VENICE -- Fashion is a cruel mistress, never more so than when one is traveling. It is, after all, a truth universally acknowledged that most tourists -- with the possible exception of the late Grace Kelly -- never have the right wardrobe, regardless of how carefully they pack.
It is not just a matter of weather-preparedness and comfort; it is also the letdown one feels upon arriving in a stylish city such as Venice only to find oneself hopelessly out-of-fashion.
At least this has been the experience of one American in Venice -- we shall call her Signora S. -- who sits now trying on shoes in a trendy shop called Prada. It is the kind of shop, she notes, where most customers have no hope of ever attaining the glossy perfection of its salesclerks, all of whom resemble models or movie stars. For some reason, the signora feels slightly intimidated among these gods and goddesses.
Still, she brings with her a secret weapon: Signora S. knows that shoes are the most democratic of all fashions. Unlike form-fitting capri pants and tiny sweater sets, shoes do not care if you are a size 4 or a size 16. Thanks to this equalizing factor, shoes are the one article of clothing that the signora is able to try on with her usual aplomb.
"Ah, signora, they fit your feet like gloves!" says the divinissima-looking salesman as he slips onto Signora S.'s feet a pair of sporty, black Prada shoes with red stripes on the heels. He studies them. "It is the stripe that makes it Prada!" he says enthusiastically.
Signora S. loves the way Italians talk in exclamation marks! It makes everything sound fresh and exciting! "Si, si, si!" she responds. Standing up, she takes a few steps away from the safety of her chair.
"Bella, signora!" the salesclerk says. "Bellissima!"
The shoes are sort of darlingissima! thinks Signora S. "Quanto costa?" she asks, surprising even herself with the fact that she is not only speaking in Italian but thinking in it as well! The price quoted by the clerk is in the hundreds of thousands of lire! The signora's face, however, registers no shock. By now she has learned that almost everything in Italy comes with a five- or six-digit lire price, and that it is never as bad as it sounds.
"It is our last pair in black!" the salesman says, hoping perhaps to close the deal. Obviously, he does not know Signora S.; otherwise he would know she is not one to be swayed by such a sales pitch.
"I'll take them!" says the signora, after thinking it over carefully for a second or two. She hands the clerk her carto di credito, telling him she will wear the new shoes out of the shop. "They are perfect for the long walk ahead of me!" she tells him, even though he discreetly feigns disinterest in the signora's future life.
No matter. There will be many others interested in her plan to walk from one end to the other of the district known as Dorsoduro. Waiters, for example, will be eager to listen -- not to mention hotel concierges and tourists she meets along the way.
Dorsoduro, one of Venice's six sestieri, or districts, lies on the left bank of the Grand Canal, across from the district of San Marco. It is Signora S.'s favorite sestieri. Why, just yesterday she was overheard speaking at length on Dorsoduro to a couple she met at breakfast on the hotel terrace:
"Why do I love Dorsoduro above all other sestieri? Because it is part of the Other Venice -- a neighborhood removed from the crowded tourism of Piazza San Marco and the Rialto. Si, si, Dorsoduro has its own tourist attractions, such as the art collections at the Accademia Gallery and at Peggy Guggenheim's palazzo, but it's where you'll find real Venetians going about their daily routines."
Friend of dogs
The mention of Peggy Guggenheim reminded Signora S. of how the eccentric American art collector enjoyed taking her beloved dogs for rides in her private gondola. "Because of this the Venetians affectionately called her la dogaressa -- which means 'the lady Doge,' " she told her new found friends. The signora had much more to say on the subject but the young couple -- honeymooners, no doubt -- seemed eager to be on their way.
Now, wearing her new black Prada shoes, the American signora is on her way to Dorsoduro. She could take the traghetta -- a gondola that crosses the Grand Canal -- or the vaporetto, but she prefers to walk. This takes more time, but the route to the Accademia Bridge, where she will cross the canal, has always been a favorite of the signora's.
She particularly loves a short lane, Calle Spezier, that runs between Campo San Maurizio and Campo Santo Stefano, one of the largest and liveliest squares in Venice. Signora S. nevers walks through Calle Spezier without stopping at Marchini's, a deliciousissima pastry shop. At Marchini's she always buys, as she does now, a bucellato -- a fig-and-nut concoction baked in the shape of a bagel.
Biting into the bucellato as she crosses the Accademia Bridge, the signora unaccountably is reminded of the Fig Newtons that were a staple of her grade-school lunches. Wrapped carefully in waxed paper by her mother and packed neatly into the tin lunchbox she carried to school, those Fig Newtons had little in common with the elegant bucellato. Still, it gives her pleasure to think of them and to see again, in memory, her mother.
Once across the graceful arc of the wooden bridge -- built in 1932 as a temporary replacement for the industrial-looking iron span erected in 1854 but still standing -- Signora S. steps into the heart of the Dorsoduro. Instantly, she feels at home. Why this should be, she does not know. After all, the signora has little in common with the actual residents of this charming district who an Italian friend described as "an interesting collection of impecunious Venetian nobility, wealthy foreigners and middle-class families."
