Venetian clichés and more

I daresay that ECCM15 was the last conference I shall attend during my Ph.D.  I am fast approaching the final months of this long journey, with all its ups and downs, but conferences certainly were positive outcomes of it all.  This latest one was held in Venice and it was quite a memorable one, for so many reasons.


It was not my first time in Venice; 1990 was my first and 2002 was my second, but whilst I was too young (though fully capable of independent navigation, as my parents well know) and still an architectural student in the latter visit, this time round I was almost a totally different person: a fully-fledged architect/structural engineer in my late 20s, with a keener eye for observation, with a (digital) camera in hand and, of course, with the acquired capability of reflecting on "alien" cultures outside my native Maltese one.  And, naturally, I was there primarily for 'business'...


I was lodged on the Lido rather than on Venice proper, which was already a novelty.  The commute was by boat (I did not have much of a choice really) and once docked, I headed to the hotel and then for a quick tour of the Lido.  It did not feel much like Venice: cars adorned the streets, and there were actually streets rather than canals!  But the unmistakable Italian (even Venetian) qualities were so distinctive from what I am accustomed to in London and yet so much closer to what I find in the Maltese homeland.  Perhaps the best illustration is that first evening.


The Euro 2012 was at quarter final stage and, that evening, Italy had to face England.  I could not miss that game and after a quick (yet tasty) pizza for dinner, I found a bar with a big screen and settled there for the night.  Customers downed Spritz (not beer); the barmen did not refrain anyone from smoking but they themselves smoked behind the counter; no drink measures were used but all was simply done "by eye"; euphoric shouts at all the attempts of Pirlo and/or Balotelli and colourful offensive tags to Rooney's and Gerard's counterparts.  Strangers engaging in conversation without any prejudice or discomfort.  And all with the added pleasure of a sea-induced breeze and live music being played from a nearby open-air concert.  The Mediterranean lifestyle.  Or rather the Adriatic one in this case...P.S. Italy won 4-2, with penalties after a 0-0 result even after the 120th minute; Italy-Germany was the next match in the semi final.


Monday to Thursday were the conference days in the fascist-style Casino and equally scary Palazzo del Cinema, though still marked by extra-curricular activities: the daily lunches (a manifestation of organised chaos, with typical southern disorganisation in the handling of the 1500 strong crowd) with generous helpings of tasty pasta, carpaccio, mozzarrella and Italian cold meats; the dinners at a local restaurant (spaghetti with lobster on the first occassion and a feast of seafood on the second, i.e., baby octopus as an antipasto, spaghetti con vongole as a 1st course and mixed grilled fish as a main course, all washed down with wine and topped off with a tiramisu, an espresso lungo and, of course, a limoncello); the conference dinner (yet again a massive logistical miscalculation which prolonged the feasting till almost midnight!  And, by the way, my 2 presentations on the Tuesday were all delivered smoothly, to my great relief.

On Thursday afternoon, I headed to Venice proper (I was about to say "the mainland" but there is no mainland in Venice!) and began the cultural activities.  Being accustomed to the generally accepted view that London's tube is very expensive (£4 for a single cash fare), I found the traghetto fares appalling: €7 for a single trip!  But I had no choice, unless I had decided to swim across the lagoon.  Once berthed off San Marco, I started my venture in 30 something degrees, with 2 litre water bottle in one hand and camera in the other.  Once the obvious sights were done, I headed off the tourist-beaten track and into the hidden Venice, the unknown maze of calle this and ria that and fondamente so-and-so.  The uniqueness of its character and the fascination it entails are too overwhelming and I almost confidently can say that Venice is my favourite place in the world.  After an exhaustive tour of the sestieri of San Marco and Dorsoduro, I headed back to the Lido for Italy-Germany, yet another magnificent display of football, which took the Italians to the final against Spain.


Friday morning was an early start: I took the boat to the train station and headed to the real mainland, to the city of Padova.  The irony was that a return ticket cost as much as a single ferry fare!  Once at the (fascist) station, I met my 'Paduan' colleague from uni and he showed me around a city so familiar to him that for a minute I thought he was not really a biomechanical engineer but rather a tourist guide!  Only one problem: it was boiling and we had to catch up on the fluid loss thanks to a Spritz and plenty of water (I ended up drinking some 4 litres that day and only a cupful came out the normal way, just to give an idea of the heat level; sorry for the detail). Padova is much a student city: an endless parade of students, posters glued to facades, concerts, coffee shops for philosophical debates; not sights you would encounter in London, unfortunately.  Padova was equally enchanting: the (much-appreciated) shaded arched loggias, the cobbled streets, the ad hoc urban fabric which developed organically rather than strictly planned and laid out, the omnipresent Catholic spirit and the endless references to St. Anthony, whose presence and dominance was escalating as one approached to the basilica.


The basilica: what an eclectic place!  A unique superposition of all architectural styles known to me: Byzantine, Gothic, Renaissance, Baroque.  Every single corner has its own story, its own conceptual creation, material, colour.  It was like visiting a 100 places in 1.  And of course the quasi superstitious qualities associated with strong Catholic tradition: petitions, photos, candles, figures, relics and all the rest.  I probably found this basilica much more splendid than Venice's own San Marco, but this is subjective.  


By mid afternoon, my guide had ventured back to his home town of Este and I wandered again through the now-deserted Piazza delle Erbe and Piazza della Frutta and the precincts of the Palazzo Bo' and the centre.  It was then time to return to Venice and conclude my tour there: Cannarreggio awaited me.  I lingered there till well after dinner (in the Rialto's shadow) and sunset and then back to the hotel, thoroughly exhausted yet satisfied. 

Saturday was my final day there, which meant I was soon to return back to London, from the scorching sun and mid-high 30s to mid 20s and the constant grey (as I write this, it is pouring out there and it almost a re-enactment of the Great Flood).  After such a long time in London, I cannot help but note such differences between 'us and them'.  I think I am more convinced than ever that I ought to return back to the homeland.  But before then, I have got a thesis to finish!