learned that the weekend of our original arrival was the last
weekend before the kids went back to school. The town that had been celebrating
the last fling of summer on our first encounter was now void of the locals and
local tourists and street vendors that had been out in full force the weekend
before.
We ordered a van to take the 6 of us to the airport, but
there was nothing big enough available, so we took two cabs. Kurt and Richard
were on a different airline, so we split up in Venice and regrouped when we
landed at Charles DeGaul in Paris.
We stayed 2 nights in Paris. We did a lot of walking to see
the nearby sights. On Monday we had a full day in Paris. We took a double
decker tour bus ride past such sights as ‘Eyefull Tower” (which I didn’t think
was leaning), as well as other unmemorable places in the morning. This was
especially exciting because we had the front row seats on the top deck,
although sometimes we got a little nervous at the closeness of the traffic
(sometimes inches from touching) – which seems to be the norm in Paris. Our
afternoon excursion was on a different bus to Versailles. Now there’s a palace
if I ever saw one but the cobblestone road up to it was a bear pushing my
wife’s wheelchair.
The last night in Paris, we had dinner at a restaurant owned
in part by Richard and Kurt. Great food, and outstanding service.
We were back home on Wednesday, in disbelief that we had for
the first time in our lives, experienced Europe. This fairy tale was made
possible by the generosity of George and Natalie who not only made all the
arrangements and reservations, but also footed the entire bill. The only time I
put my hand in my pocket was to pay for souvenirs. Not only that, George led
all the tours and did all the organizing, kept things on pace and even made
sure I had local currency in my pocket in case of an emergency. Suzy and I had
all the responsibility of a 10 year old on vacation with Mom and Dad at
Disneyland – the ideal way for us to do Europe.
If I had to describe the trip to London, Paris and a week
aboard a boat in Venice, in one word, it would have to be FOOD. Between the
first class restaurants that George and Natalie frequent, and the unbelievably
scrumptious meals that Natalie fixed aboard we were in culinary heaven. And
while I believe that a boat is the ideal way to do Venice, and you can’t beat
the Venetian Lagoon for history, culture, architecture, local color, and food,
I still think that it’s tough to beat BOATING in and around the good old US of
A.
Nick in Spartanburg, SC
