Venice, Ca'SAGREDO and HARRY'S BAR

I am so super excited.
Venice.
Mask ball.
Valentine's.
Harry's bar.
Gondolas.
Bellini.
Pasta.
...

Life is beautiful. Especially when in Venice. (or in the South of France)
Our plane is an early one, dreadful, but less annoying since the destination is VENECIA.


I was 'very busy' trying outfits all day yesterday, making up some sensual wear for the Venetian alleys.
Dressing up is one of my passions. Maybe I should have tried my luck in the Hollywood lane, at least I could dress up and get paid for it.
I guess, this train is long gone though, maybe I still have a chance to do granny dress up, but who wants to see that?
I got my xxl suitcase (Samsonite - black label vintage - by now looking very vintage) stuffed to the top with dresses, shoes, hot curlers, cheap jewels, gloves, hats, bags and a naughty variety of lingerie (from schoolgirl to kitten)...
Just in case.
My sexy mask from Zakynthos is packed separately -carry on - as not to break it.
By 6 we are out the door, in the taxi, high speed to the airport.
I get this feeling that I forgot something. I know this feeling and when it comes, it is always right.
At arrival I notice my carry on bag, with my Zakynthos mask, is missing.
It is still at home, at the entrance, just where I left it.
Oh well...


The airport is FULL today.
I have never seen it so busy.
Portugal has a holiday coming up and people are leaving for snow, sun, romance, carnival or who knows what.
Our plane is almost full too and I spot a few lovers, kissing and cuddling, inspired by the promise of unforgettable love in Venice.
A great book to read by the way, if going to Venice:
"The last Courtesan"


Approaching Venice, one wonders how the 'good-taste-Italians' let such ugliness grow around a masterpiece of beauty, like a cancerous disease. Mestre is the monster's name and it can only be described as a sad example of human growth. Or as Mestre is also called: "the ugliest place in the world". If this is true, I am not sure, as there are a few competitors on my list.
It must be humiliating though, to live next to "the most beautiful city in the world".
2 sisters. One pretty, one ugly. This never ends good.

Is this Venice?

Poor Mestre and poor people who must live there (since nobody can afford Venetian rents), but work in Venice. This is the scoop of modern Venice. It is almost like Universal City, a fake, a movie prop. The gondoliers, the pizza bakers, the receptionists, the musicians... they all head into the train, tired and exhausted late at night, only to return early morning, before the hungry needy tourists are up, to open the shutters and make believe that Venice is still alive.

Do I mind? Or am I happily fooled? I am fooled and my imagination repaints the facts into the sweetest fairy-tale truth. That's me, since there is not much I can do to change the way of Venice. Rising waters, humidity, bad smells, rats, pollution, tourist hordes, inconvenience (imagine the daily chores of shopping alone) and ever growing prices and up-keeping, who really can afford it, but a few fortunate, with pockets full of coins and an army of helping hands?
Venice is a beauty, a DIVA, a goddess, but an aging one. To keep her shine and smile she needs a lotttttttt of attention, love and maintenance. And a bank filled with gold.
The arrival terminal in Venice is just a mess. People, suitcases and lots of noise, we wait more than 45 minutes without any sign of our monster bags.
An announcement explains, that something, somewhere is not working, but is being fixed.
Italian style.
So we wait and watch the crowd.
After an hour the conveyor belt creaks into life and colorful treasure chests (black is still the choice of most modern travelers) appear, going round and round.
Like circus horses.
Where is my horse?
Where is Prince's stallion?
The belt screeches again and everything stops. The last traveling companions are heaved down and then we are left with emptiness.
No Samsonites.
No dresses.
No sexy underwear.
Just a huge line at the LOST&FOUND counter.
A war-painted, yellow broom hair Christmas tree (female, I think) approaches with a dangerous clack clack clack (poor heels), screaming and shouting and jumping the line.
Prince kindly asks her to step back to the end, waiting in line like everyone else.
Her nostrils do not seem to agree with this idea, and a dangerous huffing and tuffing starts, pulling her botox mask dangerously apart. I wonder is she will take off like a wild bull seeing red, or if the botox mask will snap and burst open.
Sadly the show stops here, as an airport representative pulls the botox-bull byside, calming her, with sweet promises.
We are next and the news doesn't look good.
No suitcase today.
Tomorrow, maybe.
I try to take destiny lightly, I have learned the hard way last year, so a delayed suitcase is nothing compared.
Just cloth. Just make up. Just shoes.
Ahhh, who needs it?
All I need is here!
My baby. My lip balm. My hair brush. And our hotel address. VOILA.


