Trip Report: Venice, Udine, Vienna
Jul 29th, 2007, 11:39 AM
#1
Original Poster
Join Date: Jul 2007
Posts: 14
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Trip Report: Venice, Udine, Vienna
've learned so much from others' reports on this board, I've finally decided to break down and belatedly post one of my own, about an October 2006 trip in search of art, food, and family history in Venice and Vienna, with a few fascinating days in Udine wedged between. I hope this report proves useful to someone considering tracing similar paths, or someone else rekindling their own memories.
------
Day 1: Air, Land, Water, Cheese
Like all trips to Venice, ours began with an impressive variety of modes of transportation: cattle car--er, United economy class--from San Francisco to London, air to Venice, bus through the dingy outskirts to Piazzale Roma, vaporetto to Ca' Rezzonico, a piedi to our rental in Calle Lunga San Barnaba [www.realvenicevacationflats.com]. The apartment owner's friend and neighbor Giuseppe was there to greet us. He was, in characteristic Venetian fashion, kindly, good-humored, and tolerant of the jet-lagged stupor that made our attempts at Italian even more incomprehensible than they would have been otherwise. After a brief orientation to the apartment, a homey place with a wonderful terrace looking out on church towers and gardens--a surprising number of gardens--we stumbled out to the Billa supermarket on the Zattere to buy food for the night, which included a remarkable cheese called Tuma del Fen, whose label I saved in case I ever learn Italian well enough to decipher the lengthy explanation printed on it.
------
Day 2: Doges & Dogs, Floods (of Tourists), Amazing Disappearing Storefronts
We slept a long time, even if mosquitoes woke us before the morning church bells (helpfully, there was a net, which we deployed over the bed). We wandered over to the Campo Santa Margherita for the first of many coffees in a comfortably tiny cafe called simply, as far as we could tell, "Caffe." Then over the Rialto bridge to San Marco, where we wandered through the Doges' Palace and emerged to find the Piazza flooded with both water and tourists, huge rows of people marching along the elevated walkways, and the occasional brave rubber-booted soul sloshing along the ground. We skirted around to the Correr Museum, where we delighted in the Carpaccio panel of bored ladies playing with their dogs.
It was clear we needed to get away from San Marco, so we headed across the Accademia Bridge and immediately the environment was more pleasant again. The pleasantness increased with lunch at Trattoria ai Cugnai, which we happened into on a street behind the Accademia. The friendly proprietors indulgently communicated with us in baby Italian (happily, they took us for French) and brought us plates of canoce, sort of like crayfish with praying-mantis legs, wonderfully rich; savory sarde in saor and tender octopus; luscious spaghetti with cuttlefish ink; and a firm but light and well-seasoned orata. After swimming in seafood for a couple of hours we had to go back to the apartment and collapse, while the schoolkids ran home too.
Later in the afternoon we wandered in the vague direction of the Frari, with a random digression through Cannaregio, where I noticed more tattooed skin than I'd seen elsewhere in Venice. I renewed my acquaintance with the radiant Bellini triptych and Titian's Assumption, both so astonishing in context with the light from the windows around, while workers vacuuming and hammering on scaffolding made sure the atmosphere didn't get too spiritual. Not that the tone of the church is particularly transcendent anyway, with its very earthly monuments to Canova and Titian in the entrance. We poked our heads into the Chiesa di San Rocco, and I was amused by Tintoretto's "desert" with lush hills and a little dog in the middle of the picture.
Then began our long quest for bread and wine for dinner. The wine shop and bakery we'd seen before on Calle Lunga had mysteriously disappeared, leaving no trace of their existence, so after a stroll on the Zattere to look at the twilit moon and the hanks of seaweed washed up on the sidewalk, we wandered to Gia Schiavi and pressed through the happy bar crowd to buy a bottle. Then to the Billa for ciabatta, and to the apartment that we already called "home."
------
Day 3: Paintings and Vegetables
Awakened by helpful church bells at 4 a.m., we had plenty of time for breakfast before venturing out early to the Accademia. Sadly, the Giorgione room was closed, but there were still many joys, including Bellini, Carpaccio's Ursula, and Cima's Madonna of the Oranges, as well as the earlier Venetians with their half-Byzantine flourishes and oddball charms. After a brief pause we visited the Cini palace, where we were by far outnumbered by the guards (no other visitors) and a cast of less-than-stellar portraits, although there was one remarkable Piero Madonna holding a very upright fat Jesus in a delicate claw.
We decided to go to the Rialto market to buy vegetables for supper; almost gave up after wading through ranks of depressing souvenir stalls, but emerged around a corner to find an idyllic little campo filled with beautiful produce. We picked our way among the pigeons for radicchio from Chioggia, fennel from S. Erasmo, long-stemmed artichokes and a fragrant melon from I don't know where. When we got back to the apartment, the wine shop down the block had magically rematerialized, so we brought over some bottles and had them filled direct from the cask, then picked up a delicious olive bread from Rizzo Pane in Campo S. Barnaba. But before we could eat dinner, we had to eat lunch, so we went across the street to Ai 4 Feri, a crowded place with brusque service but delicious vinegary sarde in saor and grilled branzino.
The afternoon held a long stroll down the sunny Zattere, over, around, and through various construction sites, and on to Santa Maria della Salute, where there was singing and oblivious visitors taking pictures. A random circuit around Dorsoduro in the beautiful light and then home with sore feet. Maybe we should have soaked them in our cask wine, which wasn't particularly delectable, but at a euro a liter, not an expensive experiment.
------
Day 4: Fleeing Floods, Carpaccio, Soccer on the Campo
The next day we decided to brave the lines to see the interior of San Marco. After loitering around the Doges' Palace, admiring the column capitals with their carved animals (including an open-mouthed cat that appeared to be making what we think of as Stinky Cat Face) in the clear morning light, we joined the queue, which shifted at the last moment when the entrance area suddenly started to flood. It was amazing to see the water speeding along the pavement and bubbling up between the stones. After a fair amount of scrambling, everyone crowded onto an elevated walkway and into the church, where tour groups sped through the aisles looking neither up nor down. We managed to linger a little, and visited the treasury, where we were impressed with the Byzantine sardonyx chalices, beautiful patterned stone of a kind I'd never seen before.
The crowds instantly cleared as we walked on toward Castello to visit San Zaccaria and the Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni. The Bellini altarpiece in San Zaccaria was somber and serene between the other, more melodramatic paintings. The Carpaccios at the Scuola were a pure delight, especially St. Jerome leading the lion through a square of fleeing monks. We decided to walk toward Santa Maria Formosa and ended up at the Fondazione Querini-Stampalia, with some very charming scenes of 18th-century Venetian entertainments (many of which seem to have involved either sporting courtesans or animal torture). Then to the exquisite little Santa Maria dei Miracoli, with its pale marble walls and portrait-covered coffered ceiling. Unlike many churches, this one induced a wonderful lightness of heart.
