Venice Life 3

To misquote the telegram famously sent by a newly-arrived New Yorker correspondent. Yes, of course you know – but do you know? Not sure I did, after almost four decades of annual visits to the city.

Do you fully, gut level understand the demands made by a city where, extraordinary to us, movement is by foot or by water? There’s no coming out of a shop tired, laden with groceries or household goods, and thinking ‘I’ll just jump into a cab, or call an Uber’. Throughout the historic part of Venice, there aren’t any. Water taxis cost an arm and leg (even by London standards), especially for short journeys; and in any case there’s no expectation of hailing them as they go by. Unless you live right by a vaporetto stop - ie on one of the few main watery arteries - it is at some point going to be down to Shanks’ pony. And, since Venice, like any other medieval city, builds upwards, probably some flights of stairs at the end of it.

Actually, it’s amazing how many people don’t know. Ask Paul, whose view of life may have been permanently soured by dealings with prospective removal companies. Yes they could do Italy – yes, Venice – yes, via Tronchetto or Mestre, absolutely…And then: ‘We can park the lorry right outside the flat, can’t we?’.

Hello? It’s Venice? Streets full of water? You have heard of it? Seen pictures, maybe?

I can only assume they assume that Venice has one big, ‘grand’ canal, with maybe a few picturesque little offshoots – great Insta opportunity! – but that all around them, the city operates ‘normally’. I have the strongest sense of Venice laughing up her sleeve, for centuries.

In the UK I hardly know I have a tax code. For years I’ve only hunted it up when I need, guess what, to pay the tax people. In Venice I’ve had one for five minutes, and I’ve already had to give my codice fiscale to five people, including the decorator. Without a tax code you’re nobody. Or you’re a tourist, anyway.

On which note: our British absence of ID cards is a difficulty. It concerned the broadband company deeply. No, my proffered passport didn’t hack it, though they were reluctantly persuaded to accept a driving license instead. I will at some point need an Italian telefonino to talk to said utility companies, whose numbers won’t recognise an English one. (We’ll talk another time about whether you need to speak Italian.) And of course there are a few other oddities.

At the Spar - though not the Co-op - you have to flash your till receipt at the exit gates to get out, same as on the London subway. Heaven knows what you do if you haven’t bought anything…but that’s the point, maybe?

So everything they say about Italian bureaucracy is true? Some things go far more easily. The picture of Italians as warmly, helpfully garrulous and inclusive seems to be for the most part true. They don’t just put it on for tv documentaries. People want to help you; and if they can’t do it themselves, they’ll know someone who can: witness the prolonged help Ezio, our estate agent, gave me negotiating (ie chatting) with the lady from the broadband company.

True, I may have to return to Venice especially for a technician’s appointment to get wi-fi installed. (Since, see above, I can’t call to change it) But I now know all about Luisa’s taste in reading, her aunt in Canada, and why she speaks English so eagerly.

Venetian estate agents couldn’t care less about the view from the windows, which for me as a buyer was absolutely key. Instead, they push one thing and one thing only – the cesspit, septic tank, waste disposal facility.

I get it, I do. A) because this is a huge issue, for a city constructed the Venetian way. B) because this is what governs whether you can or cannot register the property for holiday lets, which for many people would be key, financially. ‘Views? Views from the bedrooms certainly don’t matter’, said one agent dismissively, promoting his plumbing quite aggressively.

But, sorry, my vision of life in Venice centred on one picture – me looking out of a window - standing on a balcony – even lying in bed with my morning coffee - and watching a beautiful world go by. The drainage didn’t feature largely. Through Ezio, I wound up with a bedroom view to die for, thankfully.

While we’re on sordid subjects – the pantegane, the sewer rats. There is a reason the leading boat of the Grand Parade, every Carnival, is decked out with tail and whiskers. ‘There are even more rats than there are tourists’, says a Venetian lady in the bar. ‘Big ones, too.’ That’s the why of the huge fines for leaving rubbish bags out on the streets, why it’s forbidden to sit and snack on the streets or the bridges. I haven’t yet seen one and I don’t want to, which is why I’ll be following the rules very carefully.

Expect the unexpected, over what you do and don’t need to take with you. Remember that even Amazon – certainly IKEA! – may theoretically deliver in Venice, but it won’t go smoothly or easily. So: for my next visit, must take an ice cube tray, for the sacred G&T. (Shops may theoretically sell ice, but supply is very patchy – maybe because, wine apart, Italians still drink in bars and not at home?). Marmite; and … a dustpan and brush, actually. I tried three shops – two hardware, one supermarket – and they all sold dustpans but not brushes. Much puzzlement when I asked for such a thing. What do Italians do?

Talking of buying, for your sanity’s sake, get a return Alilaguna ticket at the airport. (Alilaguna? It’s the company that does the trans-lagoon boats, as opposed to the vaporetti.) The theory runs that you can buy a ticket onboard for just a single euro excess: unfortunately, no one told the onboard staff, who view a credit card as a complicated fraud attempt, and cash as they would a cockroach. Trying to buy online (or persuade the boat staff to accept the result) will shorten your life and harden your arteries, and city sales points are few and far between…Yes, this is one for any visitor. But perhaps we would-be residents are more likely to arrive with a sense of ‘Phew. We’re here’, and treat departure as a problem for a distant day.

Your new Venetian habits get quickly so ingrained that you’re going to take them home with you. For better and for worse …You move more, expect to navigate the world slightly differently: see above. But that’s just as well, since you also start to eat differently. The fritturas of fish and vegetables in feather-light batter, the pasta with duck, the gelati, the wine? Those special Venetian doughnuts you really ought to try for breakfast? Normally you’d tell yourself it doesn’t matter, you’re on holiday, with the implication that it’s only for a short while.

But guess what – this isn’t a holiday. It’s life - even if only part-time life. Calories? What are those? You start once again looking at food as something to be seized, with greed and gusto, rather than of which to be wary.

Yes, it is.

I’ve said it before and I will undoubtedly say it again - in Venice the ordinary becomes extraodinary. Daily chores - a trip to the supermarket - a trip from the airport - putting the rubbish out going to the market - becomes an adventure.

There – that one was quick and easy.