Venice is just a taxi ride away.
The day is glorious.
Warm and sunny and crisp, it seems to try to make up for our lost luggage.
It's succeeding.


We wait at the Quay and I feel strangely free without the weight of my suitcase.

Style-police where are you?

Our water-taxi arrives. My eyes caress the beautiful vision. Those taxis are just beautiful. Elegant and classy and utterly romantic.
My only dislike is the dress code of the modern taxi-captains. Unlike the gondoliers, who still sport the traditional stripy garments, the taxi-boys are dressed in Jeans, T-Shirts and baseball hats. Someone ought to complain to the Venice fashion police.
We are whizzed away in our luxurious aqua limo and I feel heavenly happy.
Venice here we come...


Our hotel is the Ca'Sagredo.
A newly opened boutique hotel, with pretty good reviews.
The Danieli, our usual preferred choice was fully booked, but one suite. (Let's not talk about the rates)

But for location, beauty, romance, elegance and all that stuff dreams (my) are made of, the DANIELI is it. Next time...
We arrive at a fabulous pink palacio, our hotel?

What a beauty!
I grin at Prince, my eyes shiny with pleasure. Beauty, you always touch me.
Ca Sagredo is a real surprise. A gem discovered.

We take the grand tour of this stunning palace (read more at the hotels website about the colorful history) and we are just awed. What a place. An what a room. Grand Canal views, airy and bright and the midday sun painting glittery images on the walls. I must be dreaming...

 room with a view...

Since Prince is a bit sleepy, I pull the heavy chair to the window and watch Venice's life unfold like a dramatical theater play. The sun is surprisingly strong and I bath in the golden warmth like a lazy cat.

Barolo, mhhhh...

Time to take a stroll and have some yummmy Italian fare... (and wine)

The seduction of the unknown...

 Death is always around

Johnny Depp in disguise...

It is a glorious day and the streets are bustling with people from all over the world. There is so much to see and I just cannot stop smiling. Venice, you are a my sunshine...
We lunch in a tiny trattoria (Trattoria dai Peochi) and fill up on Spaghetti Vongole, perfecto****
And then on to our fitting for the Grand Ball tomorrow. Oh, I can't wait!!!


Antonia Sauters' (famous party Queen of Venice) costume shop is Paradise for girls.

3 floors of dresses, coats, masks, shoes... I could live here!
I am hushed upstairs, where an American student is looking for dresses in my size. Looks like, I am a bit late for my dream creation, as there is not much choice left in a 36. Megan, who is from San Francisco and here to fulfill her life-dream of working just once for one of Antonia's ball (wow) is trying hard to find something that pleases me.

A sexy 20's number? NO! (I prefer something more historical)
The ball's theme is 7 sins and the dress code goes from 15th century up to the swinging 20's.
No 20's.
I now have to choose which century. Some era has the fashionable style, where dresses sport huge side-airbags (also usable as armrests), others have the bottom-airbag and others an all -rounder.
I am lost. So Megan starts pulling some numbers and like a BARBIE doll I am getting dressed.
Luckily Prince loves to watch and instead of getting impatient, gets excited like a little boy. He is really one rare breed.I find a blue satin dress (all-rounder) which I love, but Prince finds it a bit too PRINCESS.
Shame, since I feel very Cinderella in this one.
An orange side-bag vision gets thumbs down from Prince and Megan seems lost for other options. Prince decides to start digging himself (Megan is not excited, but cannot resist MR. CHARM) and so he disappears in a mountain of dresses and surely returns (some time later) with a dream creation, all flowers and gold and the biggest naughty smirk on his face.
" I took it off the window doll. She has your size. I know. I could feel it."
He just has undressed the window doll!?
Goshhhh, what a pervert!
Megan tries to protest, but a look - THE LOOK - from Prince and she starts dressing me again.
This is it.