We meandered toward Cannaregio but instead ended up at Ca' d'Oro, with a missing Mantegna and great balcony views, then took the traghetto across the canal. It was fun standing up in the gondola and finding that by the time we arrived at the other side, just a minute later, we had sea legs and felt wobbly on dry land.
We ended the day at Campo Santa Margherita, where we picked up some baccala at the Punto supermarket and a gianduiotto at Il Doge, eaten while watching the evening impromptu soccer game on the square.
------
Day 5: Padova, "You Are Lost"
We had reservations for the Scrovegni Chapel in Padova in the evening, so we decided to make a day of it and take an early train out. We found it a bit overwhelming after Venice, making us realize how accustomed we'd become to city life without cars.
Went down to the Scrovegni and Eremitani to pick up our tickets, which involved a fair amount of bureaucratic circumnavigation, and decided to visit the "Mantegna e Padova" exhibition while we were there. There seemed to be little of Mantegna in the show other than shards of bombed frescoes, but as compensation, there were some good paintings by both Jacopo and Giovanni Bellini. The rest of the museum was full of "Bellinesco," "Tintorettesco," "Bottega di so-and-so," and other questionable works, although a young guard volunteered to us that they were "masterpieces." Following us from room to room, he told R, with great gravity, "YOU ARE LOST." We weren't sure if this statement was meant as an offer of help or some kind of metaphysical warning, but took it as a cue to leave as soon as possible.
We milled around in the Piazza delle Erbe, but determined we couldn't eat any of the available vegetables on the spot, so had a mediocre but enormous lunch at Osteria ai Fabbri. (I ordered what I thought would be a bit of cheese and was presented with about two pounds of Piedmont cream wrapped in eggplant. I pride myself on my cheese-eating capacity, but this was overwhelming even for me.)
Followed the arcaded streets down to Prato della Valle and the Precinema Museum. Not too surprisingly, we had the place to ourselves, and amused ourselves greatly with the museum's assortment of optical toys. When we came out it had started to rain. We ducked into Il Santo, but services were in progress and we felt like intruders, so we spent some time in the drizzly Orto Botanico. The 400-year-old layout was an interesting contrast to the more "naturalized" style we're used to from California's botanic gardens. I've never seen so much fruit on such small trees.
When we got back to Il Santo, mass was still on, but we went in anyway, figuring we couldn't be any worse than the people who were running through the aisles shouting and snapping pictures. It was surprisingly moving (for an atheist like me) to see hundreds of people sincerely praying together in a magnificent space.
We worked our way back over to the Scrovegni, and after more bureaucracy and a stint in a decompression chamber, we finally had our 40 minutes with Giotto. I was grateful I'd booked "double turn" tickets--by the time everyone else left, I'd barely glanced at all the pictures. I was particularly taken with the Flight into Egypt and the Massacre of the Innocents, which, despite familiarity from reproductions and art-history classes in times gone by, hit me with full force in person. Score one for the "aura" of the original work of art.
------
Day 6: Islands
We ate breakfast at Pasticceria Toletta and, for the road, picked up a Pan dei Dogi, a dense hazelnut-studded cake big enough to feed several doges. Today was our island day; we took the boat from Fondamente Nove to Torcello, which was much more crowded than I remembered from previous visits and with more kitsch vendors, but the interiors of the basilica and the simple and intimate Santa Fosca were still worthwhile. A stop in Burano and a long trip back on a packed boat, then a leisurely afternoon stroll in Cannaregio with stops for spritz along the way. Somehow we found ourself back in the Accademia neighborhood and decided to revisit Cugnai; the owner seemed genuinely glad to see us, which made more sense after observing the rather abrasive group of Brits at the next table. After dinner our host offered us some limoncello; R admitted that he preferred grappa, at which the owner agreed and declared that limoncello is "a feminine drink." Of course, that didn't stop R from finishing my limoncello for me.
------
Day 7: Blown Fuse, La Zucca, Rubbing in the Centuries
The next day we put some laundry in the washer and went out shopping; returned to find that we'd blown the downstairs neighbors' fuse by running the machine while their hot plate was on, but they were forgiving. We stopped in briefly at the Guggenheim, where the views were better than the paintings, then took the vaporetto to San Stae, where there was a silly exhibition of simulated Leonardo inventions that we didn't feel like paying for, so instead we walked around the neighborhood.
We ate a truly delicious lunch on the sidewalk at La Zucca, formerly a vegetarian restaurant and still doing marvelous things with produce: honeyed peas and goat cheese, a potent nut sformato, pasta with wild mushrooms, spicy fennel.... All of it put us in a mellow mood for wandering.
We visited the church of San Pantalon, with its simple brick exterior and over-the-top ceiling; also San Giacomo dell'Orio, with a beautiful wooden ceiling and very miscellaneous decoration (a Byzantine column, 17th-century paintings). We admired the old reliefs outside the Fondaco dei Turchi, and observed some Byzantine remnants near San Pantalon, including a circular relief of a Byzantine emperor in a nondescript alley surrounded by construction, and ancient arches embedded in the facade of an otherwise totally unremarkable structure on Rio Foscari, supposedly one of the oldest houses in Venice. Then, just to rub in the passage of the centuries, we went to the Internet point to check our mail.
------
Day 8: A Few More Churches Before We Go
And then it was time to get ready to leave. On our last morning we had a short stroll through the northern quadrant of San Marco and back into Castello to visit Zanipolo--we went inside after sitting in a cafe out front and admiring the powerful rump of Donatello's horse. Coming home by vaporetto, we caught a glimpse of the Doges' Palace from the canal; the miraculous sunlight made me almost tearful despite all cliches and snapshot-snatching tourists. This has been a tourist destination for centuries, after all; wonderment is the only appropriate reaction.
After packing, visited San Sebastiano down the street from the apartment, which we'd inexplicably missed before now, and found that Veronese makes much more sense when all together. It was a fine final stop, but the quiet and birdsong of the apartment terrace were even better.
Next post: Udine....
------
Day 1: Air, Land, Water, Cheese
Like all trips to Venice, ours began with an impressive variety of modes of transportation: cattle car--er, United economy class--from San Francisco to London, air to Venice, bus through the dingy outskirts to Piazzale Roma, vaporetto to Ca' Rezzonico, a piedi to our rental in Calle Lunga San Barnaba [www.realvenicevacationflats.com]. The apartment owner's friend and neighbor Giuseppe was there to greet us. He was, in characteristic Venetian fashion, kindly, good-humored, and tolerant of the jet-lagged stupor that made our attempts at Italian even more incomprehensible than they would have been otherwise. After a brief orientation to the apartment, a homey place with a wonderful terrace looking out on church towers and gardens--a surprising number of gardens--we stumbled out to the Billa supermarket on the Zattere to buy food for the night, which included a remarkable cheese called Tuma del Fen, whose label I saved in case I ever learn Italian well enough to decipher the lengthy explanation printed on it.
