The Pug in the Window ~ wandering back to Venice
When you think of Venice you imagine a city of waterways instead of streets, endless bridges to cross as you twist and turn through the neighborhoods, and cafes lining the walkways where late night dinners are not just acceptable but expected. Venice has always held a special place for me. I have visited twice before, once on a one-night trip with a group of students and once on a day visit from Florence with a good friend who had never seen the city. Both visits were wonderful, but you never really know a place until you spend some real time in it. This trip I gave myself four days, and by the end I was already thinking about coming back. The more time you spend somewhere, the more you realize how much you still have to discover.
I stayed in a quiet apartment on the second floor above a small shop, nestled between St. Marco Square and the Rialto Bridge. Seven minutes walk to each, but tucked just far enough away that it felt removed from the main flow of tourists. It was around the corner from a small market allowing me to pick up fresh fruit and cheese each morning. I knew Venice would be crowded, but the number of visitors from around the world was still more than I expected. With the narrow streets and small shops, the crowds feel even more concentrated than they would in a larger city.
The main attractions are exceptional and worth every minute. Touring Doge's Palace is extraordinary, both as a work of architecture and as a window into the history of the Venetian Republic. The Bridge of Sighs crossing into the stone prisons is fascinating. San Marco Basilica stops you in your tracks, with its golden mosaics and Byzantine detail. The museums, the squares, the famous bridges, and gondolas traversing the canals all reward the time you put in. But some of my favorite hours were spent in the Jewish neighborhood, which moves at a quieter pace and feels more like a place where people actually live. The late evenings were their own reward. Leisurely dinners, good food, the heat of the day finally lifting, no particular reason to be anywhere else.
My first visit to Venice was 28 years ago. I was wandering the streets without any fixed plan than enjoying the tiny paths when I came across a small shop with Commedia dell'Arte masks and puppets in the window. As a student of theatre this sparked my curiosity. It was called Max's Art Shop, named after the owner's dog, Max, a little pug who sat in an old stuffed chair near the window like he owned the place, and I think he did. A young sales associate named Margherita greeted me warmly as I spent time looking at the hand-crafted leather masks, each one representing a different Commedia character, made in the traditional style. Hanging from the ceiling were hand-made marionettes, each one carved and painted with real personality. When Margherita learned I had studied theatre and could identify the different characters, she offered to take me to the artist's workshop just around the corner.
We walked through the narrow streets to an unassuming door. Inside, down a few wooden stairs, we found an older gentleman sewing a costume onto a puppet he had just finished. The workshop smelled of wood and leather. He was in his sixties and had been making masks and puppets since he was in his late teens, having learned the craft from his father. Margherita translated as I asked questions and he walked me through his process. Watching someone work with that level of quiet mastery stays with you. We made our way back to the shop and I bought three marionettes, Arlecchino, Pantalone, and Il Capitano, along with two Commedia masks. They were expensive purchases for a young teacher just out of college, but they have been proudly displayed in my home ever since. When I travel, I always look for one authentic piece made by a local artist. Something that carries the memory of the place.
This trip I went looking for the shop. I knew there was a chance it might be gone after 28 years. I remembered the dog but had forgotten the shop was named for him. As I turned a corner in the neighborhood just a few blocks from San Marco Square, there it was. Max's Art Shop, with a large painting of Max sitting in his chair right in the window. The shop had changed a little, with more carnival style masks and Venetian cityscape paintings by local artists, but as I stepped inside I saw a familiar face. It was Margherita. I explained that I had been in the shop 28 years earlier. She told me she has worked there just as long. Even with time on her face, she looked remarkably the same as I remembered. The marionettes are gone now, and she mentioned that Commedia masks do not sell as well as they once did, but in the corner I spotted a small collection of leather character masks. As we talked, she paused and said, "just a minute," then disappeared upstairs. She came back with both arms full of masks, each one representing a different character. I could identify most of them. We chatted a while longer, and I left with three more masks to add to my collection.
Venice gave me a slower pace, more time to get genuinely lost, to wander into local shops, to sit outside late into the evening over a long unhurried dinner as the heat of the day finally settled down. I will carry many memories from this visit, the late strolls, the meals, the bridges. But finding Max's Art Shop still open, and Margherita still there with the same warm welcome, is what will stay with me the longest.