This is going to be my gown. It is lovely...  (proof in images tomorrow)
Thank you my Prince.
And now it is time to find his matching version. Much easier for boys, for some reason...

The heavy costumes (and heavy price) will be delivered to our hotel and we make our way to the mandatory first dinner at HARRY'S BAR. Bellini heaven and people watching, a must for every Venice visit. A great read by the way, the making of Harry's.
And with that, a few Bellinis and  the infamous Venetian liver dish we say GOOD NIGHT from Venice...


PS: I will for sure sleep like a Princess in his Palacio chamber of ours...


TRATTORIA dai PEOCHI
simple Italian fare
Cannaregio 2232
Venezia
+39 41 721 555


Harry's Bar
www.cipriani.com
Sestiere San Marco, 1323
Venezia
+39 41 528 5777


Dress to IMPRESS!


Harry's Bar is a bar; it began as one. It offers in some ways the very essence of the cafe society that once played so large a part in the affairs of Europe. It is not that one would normally go into Harry's just for a cup of coffee, though some people do; but the atmosphere of the restaurant, the warm immediacy of it, the company always of people who know each other, the ease of converse, the somehow knowing attitudes of the staff — all these add up to the club like feeling that all the best 
European cafes possess.

Beware of the evil eye!

Good morning Zakynthos, good morning and by by Prince.

Prince has meetings and I am free!

How exciting.

I order my morning coffee with lots of milk, but just like In Hamburg, I get a huge pot of brew and a tiny sip of white. When did dairy go so out of fashion? I am happy to like it though, how else would I keep my calcium levels up?

The sexily dressed waitress returns with another cup of milk and a freshly squeezed orange juice.  I enjoy it with the morning screams from the village loud speakers.

Seems like they are always on. (it reminds me of East Germany... we also had those blasting speakers, but less for music and more for propaganda)

Ready for island discovery.

I check with the friendly receptionist, on where to find a carnival shop. Zakynthos, so I learn has a very big tradition in carnival, with horse races and ceremonies, just like in the times of Venetian occupation. I am convinced I will find my Venice-ball costume.

It is a glorious day and the little town with its tiny roads is beautiful. I follow the instructions of the hotel porter, but no masquerade shop in sight. A good opportunity to meet some locals and get a feel of the real Zakynthos. As  I learned at dinner last night, this little paradise is not as innocent as it seems. Crime is up high, drugs are an immense problem and the leading Police officer in charge, has been brutally killed only 3 weeks back. His honorable dream, of cleaning up the island apparently did not find too many followers. The other problem is the never-ending wave of illegal immigrants. As our dinner host put it last night, half the island is Greek, the other half illegal. A potent potion. I have seen it happen in the South of France, to the point where locals succumb to the intruders, watching in silence, muffled by fear. Without the protection of a strong government, places like little Zakynthos will be lost.

...

My first stop is the local fruit shop, where I ask (my Greek is just good enough for such simple questions) the dark eyed boy, carrying boxes of  bright oranges, where the carnival shop might be. He frowns unkindly and pulls up his shoulders. NO GREEK, he mumbles and turns away.

I see. 'Illegal' (or legal) immigrant, still, he is working. Not a bad kid.

Next stop is the pharmacy. The Santa-look-alike grandpa is happy to describe directions and I feel somewhat obliged to buy something - anything, when I discover my favorite -long believed lost- CHERRY LABELLO. 

I get 10, just to have for the rainy season. 

They are juicy red balmy and leave the lips stained as if just kissed... Now that I discovered lipstick, Labello might have to be put on hold, but there are always going to be LABELLO moments, times that are just not suitable for a real red.

Pharmacy Santa had told me at the end of the road, on the left. But all I find there is a poorly ventilated underwear shop with a grim looking granny. I don't even bother to ask, as her eyes say more than I need to know.

Across the road is a tiny boutique which smells like a brothel.

I enter.