------
Day 2: Doges & Dogs, Floods (of Tourists), Amazing Disappearing Storefronts
We slept a long time, even if mosquitoes woke us before the morning church bells (helpfully, there was a net, which we deployed over the bed). We wandered over to the Campo Santa Margherita for the first of many coffees in a comfortably tiny cafe called simply, as far as we could tell, "Caffe." Then over the Rialto bridge to San Marco, where we wandered through the Doges' Palace and emerged to find the Piazza flooded with both water and tourists, huge rows of people marching along the elevated walkways, and the occasional brave rubber-booted soul sloshing along the ground. We skirted around to the Correr Museum, where we delighted in the Carpaccio panel of bored ladies playing with their dogs.
It was clear we needed to get away from San Marco, so we headed across the Accademia Bridge and immediately the environment was more pleasant again. The pleasantness increased with lunch at Trattoria ai Cugnai, which we happened into on a street behind the Accademia. The friendly proprietors indulgently communicated with us in baby Italian (happily, they took us for French) and brought us plates of canoce, sort of like crayfish with praying-mantis legs, wonderfully rich; savory sarde in saor and tender octopus; luscious spaghetti with cuttlefish ink; and a firm but light and well-seasoned orata. After swimming in seafood for a couple of hours we had to go back to the apartment and collapse, while the schoolkids ran home too.
Later in the afternoon we wandered in the vague direction of the Frari, with a random digression through Cannaregio, where I noticed more tattooed skin than I'd seen elsewhere in Venice. I renewed my acquaintance with the radiant Bellini triptych and Titian's Assumption, both so astonishing in context with the light from the windows around, while workers vacuuming and hammering on scaffolding made sure the atmosphere didn't get too spiritual. Not that the tone of the church is particularly transcendent anyway, with its very earthly monuments to Canova and Titian in the entrance. We poked our heads into the Chiesa di San Rocco, and I was amused by Tintoretto's "desert" with lush hills and a little dog in the middle of the picture.
Then began our long quest for bread and wine for dinner. The wine shop and bakery we'd seen before on Calle Lunga had mysteriously disappeared, leaving no trace of their existence, so after a stroll on the Zattere to look at the twilit moon and the hanks of seaweed washed up on the sidewalk, we wandered to Gia Schiavi and pressed through the happy bar crowd to buy a bottle. Then to the Billa for ciabatta, and to the apartment that we already called "home."
------
Day 3: Paintings and Vegetables
Awakened by helpful church bells at 4 a.m., we had plenty of time for breakfast before venturing out early to the Accademia. Sadly, the Giorgione room was closed, but there were still many joys, including Bellini, Carpaccio's Ursula, and Cima's Madonna of the Oranges, as well as the earlier Venetians with their half-Byzantine flourishes and oddball charms. After a brief pause we visited the Cini palace, where we were by far outnumbered by the guards (no other visitors) and a cast of less-than-stellar portraits, although there was one remarkable Piero Madonna holding a very upright fat Jesus in a delicate claw.
We decided to go to the Rialto market to buy vegetables for supper; almost gave up after wading through ranks of depressing souvenir stalls, but emerged around a corner to find an idyllic little campo filled with beautiful produce. We picked our way among the pigeons for radicchio from Chioggia, fennel from S. Erasmo, long-stemmed artichokes and a fragrant melon from I don't know where. When we got back to the apartment, the wine shop down the block had magically rematerialized, so we brought over some bottles and had them filled direct from the cask, then picked up a delicious olive bread from Rizzo Pane in Campo S. Barnaba. But before we could eat dinner, we had to eat lunch, so we went across the street to Ai 4 Feri, a crowded place with brusque service but delicious vinegary sarde in saor and grilled branzino.
The afternoon held a long stroll down the sunny Zattere, over, around, and through various construction sites, and on to Santa Maria della Salute, where there was singing and oblivious visitors taking pictures. A random circuit around Dorsoduro in the beautiful light and then home with sore feet. Maybe we should have soaked them in our cask wine, which wasn't particularly delectable, but at a euro a liter, not an expensive experiment.
------
Day 4: Fleeing Floods, Carpaccio, Soccer on the Campo
The next day we decided to brave the lines to see the interior of San Marco. After loitering around the Doges' Palace, admiring the column capitals with their carved animals (including an open-mouthed cat that appeared to be making what we think of as Stinky Cat Face) in the clear morning light, we joined the queue, which shifted at the last moment when the entrance area suddenly started to flood. It was amazing to see the water speeding along the pavement and bubbling up between the stones. After a fair amount of scrambling, everyone crowded onto an elevated walkway and into the church, where tour groups sped through the aisles looking neither up nor down. We managed to linger a little, and visited the treasury, where we were impressed with the Byzantine sardonyx chalices, beautiful patterned stone of a kind I'd never seen before.
The crowds instantly cleared as we walked on toward Castello to visit San Zaccaria and the Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni. The Bellini altarpiece in San Zaccaria was somber and serene between the other, more melodramatic paintings. The Carpaccios at the Scuola were a pure delight, especially St. Jerome leading the lion through a square of fleeing monks. We decided to walk toward Santa Maria Formosa and ended up at the Fondazione Querini-Stampalia, with some very charming scenes of 18th-century Venetian entertainments (many of which seem to have involved either sporting courtesans or animal torture). Then to the exquisite little Santa Maria dei Miracoli, with its pale marble walls and portrait-covered coffered ceiling. Unlike many churches, this one induced a wonderful lightness of heart.
We meandered toward Cannaregio but instead ended up at Ca' d'Oro, with a missing Mantegna and great balcony views, then took the traghetto across the canal. It was fun standing up in the gondola and finding that by the time we arrived at the other side, just a minute later, we had sea legs and felt wobbly on dry land.
We ended the day at Campo Santa Margherita, where we picked up some baccala at the Punto supermarket and a gianduiotto at Il Doge, eaten while watching the evening impromptu soccer game on the square.
------
Day 5: Padova, "You Are Lost"
We had reservations for the Scrovegni Chapel in Padova in the evening, so we decided to make a day of it and take an early train out. We found it a bit overwhelming after Venice, making us realize how accustomed we'd become to city life without cars.
Went down to the Scrovegni and Eremitani to pick up our tickets, which involved a fair amount of bureaucratic circumnavigation, and decided to visit the "Mantegna e Padova" exhibition while we were there. There seemed to be little of Mantegna in the show other than shards of bombed frescoes, but as compensation, there were some good paintings by both Jacopo and Giovanni Bellini. The rest of the museum was full of "Bellinesco," "Tintorettesco," "Bottega di so-and-so," and other questionable works, although a young guard volunteered to us that they were "masterpieces." Following us from room to room, he told R, with great gravity, "YOU ARE LOST." We weren't sure if this statement was meant as an offer of help or some kind of metaphysical warning, but took it as a cue to leave as soon as possible.
We milled around in the Piazza delle Erbe, but determined we couldn't eat any of the available vegetables on the spot, so had a mediocre but enormous lunch at Osteria ai Fabbri. (I ordered what I thought would be a bit of cheese and was presented with about two pounds of Piedmont cream wrapped in eggplant. I pride myself on my cheese-eating capacity, but this was overwhelming even for me.)
