The Real Venice

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 main engine 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 rubber 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 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 wing nuts. One could remove the top of the box and reach down through it into the water to clear a tangled prop without leaving the boat. I know because I watched the fellow from the agency pull a 20’ fishing net up through the box that had fouled the prop just after we untied the boat for our ‘instructional’ cruise.

On Wednesday September 6^th, we flew from our local airport in Spartanburg to Washington Dulles. We arrived in time to be waiting at the gate when my sister Natalie and her husband George arrived from Hawaii. From there, the four of us went nonstop to London. From the air, London was a huge expanse of  regularly spaced buildings and it was so much bigger than I expected. We spent Thursday night in town; toured the next day -- Kensington Gardens,  Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Houses of Parliament, museums... 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, but Greenwich was perhaps the most memorable due to Gypsy Moth, Cutty Sark and the Old Royal Observatory where I watched my GPS go to 000 00.00

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 180 mph. Spent one night in Paris at a hotel within walking distance of the train. The room was very small; couldn’t get my wife’s wheelchair in the tiny lift (elevator) to get to the second floor, but it didn’t matter much as the closest lift stop was on a stairway landing between the first and second floors.

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. 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 less than ½ mile to the Charter Agency 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. Noone slowed to pass, it seemed as if 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 water bus. 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 water bus, 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. Two more crewmembers were easily accommodated as the boat had three staterooms, each with it's own head. Kurt and Richard had 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 Niagara Falls. The rest of the way back to Vignola was a piece of cake.

I still think those 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, you did get the benefit of the fenders, but you couldn’t stay snug against the wall because you needed to leave slack in the lines for the tide.

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 water bus 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 go 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. Someone ordered lobster, but it wasn’t available because the boat wasn’t due for another ½ hr.

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 water bus. We took a water bus from Burano to Venetia, 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 water bus 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, 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 drink 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 old man gravity has put more than a hundred gallons of water in the tank.

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 until the end of the charter, 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 water busses, taxies, gondolas, UPS barges etc. so it was not only congested, but 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 her veils were being blown about by the breeze.

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 weeding 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 evidently 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 residence. 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/lighter fluid 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 its 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 handful 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. The hotel room was again small, very small. The room itself was about 12’ X 12’. One almost had to step out of the shower to turn around. I was fascinated with the plumbing, most of which was exposed. The pipes were pretty much out of the way, running floor to ceiling in the corners, but what was strange was that they did not use “T”’s or compression fittings, all the junctions were welded.

On Monday we had a full day in Paris. We took a double decker tour bus ride past such sights as Louvre, Notre-Dame, Arch of Triumph, Eiffel Tower, Opera Square in the morning. This was especially exciting because we had the front row seats on the top deck. This perspective sometimes made us a little nervous due to 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.

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 – the ideal way for us to do Europe.

Back then, I didn't keep a camera handy especially since all those pedestrian bridges in Venice were a challenge with the wheelchair.

Upper pic at charter dock. Lower pic at water fill dock.

 The charter boat company is the Blue Line Cruises (France mostly). They currently have one boat in Venice. Their web page is http://www.barginginfrance.com/.