2 youngish girls sit at the cashier, stirring colorful straws in plastic-cups filled with FRAPPE*. (the national coffee)

They stare at me, as if I am an Alien. The stirring stops and the brothel scent takes over my senses.

The taller one, with the glittery green eye shadow and the 'I AM HOT' boob clinging T-Shirt crinkles her nose and turns away, stirring again. I decide not to ask anything, as I can do without more frowning.

Back in the fresh air, a cloud of highly animated women arrives, talking at concert-levels. They are all dolled up, heels and mini skirts, provocative Islanders I think. What the heck, I give it a try and ask them.

"Signomi... pu ine to katastima karnivali?"

 The older one, a yellow hair painted version of Cher, snobs me with the frown (frown, frown, frown), 

frown |froun|

verb [ intrans. ]

furrow one's brow in an expression of disapproval, displeasure, orconcentration : he frowned as he reread the letter.

but the cute young one turns around, full of smiles and sparkles.

" Oh, we are going there too", she exclaims all excited and in perfect English." Just follow us."

With that the chirpy swarm of heels and the ever-sounding 'clonk-clonk' takes off in more energized chitchat and I follow like a baby-bumble-bee through the alleys of Zakynthos. 

3 roads down, and 1 corner right we arrive and I wonder why no-one could explain the location of this shop more easily. There are, after all, only 3 main streets in town.

The shop is a downer. Cheap and cheaper and lot's of plastic. I had envisioned the classy, Venetian style, masquerade shop, naive me. But I do find a lovely mask, decorated with beads and paillettes, very sensual and seductive and prefect for strolling Venice at daytime. I have a laugh in the wig section, as here one can see how times are changing (and we are getting older). Amid all the Elvises, Marilyns and Marleys we have the hot new arrivals of the likes of Amy Winehouse and LadyGaga. New world.

I wave the lovely girl from the 'clonking' flock good by and take a volta (walk) around town. All shops look somewhat alike, sporting similar goods. Low quality fashionable (always verry verrrrry sexy and revealing) items, fake leather boots and lot's of undies. Valentine's and carnival is in the spring scented air and  windows are dressed for a naughty invitation. I check a sawing shop with a wide range of buttons and lace, I am thinking to create my own necklace for Venice. Maybe a decorated black velvet choker would be a mischievous companion for my mask. The salesgirl greets me again with a stern look and all my smiles and charms don't get me one ray of happiness in return. I wonder if it is me, or if it is the unhealthy vibe of the island. I pass a beautiful angel (male) statue, surrounded by garbage, which creates a poetic contrast of heaven and hell.

 Virgin Mary greets me on the next corner, candles lit under her angelic gaze. I watch an elderly lady, head hidden under a thick scarf making her offering and saying a little prayer. I smile at Mary and say a thank you in my heart, for the day, the sun, the birds and the feeling of being alive.

Just before I am back to where I started I pass a small shop, the air heavy with the smell of wood. I am beamed back into my childhood. Uncle Jonnibatcsi.

Actually only Jonni, as bacsi (bácsikám) means uncle in Hungarian. But I didn't know that back then, so I called him always my uncle Jonnibacsi.

Jonni had a farm somewhere close to Siofok, a place famous for its thermal springs.

In the summers my parents would 'park' me at uncle's place, while they enjoyed the wild Hungarian life. (Hungary was one of the few places East Germans could travel to. It was a place very different from our gloomy Germany. It was colorful, vibrant and vivid. People looked more happy. Food was more spicy... I loved it...)

Jonni's work was wood work, he was a coffin maker!

Yes, no kidding. A coffin maker uncle, living on a farm, with lots of animals and lots of boxes reserved for the dead.

My father once (when sloshed) slept in a coffin...

Maybe he is a vampire and I don't know it? I wouldn’t be surprised!

But the smell, here and now in the little alleys of Zakynthos, takes me back to those magical summers with Jonni.

Some nights he would invite gypsies and they would play music by the bonfire... Goshhhh, I don't even know if this uncle is still around. I must remember to ask my mom.