Followed the arcaded streets down to Prato della Valle and the Precinema Museum. Not too surprisingly, we had the place to ourselves, and amused ourselves greatly with the museum's assortment of optical toys. When we came out it had started to rain. We ducked into Il Santo, but services were in progress and we felt like intruders, so we spent some time in the drizzly Orto Botanico. The 400-year-old layout was an interesting contrast to the more "naturalized" style we're used to from California's botanic gardens. I've never seen so much fruit on such small trees.
When we got back to Il Santo, mass was still on, but we went in anyway, figuring we couldn't be any worse than the people who were running through the aisles shouting and snapping pictures. It was surprisingly moving (for an atheist like me) to see hundreds of people sincerely praying together in a magnificent space.
We worked our way back over to the Scrovegni, and after more bureaucracy and a stint in a decompression chamber, we finally had our 40 minutes with Giotto. I was grateful I'd booked "double turn" tickets--by the time everyone else left, I'd barely glanced at all the pictures. I was particularly taken with the Flight into Egypt and the Massacre of the Innocents, which, despite familiarity from reproductions and art-history classes in times gone by, hit me with full force in person. Score one for the "aura" of the original work of art.
------
Day 6: Islands
We ate breakfast at Pasticceria Toletta and, for the road, picked up a Pan dei Dogi, a dense hazelnut-studded cake big enough to feed several doges. Today was our island day; we took the boat from Fondamente Nove to Torcello, which was much more crowded than I remembered from previous visits and with more kitsch vendors, but the interiors of the basilica and the simple and intimate Santa Fosca were still worthwhile. A stop in Burano and a long trip back on a packed boat, then a leisurely afternoon stroll in Cannaregio with stops for spritz along the way. Somehow we found ourself back in the Accademia neighborhood and decided to revisit Cugnai; the owner seemed genuinely glad to see us, which made more sense after observing the rather abrasive group of Brits at the next table. After dinner our host offered us some limoncello; R admitted that he preferred grappa, at which the owner agreed and declared that limoncello is "a feminine drink." Of course, that didn't stop R from finishing my limoncello for me.
------
Day 7: Blown Fuse, La Zucca, Rubbing in the Centuries
The next day we put some laundry in the washer and went out shopping; returned to find that we'd blown the downstairs neighbors' fuse by running the machine while their hot plate was on, but they were forgiving. We stopped in briefly at the Guggenheim, where the views were better than the paintings, then took the vaporetto to San Stae, where there was a silly exhibition of simulated Leonardo inventions that we didn't feel like paying for, so instead we walked around the neighborhood.
We ate a truly delicious lunch on the sidewalk at La Zucca, formerly a vegetarian restaurant and still doing marvelous things with produce: honeyed peas and goat cheese, a potent nut sformato, pasta with wild mushrooms, spicy fennel.... All of it put us in a mellow mood for wandering.
We visited the church of San Pantalon, with its simple brick exterior and over-the-top ceiling; also San Giacomo dell'Orio, with a beautiful wooden ceiling and very miscellaneous decoration (a Byzantine column, 17th-century paintings). We admired the old reliefs outside the Fondaco dei Turchi, and observed some Byzantine remnants near San Pantalon, including a circular relief of a Byzantine emperor in a nondescript alley surrounded by construction, and ancient arches embedded in the facade of an otherwise totally unremarkable structure on Rio Foscari, supposedly one of the oldest houses in Venice. Then, just to rub in the passage of the centuries, we went to the Internet point to check our mail.
------
Day 8: A Few More Churches Before We Go
And then it was time to get ready to leave. On our last morning we had a short stroll through the northern quadrant of San Marco and back into Castello to visit Zanipolo--we went inside after sitting in a cafe out front and admiring the powerful rump of Donatello's horse. Coming home by vaporetto, we caught a glimpse of the Doges' Palace from the canal; the miraculous sunlight made me almost tearful despite all cliches and snapshot-snatching tourists. This has been a tourist destination for centuries, after all; wonderment is the only appropriate reaction.
After packing, visited San Sebastiano down the street from the apartment, which we'd inexplicably missed before now, and found that Veronese makes much more sense when all together. It was a fine final stop, but the quiet and birdsong of the apartment terrace were even better.
Next post: Udine....
Jul 29th, 2007, 11:42 AM
#2
Original Poster
Join Date: Jul 2007
Posts: 14
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Day 9: Udine
[Somehow the first letter of my previous post disappeared: that was "I've"!]
Continuing....
Arriving in Udine was a rude return to the reality of traffic and McDonald's (the signs in the windows at the franchise across from the train station offered a "Viaggio in America" promotion). The staff at our clean and simple hotel, the Principe [http://www.principe-hotel.it], was welcoming, but the town was a tough nut to crack at first: it took us over an hour to find a good map, and once we knew where we were, we couldn't find an open place to eat; we tried to go to the post office to buy stamps but were told they only sell stamps in the morning; still couldn't find a place to eat; finally stumbled into a pizzeria, ate a dull but large and pork-laden meal, then to bed. So first impressions weren't entirely favorable, although the Loggia del Lionello was pretty in the late-afternoon sun, and the slurred Friulian accent was interesting to hear.
On the way to the hotel after dinner we saw an old lady get barked at by a dog, and she exclaimed to us, "non lui sono simpatica!" We encountered lots of old ladies in cardigans, and lots of women dressed from head to toe in Burberry plaid, not the most flattering fabric for a middle-European figure, and quite different from the street fashions of Venice, where recurring themes were giant Dolce & Gabbana belt buckles, sequined bags, and rhinestone cowboy boots.
------
Day 10: Cividale del Friuli
The morning after our arrival we took the little toylike train to Cividale del Friuli; got lost at first, as usual, but found our way to the pretty Piazza Diacono with its big cafes, then wound along cobbled streets toward the Tempietto Longobardo. At first we mistook the little church of San Biagio for the Tempietto, a fortunate mistake, because after some pleading with an old man who happened to be standing in the courtyard holding a giant key, we were able to go inside and see some grisly but lovely old frescoes. Eventually we figured out that the real Tempietto was up the hill, and climbed up along the cliff by the Natisone river. The temple was miscellaneous but quite moving with its old wooden carvings, gentle frescoes, and tiny vaulted ceiling. We tumbled down the hill to the Ipogeo Celtico, one of the odder "attractions" we'd encountered: we got the key from the tacky bar next door and traipsed down slimy steps into a dripping cavern with creepy ancient-looking faces carved on the walls. It was supposedly a burial chamber of ancient Celts, but it reminded me of the kind of place teenagers might go to drink beer and try to feel scary and Goth.
We visited the archaeological museum with its relics of 9th-century Lombard Friuli, not a very hospitable place judging from its remnants, and then had lunch at Al Fortino, a rustic-elegant, old-fashioned place serving big, buttery, bacony dishes to elderly ladies and gentlemen. Then a stroll across the Ponte del Diavolo; the water in the river was green and so clear we could see the fishes' shadows on the rocks. We arrived back in Udine in time to pick up a bottle of Collio ribolla gialla at the friendly neighborhood wine shop, go for another walk, and go to bed.
