25 April 2017

Evenings at Taverna San Trovaso

The ground floor of Taverna San Trovaso (Calle Contarini Corfù, 1016) had a ceiling that looked as if it had once served as an underground tunnel connected to the adjacent waterway. The tables and chairs were wooden, aged by the hands of the diners that brought the atmosphere to life every night. A.C. and I requested a table for two, and we were seated just before sunset on the ground floor of the pink-tinted building with green shutters. The proximity of our location to the warm kitchen made it ideal. I imagined wine and Margherita pizza would magically appear before me minutes after the waiter relayed my order to the chef. 

 A.C. stepped away from the table momentarily, and I admired the rustic walls with their glowing lamps and framed photographs of Venetian scenes. A blissful smile spread over my face, and the American couple at the neighboring table took my expression as a sign that I was open for conversation with people I did not know. They admitted they were Southern, and the blonde-haired woman asked me if my husband was Southern too. As a proud Northerner, I was perplexed by the question and provided her with "no, he's not" as an answer. My best friend returned, and the pizza arrived after a few meaningless minutes of chatter with the nearby strangers. The dark-haired man and his wife allowed us to enjoy our dinner undisturbed, and we focused our private conversation on the pleasantries of our current city. 
The following night, A.C. and I were led up to the second floor of the establishment. The ceiling was modernly flat, and the interior was painted contemporary shades of white, tan, and purple. Small chandeliers hung from above, and beige, silk shades decorated the tops of the open windows. Framed, Venetian-themed photographs were suspended by strips of satin mounted to fixtures at the tops of the walls.

I missed the warm wooden and brick surroundings of the level below, but the superior food, delicious wine, and humorous waiter made up for the new setting. I spotted Zac Efron - light brown hair and blue eyes - serving food across the room. A.C. assured me that Zac Efron did not moonlight as a waiter. And besides, if he did work here, maybe he was trying to escape the paparazzi and did not want anyone to know. 

At the conclusion of our second night at Taverna, we headed toward the steps that descended to the exit on the ground floor. The painting at the top of the steps tilted in my direction as I drew near. My eyes widened, and laughter from the joyous wait staff erupted. The falling frame was the signature trick of the restaurant and was played on dinners who ordered too much wine and thought Zac Efron was hiding in Venezia.   

Evenings at Taverna San Trovaso

M.J.C.

24 April 2017

Gondolier Stripes

If I ever get to know a gondolier on a personal level, I hope he/she will let me admire the multitude of stripes in his/her wardrobe. I come to Venezia to see the fashion show of blues and reds that travel through the waterways. I see styles that would be suitable additions to my collection worn on the rowers that pass. A top with lines is an element of my everyday uniform, and there is no such thing as owning too many.
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M.J.C.

23 April 2017

An Afternoon on the Grand Canal

Towering lines of row houses border the narrow streets. Sensing the way to the Grand Canal, we wind our way through the passages. When I see the teal water ahead, I quicken my steps in the direction of the wooden dock. I wear a striped tee shirt over a black A-line dress, the blue lines echoing the aesthetic of a gondolier’s uniform. I sit at the end of the dock, my navy canvas shoes skimming the water. A.C. catches up and replicates my sitting position. The boats on the canal rumble south toward the open lagoon. A driver docks his red vehicle at our feet. We offer to watch his prized possession until his return. He agrees with a laugh and a wide smile leaving the keys in the ignition. The Venetian dashes off in his sunglasses. When he returns ten minutes later, he hops into his sleek boat with the agility of a runner leaping over hurdles. We watch him merge into the line of traffic on the clear water and wonder if an American drivers license is sufficient to rent a boat in Venezia.
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M.J.C.

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