Entering the wood haven, two handsome guys are busy carving ornaments into thick logs. The long-haired one looks up, his chocolate colored eyes warm and moist, like a midsummer’s night. This is Greece, as we know it. I can’t resist a little flirt myself, especially when Mr. Charm-school speaks perfect German. “ I lived in Berlin, in Spandau”, he proudly announces. I linger just a bit longer, watching the art of wood sculpturing… (and the boys)

What a beautiful gift to possess.

Back at the Phoenix, Prince calls. Time for lunch. I collect our stuff and join the Prince-team for another food feast. We are again invited today and a 10 minute drive later, we arrive at a Tavernaki, in what looks like the middle of nowhere. The place is packed though, to the very last chair and if my eyesight is right I am the only female.

Like a goldfish in a shark-tank, I try to slip in as unnoticed as possible. Impossible.

The radio is turned up and I am again listening to that belly-dancing music, must be a big thing on the island.

Appetizers arrive, plates get cleaned, forks get licked and beers get drowned. We order some ‘little fried fish’ (tiny fishies eaten whole with head and fin) as a main, but I am too afraid of the bones, that keep on getting stuck in my throat. Maybe not today.

Who knows if any of these frowning islanders gave me the evil eye, which may end in a dangerous fish-bone attack.

Evil eye is a look that is believed by many cultures to be able to cause injury or bad luck on the person at whom it is directed for reasons of envy or dislike. The term also refers to the power, superstitiously attributed to certain persons, of inflicting injury or bad luck by such a look.

Call me crazy, call my wired, but after spending a few years in Greece I am a full on BELIEVER of the evil eye. First I mad fun of it, but now I take it very seriously. I have had my fair shares of strange (and bad) happenings and now, when in Greece, I NEVER leave home without the protection of my little blue eyed luck charm. Fastened to a safety pin, secured inside my dress, it wards of all bad energy and protects me from the bad. Not that this is always enough. There are times, when the evil (envy, jealousy...) 'powers' are way beyond my luck-charm (one could consider lining a dress with a million of them, which would be pretty heavy, but also an interesting sight and sound) and that's when the magic woman needs to be called. A healer by nature, this woman has the gift of taking away the bad. 

First the magic woman has to find out, if the evil eye is really there. (in cases of feeling very ill this is important, since you better run to a hospital, if there is no bad eye)

To check if the evil eye was cast, it is tested with oil: under normal conditions, olive oil floats in water, as it is lighter than water. The test of the oil is performed by placing one drop of olive oil in a glass of water, typically holy water. If the drop floats, the test concludes there is no evil eye involved.

If the drop sinks, then it is asserted that the evil eye is cast indeed. An alternate form of the test is to place two drops of olive oil into a glass of water. If the drops remain separated, the test concludes there is no evil eye, but if they merge, there is. This is usually performed by an old lady,who is known for her healing, or a grandparent.

The magic woman then starts:

In Greece, the evil eye is cast away through the process of xematiasma (ξεμάτιασμα), whereby the "healer" silently recites a secret prayer passed over from an older relative of the opposite sex, usually a grandparent. Such prayers are revealed only under specific circumstances, for according to superstitionthose who reveal them indiscriminately lose their ability to cast off the evil eye. There are several regional versions of the prayer in question, a common one being: "Holy Virgin, Our Lady, if so and so is suffering of the evil eye release him/her of it" repeated thrice. According to custom, if one is indeed afflicted with the evil eye, both victim and "healer" then start yawning profusely. The "healer" then performs the sign of the cross three times, and spits in the air three times.

If it would not have happened many times to me, I would believe this to be fairy-tale stuff. But I have seen it, felt it, and experienced it from all sides. There have been times, when apparently the bad eye was so strong, that the magic woman had to call on other magic women to help. After such strong evil session, the women usually are totally emptied, tired and with enormous headaches they need to lie down to rest. As if they had funneled the BAD true their own bodies. Spiritual world. If our thoughts are energy, if we can do so much with good thoughts, why not also do so much with bad thoughts.???

Have you ever thought of someone who you haven't seen some time? And you think, where is he-she, what is he-she doing, you talk about them... 