------
Day 11: Aquileia and Especially L'Allegria
The following day, a trip by bus through fields of barley to Aquileia, barely a town now but a metropolis of the fourth century with a basilica containing spectacular paleo-Christian mosaics. The images devote wonderful care to individual details: the exact pattern of stripes on a fish's back, the shape of a patron's nose. We strolled along a dusty lane with crowing chickens like the ones in the mosaics, then waited for the bus back at a roadside tavern, next to some Austrian bicyclists drinking homemade wine.
Our final night in Udine erased any misgivings we might have had about the place with one of the most satisfying dining experiences of the entire trip: a Friulian meal at l'Allegria. One of our (many) favorite movies is "History Is Made at Night," in which Charles Boyer plays an impeccably suave and charming headwaiter. After we'd had our first course at l'Allegria, R whispered to me, "Charles Boyer!" Our waiter, whose name I've sadly forgotten, was both personally engaging and absolutely professional, guiding us expertly through the menu and suggesting surprising and perfect wines for us to taste along the way: a platter of house-cured meats with a light and slightly fizzy ribolla gialla; cjalsons (sweet-spiced giant stuffed pasta) and pasta e fagioli with a sauvignon from Colli Orientali; frittura mista and frico, the local dish transforming potatoes and cheese into a fragrant crisp cake, with a Cabernet from Aquileia that was made by a friend of the waiter's and had a whiff of the sea.
Next post: Vienna....
[Somehow the first letter of my previous post disappeared: that was "I've"!]
Continuing....
Arriving in Udine was a rude return to the reality of traffic and McDonald's (the signs in the windows at the franchise across from the train station offered a "Viaggio in America" promotion). The staff at our clean and simple hotel, the Principe [http://www.principe-hotel.it], was welcoming, but the town was a tough nut to crack at first: it took us over an hour to find a good map, and once we knew where we were, we couldn't find an open place to eat; we tried to go to the post office to buy stamps but were told they only sell stamps in the morning; still couldn't find a place to eat; finally stumbled into a pizzeria, ate a dull but large and pork-laden meal, then to bed. So first impressions weren't entirely favorable, although the Loggia del Lionello was pretty in the late-afternoon sun, and the slurred Friulian accent was interesting to hear.
On the way to the hotel after dinner we saw an old lady get barked at by a dog, and she exclaimed to us, "non lui sono simpatica!" We encountered lots of old ladies in cardigans, and lots of women dressed from head to toe in Burberry plaid, not the most flattering fabric for a middle-European figure, and quite different from the street fashions of Venice, where recurring themes were giant Dolce & Gabbana belt buckles, sequined bags, and rhinestone cowboy boots.
------
Day 10: Cividale del Friuli
The morning after our arrival we took the little toylike train to Cividale del Friuli; got lost at first, as usual, but found our way to the pretty Piazza Diacono with its big cafes, then wound along cobbled streets toward the Tempietto Longobardo. At first we mistook the little church of San Biagio for the Tempietto, a fortunate mistake, because after some pleading with an old man who happened to be standing in the courtyard holding a giant key, we were able to go inside and see some grisly but lovely old frescoes. Eventually we figured out that the real Tempietto was up the hill, and climbed up along the cliff by the Natisone river. The temple was miscellaneous but quite moving with its old wooden carvings, gentle frescoes, and tiny vaulted ceiling. We tumbled down the hill to the Ipogeo Celtico, one of the odder "attractions" we'd encountered: we got the key from the tacky bar next door and traipsed down slimy steps into a dripping cavern with creepy ancient-looking faces carved on the walls. It was supposedly a burial chamber of ancient Celts, but it reminded me of the kind of place teenagers might go to drink beer and try to feel scary and Goth.
We visited the archaeological museum with its relics of 9th-century Lombard Friuli, not a very hospitable place judging from its remnants, and then had lunch at Al Fortino, a rustic-elegant, old-fashioned place serving big, buttery, bacony dishes to elderly ladies and gentlemen. Then a stroll across the Ponte del Diavolo; the water in the river was green and so clear we could see the fishes' shadows on the rocks. We arrived back in Udine in time to pick up a bottle of Collio ribolla gialla at the friendly neighborhood wine shop, go for another walk, and go to bed.
------
Day 11: Aquileia and Especially L'Allegria
The following day, a trip by bus through fields of barley to Aquileia, barely a town now but a metropolis of the fourth century with a basilica containing spectacular paleo-Christian mosaics. The images devote wonderful care to individual details: the exact pattern of stripes on a fish's back, the shape of a patron's nose. We strolled along a dusty lane with crowing chickens like the ones in the mosaics, then waited for the bus back at a roadside tavern, next to some Austrian bicyclists drinking homemade wine.
Our final night in Udine erased any misgivings we might have had about the place with one of the most satisfying dining experiences of the entire trip: a Friulian meal at l'Allegria. One of our (many) favorite movies is "History Is Made at Night," in which Charles Boyer plays an impeccably suave and charming headwaiter. After we'd had our first course at l'Allegria, R whispered to me, "Charles Boyer!" Our waiter, whose name I've sadly forgotten, was both personally engaging and absolutely professional, guiding us expertly through the menu and suggesting surprising and perfect wines for us to taste along the way: a platter of house-cured meats with a light and slightly fizzy ribolla gialla; cjalsons (sweet-spiced giant stuffed pasta) and pasta e fagioli with a sauvignon from Colli Orientali; frittura mista and frico, the local dish transforming potatoes and cheese into a fragrant crisp cake, with a Cabernet from Aquileia that was made by a friend of the waiter's and had a whiff of the sea.
Next post: Vienna....
Jul 29th, 2007, 11:43 AM
#3
Original Poster
Join Date: Jul 2007
Posts: 14
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Day 12: Cheeseland!
Departing for Vienna the next morning, we encountered an older woman on the train platform and struck up a conversation. She was Slovenian, had lived in Friuli, and was now living with her husband in Germany; we talked a long time about WWII and its aftermath in the region, and about how our families had been affected by the war (my grandparents emigrated from Austria in 1938). After stumbling along in Italian for a while, we switched to German, of which I have a much better grasp. The lady complimented me, "Sie sprechen perfekt Deutsch"--but, as it later turned out, the Viennese didn't find my German quite so perfect! (Earlier in the day, the sweet desk clerk at our hotel had asked me in Italian how I had learned to speak such good Italian, and with my poor Italian, I didn't understand the question! One of the amazing things about our stay in Italy was everyone's willingness to play along with us as we massacred their language--a game Austrians seemed much less inclined to play. I certainly can't blame them.)
After a pretty but crowded train ride, a series of subways, and several wrong turns, we arrived at our apartment in Muehlgasse [www.central-apartments-vienna.com], where the owner was waiting for us on the sidewalk. The place was huge and obsessively clean and organized, in contrast to the slightly dingy exterior of the apartment block. The best aspect of the place was its location, just a block from the Naschmarkt, where we immediately went for provisions. When I saw the sign for KAESELAND (Cheeseland), I knew I'd picked the right place to stay! With some wild boar pate and wholemeal rolls from a place advertising "bread for women," we were set for the night.