A happy wanderer
Bypassing the long line of tourists waiting to get into the Accademia Gallery, she turns right; this is the area of Dorsoduro least familiar to her. On her map she has marked two sights to track down: the last floating vegetable and fruit market in Venice and the Squero di San Trovaso, a gondola boatyard that is one of the last squeri to produce new gondolas.
But no matter how clearly the map is marked, the road is never a straight one when the pilgrim treading it is Signora S. There are so many pleasures along the way that cry out for her attenzione. Small cafes beckon at each campo. Tiny bridges over narrow canals insist on being crossed. An open gate into a small garden of astonishing beauty must be entered. The lure of mask shops, their dark interiors filled with the smell of papier-mache, cannot be denied.
Then, of course, there are the mandatory hotel appraisals Signora S. is so fond of conducting. Some hotels where she stops, she has heard of: the Pensione Accademia, for instance; the canal-side villa that is said to be favored by academics and the "Room with a View" crowd of Brits.
Other hotels are pleasant surprises: the charming Pausania, a 14th-century palace-turned-hotel, on one of the most pristine canals in Venice. So delightful is the Pausania that the signora decides to reside there on her next visit. She writes down the address: Fondamenta Gherardini, noting "Fondamenta means a quay alongside a canal." How quickly she is picking up the language, she thinks to herself. Molto quickissima!
Suddenly the signora sees something at the end of the fondamenta that brings her to a halt. Tied up at the foot of a bridge are several small barges filled with rows of artfully arranged fruits and vegetables. Signora S. consults the marks on her map. What she suspected is true: She has stumbled across the last floating market in Venice!
After buying an orange and exchanging pleasantries with the merchants, she turns right and finds herself on the Campo San Barnaba. Un amore a prima vista! she exclaims beneath her breath. Love at first sight! Why this should be so, she does not know. After all, Campo San Barnaba is not as large and lively as nearby Campo Santa Margherita, nor as charming as the Campiello Barbaro on the other side of the Accademia. But the simplicity of the square, of its 18th-century church and its inviting cafes, speaks to her.
She likes the feel of the locals taking their lunch here at tables shaded from the sun by large umbrellas. She likes the sight of young mothers pushing their children in strollers and older couples shopping for wine and olive oil at the enoteca. And she delights in the changing landscape of dogs dozing in the square, some in sun, others in shadow.
All of this Signora S. watches from a table at Randon, a small restaurant overlooking the plaza's southwest corner. At Randon -- a mother-and-son establishment where the cuisine is surprisingly sophisticated and the wine list exceptional -- Signora S. enjoys one of her favorite meals in Venice. The bill for this repast amounts to 25,000 lire, or about $13!
Just by chance
But the best is yet to come: the Calle lunga San Barnaba. The signora almost missed it. Standing at the entry point to this long, narrow pedestrian alley -- which, of course, is what "calle lunga" means -- she had hesitated. Nothing interesting-looking down there, she thought, turning back to the square. But fortune smiles on the American signora. She decides to give the Calle lunga San Barnaba a shot.
She takes a few steps into the narrow lane. Within seconds Signora S. realizes she has entered The Other Venice, the one belonging to the Venetians. Here people go about their daily lives, stopping in at the Pasticceria Colussi for round loaves of focaccia Venezia, sugared on top and baked like a souffle in a sleeve of parchment paper, or ducking into the small but charming Trattoria La Furatola for lunch.
"Ciao, Mauritzia!" an elderly woman calls out to a passing child. The woman is wearing a fitted tweed jacket and narrow black trousers, her silver hair tied back with a dark ribbon. Her posture is so upright that Signora S. immediately stands straighter. When the woman turns into a linen and lace shop, the American signora follows. Inside is some of the most beautiful lace to be found in Venice, as well as exquisite silk lingerie and handmade children's clothing. Calle lunga San Barnaba, it seems, is full of surprises such as this.
It is cool walking through the calle; the sun does not penetrate the narrow space between the stone walls of the houses. Here and there, strollers greet one another before turning into even narrower lanes. When they open the doors to their shuttered houses, the delicious scent of food being prepared for the midday meal spills out.
So enchanted is the American signora that she barely notices how uncomfortable her new Prada shoes have become. She continues walking. She walks until she comes to the Zattere, a long, sunny promenade that faces the wide canal of the Guidecca. The seagulls are diving, and a fresh breeze carries hints of the Adriatic Sea.
Seated at a cafe table sipping espresso, Signora S. feels happy and peaceful. Why, she does not know. Then it hits her: It's just like being at Ocean City! she thinks. Without the surf, of course.
But the signora cannot linger too long. She has miles to go before she sleeps. There is the church with the Veronese to be visited and the mask shop near Campo Santa Margherita and the Bridge of Fists and, of course, all the random treasures she will pass along the way.
Next Wednesday: Signora S. ends her Venice adventure as the dinner guest of a contessa!
"Postmark Venice" reprints, along with the the award-winning 1997 series "Postmark Paris" by Alice Steinbach, will be available at the conclusion of this series for $9.95. The package will include the published drawings by Hippolyte Romain and may be ordered by calling SunSource at 410-332-6800.