And then,  tsupppppppps, there is a phone call, a mail, a sms from just that friend.

Coincidence?

Up to you to decide. I say, there is soooooooo much more to this world, than we think and it is rather exciting and also scary...

Back to lunch at the lovely, traditional Taverna of ANTETI. No Loukomades on the menu, just some honey drizzled apple slices. At least healthy... The crowd has thinned a lot, but dark haired men, with the air of danger, are still popping in and out. Small bags are exchanged on checkered tablecloths and my mind is up high in CONSPIRACY theories, after all the news about drug trafficking and killings in Zakynthos. My KGB gene is wakening. I always wanted to be a secret agent, but naturally, the kind 007 used to chase... No BOND in ANTETI today, so let's just go for a sightseeing tour, as I want to get a better look of the Island.

Our plane is at 6, so we have time to take a drive. The island is about 40 km long and 20 km wide. Not too big, not too small. So we just start driving. Destination nowhere. The village roads are decorated with carnival spirits, a very amusing idea. 
 The land is beyond beautiful. Lush and healthy, I can see why the English make the highest number of tourism here. Followed by the Germans, another green and nature loving bunch. We pass golden lemon orchards, lemons the size of melons (I did not get a chance to take a picture), Easyjet fields of pregnant orange trees and the evergreen Olive groves, that seem to emit a feeling of peace and calm. 

I am not convinced about the crime problem, once I am in the radiant countryside of Zakynthos. Life here, seems still intact, in harmony with mama earth. Beautiful roof-tiled mansions in rainbow colors, grandpas pulling donkeys with oversized baskets, herds of sheep and lonely goats munching away on the roadside. It is the paradise we dream of. A sign directs us to a beach and we arrive at an ecological motel-farm, where a giant pig digs up the grounds. I have NEVER (not counting human pigs) seen such a huge pig in my entire life. Maybe everything in this fertile heaven grows xxl? I make Prince stop, as I cannot miss such picture-opportunity. the pig is totally unfazed by us, even when I start photographing it from all angles. Soon the other visitors of this eco-farm arrive, turkeys and chickens and with them-lots of noise. I am laughing so hard, that my tummy seems to be bursting. now this is my idea of a perfect life. I am on the end, a farm girl with a taste for luxury, a need of travels and a few uber-duber parties. But besides that, I am the happiest in the country. (with the animals)...

I have a hard time saying good by to my new 'friends' and we drive down, to the end of the dirt-road, where we discover the CARETTE CARETTA beach. A guard asks us a few questions and only then we are allowed to walk down to the safe nesting grounds of the famous reptile. I am very happy to see this beach in such order. EU has its good sides and every little step towards a greener conscience and respect for nature is a good one. Sadly though, this is not the season for lovemaking, I guess even turtles like it hot. No eggs, no baby Carettas.

But the beach is magnificent, especially without the common image of plastic bottles and other trash. They do take care of it. BRAVO!
We take a walk on the sandy shore, breath in the salty air and beaming with delight.
The magic of the sea. Powerful, wondrous, energizing force. Inspiration for painters, writers, singers and lovers. Just like a woman, unpredictable, mysterious and bloody moooody!
Time to go.
And with that we return to the brown skies of Athens.

xxxxxx

WOOD CRAFTS
Workshop of wood carving for Church & Popular art
Karvella 9
Zakynthos
+30 26950 22939




For nature lovers:
CARETTA CARETTA BEACH
in the southern part of Zakynthos, gulf of LAGANAS
www.nmp-zak.org/site_eng/

Between June and August the turtles lay their eggs and 2 months later, the little ones arrive. So I guess best season for baby turtle watching is autumn.
If you visit the beach, please follow these rules:

1. Don’t use the beaches of the Gulf of Laganas and Yerakas between sunset and sunrise.
2. Don’t stick umbrellas in the sand in the marked zones.
3. Take the rubbish away
4. Don’t use lights near the beach at night because it disturbs the turtles
5. Don’t take any vehicle on the protected beaches
6. Don’t dig up turtles nests
7. Don’t pick up the hatchlings or carry them to the water
8. Don’t use speedboats in Laganas Bay.