After shopping we strolled down toward Stephansdom, where the old square seems to have more than its share of McDonalds and mimes. My gut impression was of a cosmopolitan city somewhat drained of its cosmopolitan life, and a slight social chill topped with a sweet froth of manners.
------
Day 13: Round the Ringstrasse, Zentralfriedhof
In the morning we rode around the Ringstrasse in the tram, enjoying the weird mix of 19th-century ostentation and 20th-century shabby retail, and ended up at the MAK design museum, where I especially enjoyed the Wiener Werkstatte prints and glassware. After a stop at Cafe Prueckel for a very tasty salad, we took our first family pilgrimage, on the U-bahn to the Zentralfriedhof. I looked up the graves of several relatives, ending in Group 40, a site for war dead and resistance workers, where my great-uncle is interred. It took a long time to find his headstone, and coming across it after walking up and down reading the rows of names hit me suddenly and hard. A bird in a nearby tree made weird calls like the meow of a cat.
While we were in search of family traces, we decided to look for some relatives' old homes, and took the tram up the Rennweg, an interesting transition from grubby to the grandeur of Belvedere and Schwarzenberg.
Back at the apartment, I cooked a panful of wonderful forest mushrooms from the Naschmarkt and made a salad with some extravagant plum vinegar, accompanied by a wine whose name I've forgotten, but it tasted like woods and peat and smoke.
------
Day 14: MuseumsQuartier with Accidental Music, The Belvedere
After breakfast at swanky Cafe Schwarzenberg, where one of the booths was decorated with a watercolor of Biggie Smalls (!), we went to the Ludwig Museum in the MuseumsQuartier, all new since I was last in Vienna. Unexpectedly, the Ludwig was hosting a morning concert in one of its galleries, so we heard some chaotic and romanticized Bach, better Barber, and enthusiastic Grieg before taking in a bit too much Egon Schiele. I appreciate his graphic style and loathe the content of most of his works, but enjoyed his cityscapes. The museum was also hosting a German Expressionist show, mostly not to my taste either, but with the pleasure of Lionel Feininger's attenuated Man in White.
We continued on to the Belvedere, to get the Schiele and Klimt over with. The gardens were mostly fenced off, making for some good allegorical scenes of imprisoned topiary and caryatids beholding tractors. By the time we left I was hungry and we started looking for a place to eat, a challenge on a Sunday; we landed at Reinthaler's Beisl, whose food was nothing special, but adequate, and at least we were the only English-speakers in the place. A very dignified hound was sitting at a nearby table, wistfully watching the server go by with the steaming plates.
------
Day 15: Archives, Cake-Palaces, and Mozart
The next day we breakfasted at Cafe Museum, where I at last satisfied my craving for Guglhopf. We took a meandering city stroll to the Resistance Archives in the old Rathaus; there was a school group occupying the whole exhibition, but after much prompting from R, I finally mustered the courage to go upstairs and ask for information about my great-uncle. My intimidated shyness was overcome by the tiny, sweet old lady at the front desk, and after some false starts, we were given a set of files. The documents of imprisonment and execution were both deeply distressing (obviously) and fascinating in that the supposedly detail-oriented Nazi administrators managed to get many of the details of names, birthdates, and addresses wrong.
Afterward I was in need of fortification and found it at Cafe Hawelka (ultra-smoky and boho but with cleaner bathrooms than San Francisco ever saw) and the great Trzewniewski, with its unchanging herring sandwiches. Further strolling around Schwedenplatz bookstores and back through the Innere Stadt with a stop at Cafe Central, an airy church of coffee and cake, and Demel, a veritable pagan temple of cake, cake, cake. Then home via the Naschmarkt.
In the evening we went to the Musikverein, of gilded caryatids and dowdy ladies in sequins, to see Anne-Sophie Mutter perform Mozart sonatas. Truth be told, I felt more appreciation for pianist Lambert Orkis than for the supposed star of the evening, but by the end of the performance the two of them came together with grace.
------
Day 16: Bosch, the Riesenrad, a Not Quite Magic Flute
Continuing our cafe tour, we breakfasted at Cafe Sperl, with nice worn red upholstery, and then went to the Gemaldegalerie at the Akademie der Bildenden Kunste, which starts with Bosch's Apocalypse and goes downhill from there.
Walked over to Josefstadt, where not much was happening; I was hungry for lunch so we stopped at Alte Backstube, which looked cute, and inside was a little bit TOO cute, with Muzak and little hedgehogs made out of pinecones. But the lunch was cheap if not particularly delicious, and the remains of the old bakery the place was converted from were diverting.
Next we took the U-bahn to the Prater. I was surprised to discover that the Riesenrad had been spruced up with a giant souvenir stand, mandatory photos of and for the tourists, and, improbably, a giant Ingeborg Bachmann quote on the outside (replacing the old ad for Interunfall Versicherung--Inter-Accident Insurance--that I found so hilariously appropriate the last time I was there). The Riesenrad itself was still an interesting and suspenseful ride; feeling jaundiced, I wondered what Harry Lime would do with the little blonde kiddies in the car with us, who kept jumping up and down and yelling "Das ist gefaehrlich!"--"This is dangerous!"
Back in the Innere Stadt, we had coffee at the very relaxing Tirolerhof, with nice tacky chandeliers and vaguely Moorish arches.
That night we went to the Theater an der Wien, conveniently just across the Naschmarkt from the apartment, for a performance of The Magic Flute. Our "seats" unexpectedly turned out to be barstools crammed into the back of a box intended for four; they were so desperately uncomfortable that we decided to bail out after the first act. The singers and orchestra were good, but what little we could see of the production design reminded me of a warehouse party circa 1985, with lots of black metal and fake tattoos, so I didn't feel tragic about leaving.
------
Day 17: Wienerwald mit Sturm
Breakfast at yet another cafe, the rather snooty Frauenhuber, supposedly a Beethoven haunt but redecorated circa 1960, then walks to a few more family sites in the Innere Stadt. Back at the apartment, we worked on various homecoming arrangements, then took U-bahn and bus to the top of Kahlenberg for a hazy city view. We had a pretty walk down through vineyards to Nussdorf, crossing paths with a group of nuns innocently noshing on stolen grapes, and stopped for a glass of Sturm, the fizzy, refreshing new wine, at a cozy Heuriger in the Kahlenberger Strasse. The waiter sounded exactly like Donald Sutherland, only friendlier. We had another glass at Mayer am Pfarrplatz, where the waitresses were slightly less gemutlich, despite their Tyrolean costumes.
