Thursday, 26 September 2024, Bologna to Venice, via Torcello and Burano, Hotel St. Regis

Written 24 February 2025

Bags ready by 7 am on Thursday, just inside our rooms. Right after breakfast, at 8:40 am, our fleet of limos took us to the the station (five minutes away), where we caught Train 8924 (scheduled for 9:21 am and only 15 minutes late) to Venice! Meanwhile, our luggage was loaded onto a truck and driven directly to Venice, then by boat to our hotel, the St. Regis, where it was waiting for us in our rooms after our day's touring.

Here at the left, our train pulls into the station, and at the right we pile aboard.

Our route passed through Ferrara and Padova on the way to Venezia Santa Lucia. During the trip, drinks were served, airline style, from a cart rolling up the aisle, together with little packets of delicious taralli (crisp little donut-shaped olive-oil crackers).

We passed some large fields of solar panels, but in addition most little farms seemed to have four or five of their own. The countryside was very flat. I saw some of a low, broad-leaved crop (beets, maybe?), and grape vines and fruit trees appeared in farmyards. I spotted a row of nut trees along the edge of a field.

Written 25 February 2025

I was sort of looking forward to that splendid view of Venice that we got when we walked out the front door of the train station last year, but we went by a different route this time. We left the train station by the side (south) exit, took a short monorail ride, then hiked a ways, over a bridge and along the quay, to board our privately chartered water bus. It would have met us nearer the station, but the water was so high that it couldn't get under the bridges to reach its usual landing spot.

The boat did not take us directly to the city proper but instead curved around its southern perimeter. At the right is the church of Santissimo Redentore (most blessed redeemer), on the northern shore of the island just south of the city center (Marco Polo lived just a few doors from it). It was on our right at this point and the central city to our left.

I think the photo at the left is the Campanile di San Georgio Maggiore, on the tip of that same island.

At the right, the Votive Temple on the Lido.

As we cruised, our guide told us:

• Cuts in the Lido islands are called mouse ports—or maybe mouth ports (I couldn't be sure). Mouse ports would make sense because "topo" is Italian for mouse and is also the name for the small barges used for merchandise delivery.
• The area experiences two tidal cycles per day, usually between 1.5 and 3 feet.
• They dredge some of the channels to increase the boat traffic, but then, when the tides change, the water flows out very quickly, eroding the sediment, which then can't get back into the lagoon.
• Speed limits are posted on the navigation markers. The fines start at 110 euros for speeding in a motor boat and go up to 2000 for repeat offenses. They can even confiscate your boat if you're considered a danger.
• Artifical sand bars have been constructed and planted with salt-tolerant, sediment-retaining grasses. You can spot them because they are surrounded by lines of pilings that protect them from, e.g., boat wakes.

This old fort, dating from 1500, was once part of the system defending the lagoon from marauding fleets as well as checking all ships entering the lagoon for disease and contraband. Suspicious cases had to be isolated for forty ("quaranta") days before they could enter, giving rise to the English word "quarantine."

And this distant shot of the tower on Burano island demonstrates once again that all towers in northern Italy lean.

But before visiting Burano (not to be confused with Murano, where the glass comes from), we detoured around it, affording us this initial view of the colorful houses that are its trademark, to Torcello, our lunch destination.

Here's the port building on Torcello; it's a pretty small place. The island's resident population is just 6 people.

At the beginning of the path we followed to the restaurant was this brick and plaster shrine to the Virgin Mary.

We strolled along this lovely brick-paved path, which paralleled a small canal, all the way to the restaurant (I think the guide said the canal dated from 1643). Locust trees bearing long twisted seed pods hung overhead, and we passed a grassy children's playground on the other side, equipped with swings, slides, etc. It was deserted except for a ring-necked pheasant that happened to be strolling through. Our guide explained that the island is mostly park land and serves as a kind of back yard for the city dwellers, who can come over here to play soccer on a grassy field, let their children use the swings, and have a nice lunch in green surroundings.

On a lamp post along the walk, I spotted this handsome little reptile. I'm pretty sure it's an Italian wall lizard (Podarcis sicula), also called a ruin lizard and apparently well known for its rapid differention into 62 subspecies!

Eventually, we came to this steeply arched and rail-less bridge, named, appropriately enough, the Devil's Bridge.

Right next to it (on the near side, so we didn't have to cross) was our restaurant, the Osteria del Ponte di Diabola.

There, we were seated in this beautiful outdoor dining room for a lovely three-course lunch.

The first course was orecchiette (ear-shaped pasta) with peas, carrots, and red bell pepper.

Unfortunately, I didn't record what the second course was (shown here at the right). I think it was fish with potatoes, dried tomato, and olives baked on top.

The breads were many and varied, and the dessert was a delicious layered concoction with coconut and chocolate shavings mixed into the cream filling.

Beyond the dining room were the osteria's meticulously tended plantings, where we strolled until time to head back to the boat.

On the way out, I got this shot of giant wine bottles in the foyer that had been emptied, filled with old wine corks, and used as candlesticks until covered with a network of drips.

