Our clichéless Venice

Day 40 - Venezia - the blue green waters reflected the overcast skies to paint pretty postcard pictures just for us. We threw aside our maps, escaped the tourist traps and walked on the rain-washed streets. Our umbrellas didn't survive, our feet were soaking wet and the wind almost pushed us off our feet, but the city's canals joined forces with the fall colours to make us fall in love. Sigh.
Octorber 25, Monday

Venice

They told you Venice is gorgeous. They sold you perfectly packaged postcard pictures of this “romantic city.” It’s all there in your head already — montages of fluttering hearts,  the summer sun dancing on the sparkling canals, honeymooners holding hands in gondola rides by the moonlight, gushing seranaders, blushing serenadees. All this set to syrupy-sweet, cloying violin tunes that makes everything seem more whimsical than it could have been.

This was the show-reel of Venice in my head too as we sat on the Eurail, a one hour journey from Milano to Venezia. All too excited to spot these all-too-familiar clichés.

 But nothing prepared us for rain-soaked Venezia. That one day, the drenched city decided  to take the whole list of carefully-established-over-centuries clichés, make a neat little paper boat of it and set it to sail in the The Canal Grande. Just for us.

As we walked out of the station, following the sound of heavy rain pouring on cobbled streets, Venezia greeted us, not with those comforting postcard pictures we have in our minds, but with cold, unforgiving rain, coupled with the kind of wind that slaps you on your face. Yes, it was undoubtedly beautiful. But one can hardly expect two, tired and always-hungry backpackers to find the idea of trudging along in bad weather romantic. Plus unprepared travellers that we were, we had only one umbrella between us. So, after buying a violently orange umbrella for two euros, after haggling it down from five, from the omnipresent Bangladeshi hawker , we stepped out to brave this not-of-our-dreams Venice.

Deeply, darkly beautiful...

We walked. From the Stazione di Venezia Santa Lucia to everywhere. We were not honeymooners blinded by the novelty of the 100-euros-a-ride, gondolas. So we walked  all over the same city that other rich, vacation-happy and love-struck couples usually sail through. Wet and shabby, we may have been, among a sea of dressed-up honeymooners, but with no pair of eyes to gaze into, we were definitely more adventurous.

We walked till we discovered a new Venezia. Our very own clichéless version, the one no one told you about. We lazily walked past the tourists traps selling Venetian dreams made of glass and porcelain. Down the cobbled streets, across quaint glass blowers’ stores, past those mysterious Venetian masks that bring with visions of ancient carnivals and magical masquerade balls. We followed the old yellow boards on the many, winding alleys, that kept promising us that Piazza San Marco was right around the corner, only to turn into more twisting alleys with more yellow boards. Stopping only to admire some exquisite trinkets through glass window displays or to click pictures of pretty window sills with potted plants.

A window-shaped poem

Our candy-coloured saviour

We measured the breadth of the tiny, tiny alleys with our outstretched hands. We laughed and posed for pictures by the blue-green waters. And all the while it rained. It poured so hard that the chill seeped into our shoes, socks and bones. But we didn’t care. The wind turned our poor umbrellas upside down, but we walked on. We lost ourselves in those little alleys only to find ourselves again. Rain-washed, bright orange blossoms begged to be the background of our pictures, the obscurest of streets led us to the prettiest of churches with  imposing bell towers that looked more ominous against the overcast skies.

Rainwashed perspectives

We ogled at handsome Italian gondoliers, lusted after the sounds of their throaty, sexy language. It was hours of walking for us, before we stopped to sit, only to pull out our shoes and see our wet feet that looked like prunes had turned blue. The wind was unforgiving and threatened to push us off our feet. We watched a gondola battle that wind, as it bobbed around in a small canal which lay under the Bridge of Sighs. The gloomy overcast skies we were seeing must have been the same skies that 17th century prisoners must have looked at wistfully, as they walked on the bridge. For the last times in their lives. Leaving behind nothing but sighs before their execution. Their last sighs still seem to be echoing all over Venice, especially on rainy days, mindless of any tourist cacophony or packaged prettiness.

Feeling strange pangs of sorrow-struck happiness in this city of love, we trudged along, braving the harsh winds to find a cosy, warm Italian café and two mugs of hot chocolate. We sat there, watching the Venetian sunset — the sky turned the Prussian Blue of paintings, reflecting itself on the blue waters, lined up with blue boats. It was this mood-altering blue that forced us out of that warmth, back into the rain. We had a train to catch to Rome. So, we decided to take a ‘bus’ back to the station. A bus that runs on water of course, like everything else in Venezia.

The blue of dreams...

The blue of melancholy...

