Murano and Burano

Word of the post is vaporetti, meaning water taxi; as in “The vaporetti was cool for the first 20 minutes but that last 20 it was just cold.”

Off the City of Venice there are several small islands. My friends Eileen, Kimberly and I traveled to two of them. The island of Murano is only about 1.5 Km away from Venice, while Burano is about 7 km. We took the train from Sacile to Venice. Before we started the journey to Murano we paused for Spritzers, which is a mid afternoon drink made of bitters, white wine, club soda, lemon and oranges-many people like them, I’m not a fan. Once we were fortified with Italian wine, we took a vaporetti to Murano.

Eileen enjoying a spritzer

Our view from the cafe and the vaporetti dock

I went on this trip mostly because I wanted something to do and also, because Kimberly was interested in buying Burano lace. It turns out that Murano is something to see and not just a bunch of overpriced glass. Vendors cover the city with not really shops, but instead galleries of their work. Murano glass making goes at least as far back as the 9^th century when glassmakers were sent to Murano from Venice as a way to protect their craft from the destructive Venetian Republic.

People I met in Aviano have a bowl or vase from Murano and that’s really all I associated it with. The Murano have items that vary from wine stoppers to intricate mirrors.  In the town squares there are giant sculptures that are large, detailed works of art. Mosaics decorate the outside of many of these shops so you feel like you are visiting museums rather than proprietorships. While you may have no intention of buying glass at that particular juncture, you are kept quite busy marveling at how somebody was able to make tiny glass grapes that are carefully adhered to a ginormous chandelier. So, I found that whether you are looking to buy a fancy bowl or just appreciate fine craftsmanship, Murano is a cool place to go.

The very colorful Burano is about 30 minutes on the vaporetti from Murano. The island’s homes stand out because each house sports a different vivid hue. I read that the houses were painted so vividly because the fishermen wanted to be able to recognize their homes from sea. Venetian lace was said to have started there after a seaman gave his lady seaweed as a token, she then wanted it replicated in threads. I was very excited to see Burano and its beautiful handcrafted lace. Various books warn against stuff manufactured in Japan, but I couldn’t tell what was what and so I bought some things from a cute Italian couple. I am forever thankful that I know numbers in Italian because that was all I needed in my attempts at bartering down the prices.

 

It turns out that it can take about an hour to an hour and a half by train to get to Venice, 10 minutes to take a vaporetti to get to Murano and another 30 to get Burano. Travel is exponentially longer when one is not driving, but it also a lot more noteworthy. Next time we will start out in the early morning because we left plenty of shops uncovered. At any event, I considered this a scouting mission and intend to do some serious damage once we have our house in order.

 

-Also noteworthy, I just realized that I wrote bowel instead of bowl throughout this, I am very pleased I caught that. And fixed.

Viva La Carnivale!

The word of the post is: litro/litre, meaning liter, as in “The more litre of wine I drink the better my Italian becomes…or is that the wine talking?

AVIANO

Randy and I moved to Italy just in time for Carnevale. During the first sleep deprived weeks I heard people mention Venice at its Carnival, but I didn’t really get it until Carnevale weekend.  We saw signs all over the place and were lucky to happen upon not one, but two, major Carnevale celebrations.

 

Each year many communities prepare for lent with a festival. We know this as Mardi Gras, but in Italy it is also Carnevale season. The actual word carnival is a derivative of a Latin word that means “Farewell, meat.” During the weeks preceding Lent Italians would use up their meat, butter, and eggs while partying before the season’s fasting began. 

This was the Norm

  Venice has a special tradition for Carnevale which began in 1162 in celebration of the Republic’s victory over Ulrico of Aquileia. Since then, Venice Carnevale centers in Piazza San Marco where the first festivity hosted bull and pig slaughtering for its people. Venice Carnevale is special because of its unique use of masks and costumes which began around 1268. Masks were worn as a social protest to the delineation in social statuses. The government restricted such identity coverage to only the Carnivale season.

We're not Partying...We're Protesting the Established Social Order

  Many of the cities in Northeast Italy celebrate their own Carnivale with a local festival and parade. We knew that our own Aviano had a little party, but we didn’t really think about it. We were just lucky enough to stumble upon it when we were walking the dogs. We heard some jamming music and saw a disproportionate number of Zorros, Princesses, and Spidermen (I have no idea why these three costumes seem to be the way to go here) and realized that today was Carnivale!

When in Rome, er...Aviano

Well, we cancelled our gym plans-we had good intentions-called up our good friends Kirby, Emily, and Lily and got our Carnivale on. We wandered into the city center and had hot wine and crispy, cinnamon things for less than 5 euro for all of us! (Except Lily, she’s 9 months) We saw dance numbers and tons of great costumes.

Sheep

Cross Dressers

 

They love them some Confetti

 The main event was by far the parade. We thought we had missed it because it was about two hours into the festival and we hadn’t seen one so far. We were about to pack it up and go find some caffes when we saw a parade of grand proportions coming from the distance. This wasn’t like a local school parade where the cheerleaders and band prance down the street. This parade had floats that were two stories high, mechanically operated, and surrounded by choreographed and costumed dancers. The dancers were both male and female and ranged from 7 years old to 97. Most had grim faces, but the most animated, and my favorite, was an older gentleman who had real star potential.

He wasn’t even doing the same dance as his compadres but it was his dedication to the task that made him sparkle. He never wavered in his physical celebration.  Mr. Dance Man was the embodiment of this time honored tradition with his glee and purposeful, if not coordinated, jaunty moves.

Confetti attack, They seem like cute kids but they'll get you...Right in the Face

VENICE

If this wasn’t enough, Randy and I and several friends traversed to Sacile the following day where we took the train to Venice. There we saw this beautiful ancient city juxtaposed with the ridiculousness of adults carrying on in full up costumes. In route to Piazza San Marco, where the festivity is centered, we stopped for hot wine. We also paused for lunch at a place that I presumed had a pirate theme. Our group came to that conclusion, because the “litre” of wine was poured from the scowling mouths of black beard and some lesser known grey bearded fellow. 

Two words: Fried Risotto

Though the city was gorged with dedicated celebrators, Randy and I were able to take in some of the beautiful architecture. We traveled through the very narrow corridors and walked along the waterways. We will definitely return and get the scoop on the history and culture when it’s less bustling. Next year we plan to be costumed. Who knows maybe we’ll go as spidermen.

Venice, Right off the Train

If you look closely you'll see glass shards-Old Fashioned Barb Wire

Piazza San Marco

On our way home on the train, my friend Perta and I met the favor of a drunken gentleman. He seemed nice enough, but he began to take pictures of us a few inches from our faces. I felt quite empowered because I had just learned some helpful new Italian phrases, specific to this very occasion. I clearly, if not completely eloquently, stated that he should stop it, and if not, I would call the police. Now maybe these statements weren’t actually the best two, but they were all I had at all relevant in my repertoire. He ignored me and continued to violate personal space boundaries. Right when I was about to get really agitated, he managed to say in broken English that he was Tunisian and did not speak any Italian (And clearly very little English). Well, at least I tried. Even though my Italian landed on somewhat “deaf’ ears, our husbands were able to communicate via body language that he should scram. He left because apparently he DID speak angry husbands. Viva la Carnivale!

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