------
Day 18: Kunsthistorisches Museum and the Artemis Quartett
On our next and final day, we had breakfast at Cafe Sluka near the Rathaus and a walk in the Volksgarten, where we were surprised to see the roses in full bloom in late October. By this time the melancholy of departure was upon me, knowing the trip was almost over, but I was consoled by a full-day plunge into the Kunsthistorisches Museum. An exhibition of Venetian painting was on, so we had a refresher in Bellini, Titian, and Giorgone, plus too much Breughel to fathom. Seven hours there weren't enough. We ate dinner at Strand in the Naschmarkt, another reminder of Venice with octopus, branzino, orata.
And then the closer: a trip back to the Musikverein, this time to the smaller Brahms-Saal, to hear the Artemis Quartett perform Brahms and Schoenberg. They were all we could have hoped for, vigorous, smart, and funny. Much of the audience left at the intermission: poor Schoenberg, still unpopular in his home town.
------
For those who like visual aids, a few pictures from Venice:
http://flickr.com/photos/semidetache...7594350108757/
And from Vienna:
http://flickr.com/photos/semidetache...7594350110585/
###
Departing for Vienna the next morning, we encountered an older woman on the train platform and struck up a conversation. She was Slovenian, had lived in Friuli, and was now living with her husband in Germany; we talked a long time about WWII and its aftermath in the region, and about how our families had been affected by the war (my grandparents emigrated from Austria in 1938). After stumbling along in Italian for a while, we switched to German, of which I have a much better grasp. The lady complimented me, "Sie sprechen perfekt Deutsch"--but, as it later turned out, the Viennese didn't find my German quite so perfect! (Earlier in the day, the sweet desk clerk at our hotel had asked me in Italian how I had learned to speak such good Italian, and with my poor Italian, I didn't understand the question! One of the amazing things about our stay in Italy was everyone's willingness to play along with us as we massacred their language--a game Austrians seemed much less inclined to play. I certainly can't blame them.)
After a pretty but crowded train ride, a series of subways, and several wrong turns, we arrived at our apartment in Muehlgasse [www.central-apartments-vienna.com], where the owner was waiting for us on the sidewalk. The place was huge and obsessively clean and organized, in contrast to the slightly dingy exterior of the apartment block. The best aspect of the place was its location, just a block from the Naschmarkt, where we immediately went for provisions. When I saw the sign for KAESELAND (Cheeseland), I knew I'd picked the right place to stay! With some wild boar pate and wholemeal rolls from a place advertising "bread for women," we were set for the night.
After shopping we strolled down toward Stephansdom, where the old square seems to have more than its share of McDonalds and mimes. My gut impression was of a cosmopolitan city somewhat drained of its cosmopolitan life, and a slight social chill topped with a sweet froth of manners.
------
Day 13: Round the Ringstrasse, Zentralfriedhof
In the morning we rode around the Ringstrasse in the tram, enjoying the weird mix of 19th-century ostentation and 20th-century shabby retail, and ended up at the MAK design museum, where I especially enjoyed the Wiener Werkstatte prints and glassware. After a stop at Cafe Prueckel for a very tasty salad, we took our first family pilgrimage, on the U-bahn to the Zentralfriedhof. I looked up the graves of several relatives, ending in Group 40, a site for war dead and resistance workers, where my great-uncle is interred. It took a long time to find his headstone, and coming across it after walking up and down reading the rows of names hit me suddenly and hard. A bird in a nearby tree made weird calls like the meow of a cat.
While we were in search of family traces, we decided to look for some relatives' old homes, and took the tram up the Rennweg, an interesting transition from grubby to the grandeur of Belvedere and Schwarzenberg.
Back at the apartment, I cooked a panful of wonderful forest mushrooms from the Naschmarkt and made a salad with some extravagant plum vinegar, accompanied by a wine whose name I've forgotten, but it tasted like woods and peat and smoke.
------
Day 14: MuseumsQuartier with Accidental Music, The Belvedere
After breakfast at swanky Cafe Schwarzenberg, where one of the booths was decorated with a watercolor of Biggie Smalls (!), we went to the Ludwig Museum in the MuseumsQuartier, all new since I was last in Vienna. Unexpectedly, the Ludwig was hosting a morning concert in one of its galleries, so we heard some chaotic and romanticized Bach, better Barber, and enthusiastic Grieg before taking in a bit too much Egon Schiele. I appreciate his graphic style and loathe the content of most of his works, but enjoyed his cityscapes. The museum was also hosting a German Expressionist show, mostly not to my taste either, but with the pleasure of Lionel Feininger's attenuated Man in White.
We continued on to the Belvedere, to get the Schiele and Klimt over with. The gardens were mostly fenced off, making for some good allegorical scenes of imprisoned topiary and caryatids beholding tractors. By the time we left I was hungry and we started looking for a place to eat, a challenge on a Sunday; we landed at Reinthaler's Beisl, whose food was nothing special, but adequate, and at least we were the only English-speakers in the place. A very dignified hound was sitting at a nearby table, wistfully watching the server go by with the steaming plates.
------
Day 15: Archives, Cake-Palaces, and Mozart
The next day we breakfasted at Cafe Museum, where I at last satisfied my craving for Guglhopf. We took a meandering city stroll to the Resistance Archives in the old Rathaus; there was a school group occupying the whole exhibition, but after much prompting from R, I finally mustered the courage to go upstairs and ask for information about my great-uncle. My intimidated shyness was overcome by the tiny, sweet old lady at the front desk, and after some false starts, we were given a set of files. The documents of imprisonment and execution were both deeply distressing (obviously) and fascinating in that the supposedly detail-oriented Nazi administrators managed to get many of the details of names, birthdates, and addresses wrong.
Afterward I was in need of fortification and found it at Cafe Hawelka (ultra-smoky and boho but with cleaner bathrooms than San Francisco ever saw) and the great Trzewniewski, with its unchanging herring sandwiches. Further strolling around Schwedenplatz bookstores and back through the Innere Stadt with a stop at Cafe Central, an airy church of coffee and cake, and Demel, a veritable pagan temple of cake, cake, cake. Then home via the Naschmarkt.
In the evening we went to the Musikverein, of gilded caryatids and dowdy ladies in sequins, to see Anne-Sophie Mutter perform Mozart sonatas. Truth be told, I felt more appreciation for pianist Lambert Orkis than for the supposed star of the evening, but by the end of the performance the two of them came together with grace.
------
Day 16: Bosch, the Riesenrad, a Not Quite Magic Flute
Continuing our cafe tour, we breakfasted at Cafe Sperl, with nice worn red upholstery, and then went to the Gemaldegalerie at the Akademie der Bildenden Kunste, which starts with Bosch's Apocalypse and goes downhill from there.
Walked over to Josefstadt, where not much was happening; I was hungry for lunch so we stopped at Alte Backstube, which looked cute, and inside was a little bit TOO cute, with Muzak and little hedgehogs made out of pinecones. But the lunch was cheap if not particularly delicious, and the remains of the old bakery the place was converted from were diverting.
