lollardfish

If you walk through the streets of Venice long enough, you will see things that amaze you. Some will be beautiful old churches, some perfect Venetian scenes in the campos, with families playing or people dancing, and some the horrific actions of the most boorish tourists. In the last case, I pretend to speak only Italian, and don’t make eye contact. You can become inured to them, because every corner can be just so damn picturesque. How many times can you cross a delightful little canal with the laundry blowing in the wind and sigh about how marvelous it is? How many times can you see the moon over the grand canal and gaze in awe at the sigh? How many times can the gondola caravans with the operatic singer (all male, mostly quite good to my ear) stop you in your tracks and raise a foolish grin? The answer to all these questions is, as it turns out, quite a lot, but I seem to be reaching the end. I don’t, honestly, notice a lot of the everyday beauty that is part of Venice’s charm. I don’t notice the little idiosyncracies that Venice presents, or at least, upon noticing, don’t blink and eye. In fact, on many days (and probably more as I get deeper in work, more used to being here, and the weather turns lousier) the glory of Venice is just blasé, and I see the flaws, I see my daily life, and I try to stumble through it and get some work done. I get focused on the daily struggles – Like today – I was reading about a saint that as far as I am concerned arrived in Venice in 1203, and has one of my most important documents written about it – apparantly Zara claims to have him as well. All my sources, save this one from the 40s, doesn’t even mention this claim for Zara, or dismisses it. The evidence leads to Venice. But evidence is not proof, and it’s going to be a pain to deal with this. And besides, it could be right, and then a big chunk of my argument gets harder. So that’s a week of work I have to do now to figure this out, and just thinking about it gave me a headache. But then Venice decided to show me a bit of surprise …

I had thought I was going to write about the parade of people in chef’s hats and coats who were parading through San Marco when I got there this morning, some carrying signs reading ‘Association of Chefs from ______” (insert region). But no … it was the astronauts.

I have a new route, discovered while with Bruce and Karen last week, to and from the library. It goes down rarely used streets and can take you quite close to the Piazza without having to deal with the busy tourist traffic. But today, on the way home, I came upon about twenty people blocking the street outside the Hotel and Ristorante Caneletto. There was a crowd of men and women in suits, three quite official looking photographers (at least they had nice cameras), some men wearing black uniforms with the Italian air force on it, and then, with glasses of prosecco, standing around the owner of the restaurant, toasting him and being photographer, there were four men in NASA uniforms. They had patches on their shoulders. They had crew cuts (or little hair). They all seemed to be late 40s or early 50s. And they were astronauts. In Venice. Drinking prosecco. It all seemed a bit surreal. It definitely topped the cooks. Or the men in lederhosen.

So I stopped and asked a nice Englishwoman (chosen by chance from the throng) what was happening, and it’s all as one might suspect. The Italian air force and their local radar/weather monitoring station (possibly in Vincenza? Or maybe out to sea) is doing some collaboration with NASA. There’s a lot of conviviality and teamwork, and the astronauts are having a fine time with their wives in Venice. I spoke to one of the astronauts, and he introduced me to another, a man named D. Carey. No. Not Drew. But he is an astronaut from Minnesota. His wife is from St. Paul. He graduated from the U. He even has a ‘day’ in Minneapolis where he is celebrated, I’m told. October 22. He’s going to miss it this year because he’ll be in Italy, but maybe I’ll see him there next fall.

I’ve also met a man from Chicago moving to Venice (via some time in London) to try and win the heart of a girl from Treviso. Nice guy. I wish him luck. It’d make a nice screenplay. Of course, the screenplay I want to write is on the Song of Roland. After my novel on a modern-day theft of the relics of Saint Mark. After my disseration. After dinner.

Bye.