Senses for the Soul

Senses for the Soul

Romance fills the crisp and misty air with every twist and turn of the winding, narrow sidewalks. There are no roads, only waterways. No car noise, only water lapping. No dead ends, only drop-offs into boat slips. Around every bend, a new sight, sound and smell squarely hits your consciousness and keeps you anxiously anticipating the next fork in the pathway.

During my first night in Venice, after my water taxi ride from the train station and stalking numerous weathered doorways, I find the appropriate doorbell and staircase to my hotel. After quickly placing my luggage in my small yet quaint room, I begin my search for the soul of the city. Just when I think I may be lost, I round the next corner and stop in my tracks. I find myself standing in the stillness of the Piazzo San Marco.

Depending on the time of day, the square develops a life of its own. In the quiet of night, while strolling down the Piazzetta di San Marco and gazing upon the travelers sipping their wine at the Caffe Florian in the shadow of Saint Theodore and the winged lion, you can almost hear the snarls and sobs of the 11th century executioners and their victims. In the dawn of a foggy day, you are transported to an old black and white film, complete with plump pigeons and fog shrouding the basilica’s spires. The panoramic scene at sunset from the Chiesa Di San Giorgio Maggiore, across the Riva degli Schiavoni to Piazzo San Marco, is one of serenity. Away from the bustle of tourists and hum of the locals peddling their Venetian souvenirs, you see the water gateway to the city as it is meant to be seen. As the magenta sky glows over the Santa Maria Della Salute, I hear the faint sounds of violins and become mesmerized by the zigzagging gondolas carrying snuggling lovers across the blue lagoon.

One sunny morning, I visit the Basilica Cattedrale Patriarcale di San Marco. As your eyes adjust to the low candlelight and dimly lit merlot colored chandeliers, they are unable to find a resting place. Do they see the mottled marble columns defining the cross shaped interior or the gleaming gold mosaics covering the canopies spreading across the columns? Do your ears hear the sound of footsteps walking toward the confessionals or the angelic music floating through the rafters? Do you smell the incense wafting from the altar or the smoke drifting from the vigil lights?

I spend the next few days strolling over the cobble stone sidewalks, touring ancient palaces and devouring mountains of gelato and piles of pizza. Eventually, I realize that in my search to find the city’s soul, I have found a part of mine in the silence of that first starry night in Venice.