“A gondola full of Santas just went by our window,” Ailyn said relatively calmly. “Oh, there’s another, this one has elves too, I think.”
I had just woken up a few minutes before and encouraged her to go to the window and look for more Santas when another boat of them zipped by the French doors of the dining room.
After a few boats, the Santas stopped – so, we went about getting ready for the day.
Once up and out, we made another attempt at dropping off our laundry for cleaning – only to find the laundry was closed, despite signs indicating it should have been open today. The kids and I agreed we’ll go to the laundry tomorrow morning without all the clothes to see if it’s actually open and if they can do a two-day turnaround before we schlep a rolling duffle and garbage bag of laundry across two canals and through the neighborhood square.
After sheepishly returning out clothes to our apartment, the kids decided on brunch at the Christmas market by the Canneregio and so we walked, arancini on our minds. As we crossed one of the many bridges along the way, a boat of Santas was passing. As we had experienced earlier, there is no such thing as a single boat of Santas – it was the prelude to a Santa and Elf fleet that zipped down the canal. The unanswered question was whether Gondola Santas are the Venetian version of Christmas caroling?
I can only imagine the Gondola Santas patrol every canal because more than an hour later, we caught up to them again as we headed to the vaporetto dock.
Sennen wondered if couples make dates to go see the Gondola Santas pass by. I wondered what it must be like to tell someone your dad is a Gondola Santa – and if that is seen as a brag or an embarrassment. Do families go out to support their Gondola Santa fathers, uncles and grandfathers? Are the Santas rowing for charity? Do they train for the event? Is it a team-building event for gondoliers throughout Venice? The possibilities seem endless.
Either way, we couldn’t just sit around and conjecture about Gondolier Santas all day and after rustling up a Christmas market brunch, boarded a southbound #1 vaporetto for the Desoduro district. What we didn’t realize is that the #1 is the local which takes longer while the #2 is the express – leaving Sennen to joke it’s exactly the opposite of how things really work.
Amazingly, the slow journey was a real pleasure. Not only was the vaporetto not crowded, but it felt like on a Sunday afternoon, the Grand Canal itself was much emptier than we had seen it. Life seemed slow and the afternoon sun gently set the city aglow.
“I really like Venice!” Sennen said more than once. “The Grand Canal seems so peaceful like this!”
This was just the prelude to Sennen’s love affair with the Desoduro district. Why? Because while it is home to a few of academic institutions and museums – including the Peggy Guggenheim – as well as some massive old mansions along the waterfront – again like Peggy Guggenheim’s – the Desoduro is a picturesque, residential neighborhood. Well-kept homes on shockingly still and clear canals abounded. Tourists and abundant, retreating tourist shops did not. The area was quiet on a Sunday with few businesses open – and at least during our visit – no Santas on land or sea.
Once Sennen took it in and pondered it over a dark chocolate gelato, he talked for ten minutes straight about all the reasons the Desoduro was magical and great – and how this was where he would want to live in Venice. Something about the pretty, winding, quiet canals, homes with garden courtyards and the faint awareness of families at home in their nests gave the Desoduro a warm, comfortable feeling. As far as Sennen was concerned, this was the REAL Venice and he wanted to turn and spit on those nasty tourists in the San Marco and Cannaregio who made a mockery of it.
There was nothing to disagree with except to possibly point out he was a gelato and arancini-eating tourist himself, which Ailyn happily did. But his greater appreciation for the Desoduro was something with which we could all get onboard. We explored narrow paths, winding canals, cute cafes, art galleries, scattered shops and a beautiful waterfront overlooking Giudecca island. We witnessed a water taxi full of Northern European tourists loudly singing Jingle Bells. And we saw and overheard more locals running into one another and talking than at any other point so far.
From a cafe by the Grand Canal where we stopped to rest our feet and rehydrate, Sennen looked out at the water and the giant Ponte dell’Academia and said, “This must be a great place in the summer!”
I explained that Venice gets the most tourism in summer because it is. Of course our coming in winter means we get the city less crowded, but also enjoy fewer hours of sun and shorter light. The summer tourists have long days to continue exploring the city while by 6pm, we have the urge to head home and hole up in a warm apartment.
It’s funny how much seasons and weather can impact your experience of a place. Last year, I enjoyed Patmos in the winter, but probably only because I knew Patmos in the summer so well. The contrast was part of the joy. Yesterday and today were sunny days and the kids were much happier to walk around than the two days prior. And so was everyone else – the mood of the city was palpably light and more energetic – though the weekend could also be a contributing factor, especially for locals.
“I hate layering!” Sennen said this morning. “How do people do this all the time?!” (he’s so my kid). Ailyn has not embraced it much more than her brother. They are California kids who have taken one prior vacation to a destination with winter weather – France. They have never spent more than two days in the snow. Most of their winter vacations have been to the tropics and they spend their summers split between Southern California and Patmos, Greece. Winter is not a familiar friend.
In a wide-world of places and experiences, it’s entirely possibly one or both of the kids will choose not to return to Venice. Their memories – unlike most visitors – could well be a winter Venice for life. Having never been here before myself, I wonder just how much it changes Venice. Could the cold, short days give Venice a negative tinge? Or will the sleepy mornings, slow starting days, bundling up, wind in our faces on the vaporettos and movies in bed at night color their memories warmly?
I’ve had it go both ways. Istanbul in late autumn was so magical, I am afraid to ever try it in summer. Paris in winter is just as delightful than Paris in summer. Athens anytime kinda’ sucks. But I’m sure if I first encountered Patmos in the winter, it would not have been love at first sight. The long, warm summer days with the glittering blue sea and equally vibrant sky are a Patmos dream. My winter visit only worked because I had a house and wanted to curl up, write and enjoy some peace and quiet.
I reminded the kids that we can always trade some time on Patmos in summer for other destinations – like Venice. We might have places we would enjoy most in summer and we don’t have to be without the option. They both immediately said, “No.” Patmos time – at least for now – remains sacred.
In any case, as night fell and legs tired, we found an upstream #2 vaporetto back to the Canneregio and went about collecting our dinner. We decided to cook for the first time this trip and picked out some pasta and roasted chicken at the supermarket. I grabbed some Pronti di Cuocere – “spinach dumplings” to cook and try. The pasta and chicken were a hit. The kids sprinkled their new and treasured pecorino and truffle dust on it to their delight. The Pronti di Cuocere were disappointing – but we’re here to learn. Then we lit the Hanukkiah for our eighth and final night – always the best. And the day, the holiday – and something less definable – felt complete.