Cold, wet and yet feeling a strange sort of love for this damp city, we stood on the deck of our bus on the way to the station, looking out at the gloomy blue waters, noticing something that enamoured tourists and pampered honeymooners refuse to see — the arched bridges, the ancient paths and the fading, crumbly-looking old buildings were so weather beaten by the unforgiving canals, that they were dying a slow, painless death. Venice is sinking. Little by little. Every year. And there’s a strange, macabre beauty to this fact. Like the unexplainable beauty of a tragedy. Like the beauty of unrequited love.

-- P

Tipsy on life :)

Day 3 - A very merry Munich! :) Oktoberfest!! Awesomeness... all u beer guzzlers, come see what guzzling actually means.

September 18, Saturday

Munich

Oktober Fest! The million pictures we saw, the many travel stories we read, all the amazing tales we heard, nothing could ever match up to the real thing. We lived Oktober Fest! And how!

Catching the fest on its first day was perhaps, the best thing we decided to do. It seemed like the whole world was headed there -- girls dressed like pretty, medieval maids of the meadows in cleavage popping dirndl dresses and guys goofing around looking awful in their lederhosen -- suede breeches. Munich looked like a page out of some fairy tale.

Pretty maidens...

Goofy men...

A 30 euro Bayan Pass took us to the Munich Hauptbahnoff. And once there, all we had to do was follow the crowd. Young men already high on beer, ladies all dolled up and merry, kissing couples, giggling teenyboppers, everyone just moved like one large, happy creature, towards the site of the Oktober fest.

Our welcome to Munich by a quirky Hindi-speaking Reisezenturm officer, who called us ‘Haseena’ was totally something else. In true European fashion, he flirted with us chivalrously, told us what to do in Munich and to our delight, could even place Hyderabad on the map. Reminding us of the spicy khana back home he said “hume India se mohabbat” hain… He was talking of the same India we didn’t even want to think of right now. Perspective.

Hunger pangs can’t be ignored even if you are on the tightest backpacking budget. So, food was first on our minds. After hunting for budget-friendly lunch in at least seven different bistros and cafes, we found the perfect little Turkish diner. The place was packed, but we managed to catch the eyes of the man att the counter. He spoke zero English. We of course, spoke zero German. We said “vegetarian”; he said “aurbegine”. We said “with what”; he said, “Rice”. We said, “how much”, he said “5 euros”. We said “bring it on baby!” J

Just what we needed!

What he finally brought us on a large serving tray filled our eyes, and tummies. There was a decent serving of piping hot, buttered rice, served with a yummy, almost desi-like, tasty, brinjal and potato curry and a basket of soft, freshly-baked Turkish bread. Hallelujah! We shared one meal together ‘cos we wanted to save up for the lil’ treats at the Oktober fest beer tents.

Refueled, and rejuvenated, we slipped into the crowd and resumed the walk again. A good half-a-kilometre before the actual venue, we heard the buzz of the happy Oktober Fest people. It was a nice, heady hum and we were just drawn into it.

Merry in love :)

The world inside the Oktober Fest tent was golden-hued, merry and high on beer, which came in 2000 different kinds. Hours of people watching, photo clicking and miles of walking through the milling crowds later we took a break for our first treat. And no, it wasn’t a brewed variety. Our eyes caught snow white candy floss, sold by an impossibly pretty meadow-maiden looking lady. We got a small one; 2 euros. Next temptation came in the form of a glossy, glazed, red candied apple… 

Not as yummy as it looks...

We yielded. It cost us  2 euros and took us 2 whole minutes to realize we just couldn’t bite into its rock hard sugar glazing. Tragic. There had to be a happy end to this. So allowed ourselves one more little treat for another 2 euros --  white chocolate coated blueberries and raspberries. Bliss.

All this while we were looking for a tent where we could buy our share of Oktoberfest beer, for cheap. And after walking in circles ogling at all that German tamasha, for hours, we found a bustling lil’ tent sold cola, Russian and regular local beer for 5 euors a glass. We asked for the smallest glass, and the lightest beer. “We have only big, BIG, glasses,” the lady behind the counter beamed, pouring out a tall glass of Russian lime-favoured beer. “The lightest,” she vouched, with a wink.

Two teetotalers sipping on a tall glass for hours together... 

As we sat on the cool green grass sipping our lemony beer all we could feel was the happy high around us. A certain hellishness we left behind seemed so far, far away. And so, so intolerable. No, it was not the beer. Hell, no! When a whole nation steps out  and gathers in one place to say cheers to life, love and whatever they are, you know something’s definitely right. And whatever that is, I wanted to take back with me.

As Munich danced and sang and made merry while downing gallons of beer under the bright September sky, we put our Happy Feet up, took a long, hard sip from our shared beer and said cheers to life.

--C