And here I am, back at the port, posing in front of our water bus, the Donatello. I'm sure the captain is tired of teenage mutant ninja turtle jokes from Americans.

Our next stop was the island of Burano, where we had a guided tour and then free time for strolling and shopping.

At the left here is our arrival port, where the shopping began. The island was originally a fishing port, but now its principal economic base is tourism, so shops and kiosk vendors are everywhere.

The island's tradmark is its brightly painted houses, originally intended to serve as beacons for returning fishermen, who sought out the distinctive colors of their own homes in the distance.

Here's a nearer view of the island's tower, behind a particularly colorful house. I"m not sure how much nearer I would want to be to it—it looks as though a rush of tourists from one side to the other on the ground below could be enough to topple it!

Here's another variety of colorful houses, along one of the canals that cut across the island. And, yes, that's our local guide with the little banner on a pole, followed by David in his blue shirt and Tilley hat.

Burano is part of the municipality of Venice, so if a resident wants to change the color of his house, he must apply for planning permission and submit the new color for approval. Clearly, you're not allowed to choose the color of the house next door.

Burano is considered very pleasant in summer, because it always has a breeze even when the weather is very hot in Venice proper, but it gets the very cold wind from the northeast in the winter. The guide remarked that that's probably where its name came from, though I'm not sure from what word.

And of course, because we're in Venice, here are the raised sidewalks, neatly stacked for quick deployment in case of high water.

Burano's other claim to fame is bobbin lace, of which these are small examples, framed for wall hanging, at 15 euros each. Behind them are some small items of Murano glass, perhaps for those who though they were getting a tour of Murano.

The island's main street was lined with shops selling lace (as well as clothing, textiles, and of course, clothing and textiles trimmed with lace). The many lacemakers along the street apparently have an agreement that ensures that at any time during business hours, at least one shop will have a lace maker on duty so that tourists can watch the process. As far as I can tell, it's the same process we've seen several times in Belgium, involving a rotating velvet cushion on which hundreds of straight pins hold the work in place while the maker deftly braids and interweaves dozens to scores of little wooden or ivory bobbins to form the pattern. Mind boggling.

As far as I could tell, it was all bobbin lace, except for one small display of the simpler craft of tatting (the one easy enough for me to do). These two photos show examples. I could make those. In fact, blowing up the right-hand photo, I can count the stitches, so I could even copy the pattern.

I suspect these are all the output of a single tatter, or maybe a family of tatters, probably looked down upon by the bobbin lacers, who couldn't interest them in learning the more difficult craft.

The proprietor of this particularly purple shop, "L'Orchidea," has chosen to sell only items that match or coordinate with the establishment.

And you're probably wondering about my recurring reference to a street, which in general, Venice doesn't have. Well the main street is Galuppi Street, named for Baldassare Galuppi (statue here at the right) and terminating in Galuppi square (the island's only square). Until 1882, it was in fact a canal, but the islanders filled it in, specifically to form a street (the better to facilitate shopping by pedestrians?).

When our time on Burano was up, our water bus picked us up, but couldn't take us to our hotel (it was too big to be allowed on the Grand Canal), so we transferred to a fleet of three water taxis, which delivered us to our hotel door, which opened right onto the grand canal. Our luggage was, as promised, waiting in our rooms.

At the left here is part of the view from my room, down into a tiny, narrow alley running between the buildings.

We weren't there long, because the whole group had dinner reservations at Ristorante Antico Martini, to which we walked. This is the same restaurant where I had dinner with our tour group last year (David was still feeling crummy and skipped it).

It's also the restaurant in Danny's story of a tour-group dinner during an aqua alta. Guests, wearing flimsy plastic shoe and leg coverings cinched just below the knee, sat in flood waters that were not quite (or chair) knee- (or chair-)high while the waiters serving them wore hip-waders. Fortunately, the floor was dry when we were there occasion.

The restaurant faces the piazza of the opera, and at the right here is the façade of the opera building, at right angles to that of the restaurant.

Last time, we ordered from a special limited menu. This time, we had the run of the restaurant's whole repertory. I started with scallops crusted with some kind of nuts on top of mashed potatoes and mâche in little pasta baskets. As usual, the baskets proved too hard and tough to chew.

David chose tagliatelli with duck ragout. The odd object standing up in the middle of the pile of pasta is a dried orange slice.

Last year, I tried the famous calves' liver Venetian style (at our hotel, not at this restaurant), and it was terrible—overcooked and mealy—so I decided to try it to see whether this restaurant could do better, and boy could they ever. It was delicious and came with "gocce," tear drops, of polenta.

David tried the "veal petals," with sweet potato, mashed potato, and zucchini.

Dessert was a plate of little biscotti (David asked about the wine, so they gave him a copy of the label).

Here's David outside the restaurant as we left.

Finally, I've looked up the origin of the name of the "martini" cocktail. I found a number of different derivations, but none of them involves this restaurant or its bar.