Next we took the U-bahn to the Prater. I was surprised to discover that the Riesenrad had been spruced up with a giant souvenir stand, mandatory photos of and for the tourists, and, improbably, a giant Ingeborg Bachmann quote on the outside (replacing the old ad for Interunfall Versicherung--Inter-Accident Insurance--that I found so hilariously appropriate the last time I was there). The Riesenrad itself was still an interesting and suspenseful ride; feeling jaundiced, I wondered what Harry Lime would do with the little blonde kiddies in the car with us, who kept jumping up and down and yelling "Das ist gefaehrlich!"--"This is dangerous!"
Back in the Innere Stadt, we had coffee at the very relaxing Tirolerhof, with nice tacky chandeliers and vaguely Moorish arches.
That night we went to the Theater an der Wien, conveniently just across the Naschmarkt from the apartment, for a performance of The Magic Flute. Our "seats" unexpectedly turned out to be barstools crammed into the back of a box intended for four; they were so desperately uncomfortable that we decided to bail out after the first act. The singers and orchestra were good, but what little we could see of the production design reminded me of a warehouse party circa 1985, with lots of black metal and fake tattoos, so I didn't feel tragic about leaving.
------
Day 17: Wienerwald mit Sturm
Breakfast at yet another cafe, the rather snooty Frauenhuber, supposedly a Beethoven haunt but redecorated circa 1960, then walks to a few more family sites in the Innere Stadt. Back at the apartment, we worked on various homecoming arrangements, then took U-bahn and bus to the top of Kahlenberg for a hazy city view. We had a pretty walk down through vineyards to Nussdorf, crossing paths with a group of nuns innocently noshing on stolen grapes, and stopped for a glass of Sturm, the fizzy, refreshing new wine, at a cozy Heuriger in the Kahlenberger Strasse. The waiter sounded exactly like Donald Sutherland, only friendlier. We had another glass at Mayer am Pfarrplatz, where the waitresses were slightly less gemutlich, despite their Tyrolean costumes.
------
Day 18: Kunsthistorisches Museum and the Artemis Quartett
On our next and final day, we had breakfast at Cafe Sluka near the Rathaus and a walk in the Volksgarten, where we were surprised to see the roses in full bloom in late October. By this time the melancholy of departure was upon me, knowing the trip was almost over, but I was consoled by a full-day plunge into the Kunsthistorisches Museum. An exhibition of Venetian painting was on, so we had a refresher in Bellini, Titian, and Giorgone, plus too much Breughel to fathom. Seven hours there weren't enough. We ate dinner at Strand in the Naschmarkt, another reminder of Venice with octopus, branzino, orata.
And then the closer: a trip back to the Musikverein, this time to the smaller Brahms-Saal, to hear the Artemis Quartett perform Brahms and Schoenberg. They were all we could have hoped for, vigorous, smart, and funny. Much of the audience left at the intermission: poor Schoenberg, still unpopular in his home town.
------
For those who like visual aids, a few pictures from Venice:
http://flickr.com/photos/semidetache...7594350108757/
And from Vienna:
http://flickr.com/photos/semidetache...7594350110585/
###
Jul 29th, 2007, 11:57 AM
#4
Join Date: Jan 2004
Posts: 25,874
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Thanks for the report. I very much enjoyed your search for art in these cities/towns.
The Giotto at Scrovegni Chapel is definitely the highlight of our trip to Venice/Veneto 2 years ago; and the Kuntshistoriches Museum in Vienna is just simply amazing.
We were in Vienna Nov 2006, so just a month after your visit. Really wish you had posted your trip report by then, cuz I would have made a harder effort to visit the Ludwig Museum and the MAK. The Akademie der Bildenden Kunste was also on my list because of the Bosch, but we had to skip that too. With time constriants and with me being ill for a whole day, we only visited KHM, Belvedere, and Albertina. I guess we'll just have to plan for another trip back to Vienna.
The Giotto at Scrovegni Chapel is definitely the highlight of our trip to Venice/Veneto 2 years ago; and the Kuntshistoriches Museum in Vienna is just simply amazing.
We were in Vienna Nov 2006, so just a month after your visit. Really wish you had posted your trip report by then, cuz I would have made a harder effort to visit the Ludwig Museum and the MAK. The Akademie der Bildenden Kunste was also on my list because of the Bosch, but we had to skip that too. With time constriants and with me being ill for a whole day, we only visited KHM, Belvedere, and Albertina. I guess we'll just have to plan for another trip back to Vienna.
Jul 29th, 2007, 12:05 PM
#5
Original Poster
Join Date: Jul 2007
Posts: 14
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
YK, I'm sorry the report wasn't up in time for your trip! But it sounds like you managed to make it to some pretty wonderful art destinations anyway. I could have spent an entire week in the KHM...
Jul 29th, 2007, 12:20 PM
#7
Original Poster
Join Date: Jul 2007
Posts: 14
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Traviata, I'm glad you're planning to go to Aquileia--the mosaics in the basilica are truly amazing. My main piece of advice would be to get there early if you can, to get a good look at the mosaics in the basilica before any tour groups come in. We arrived around 9 a.m., as I recall, and a German tour group and a school group arrived about an hour after we did. If there are a lot of other people around it can be a bit hard to navigate, as you walk on elevated glass walkways to protect the mosaics on the floor--although I'm sure it never gets as crowded there as in many other attractions in Italy. Be sure to visit the crypt of excavations, to your left as you enter the church; there are some beautiful depictions of animals, and it's interesting to see the layers of excavation uncovering traces of different periods. We also enjoyed walking up the dirt track behind the basilica, past Roman fragments, thinking about the area being a bustling city so many centuries ago. Enjoy your trip!
Jul 29th, 2007, 12:26 PM
#8
Join Date: Jan 2006
Posts: 1,354
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
filly,
Thank you so much. I have copied your words and moved them to my Aquileia file. That is just the information I was hoping for. Since we'll be spending the night, I think we will be able to get an early start. Though we've been to Italy many times, this is a new area for us...we are looking forward to it.
You have shared a wonderful trip report!
Thank you so much. I have copied your words and moved them to my Aquileia file. That is just the information I was hoping for. Since we'll be spending the night, I think we will be able to get an early start. Though we've been to Italy many times, this is a new area for us...we are looking forward to it.
You have shared a wonderful trip report!
Jul 29th, 2007, 01:45 PM
#9
Join Date: Apr 2004
Posts: 131
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
You are so right about the many modes of transportation!
Enjoyed your report, especially of Udine, Cividale (loved your description of the "dungeon"
, & Acquilea, places we visit on day-trips when we go to N. Italy. We rarely see other non-Italian "tourists" in these places so it was fun to see your thoughts. If you are visiting family in the area, next time you go back you may want to visit Gorizia and or Villa Manin in Pordenone, which has some fabulous exhibits.
Enjoyed your report, especially of Udine, Cividale (loved your description of the "dungeon"
, & Acquilea, places we visit on day-trips when we go to N. Italy. We rarely see other non-Italian "tourists" in these places so it was fun to see your thoughts. If you are visiting family in the area, next time you go back you may want to visit Gorizia and or Villa Manin in Pordenone, which has some fabulous exhibits.
Jul 29th, 2007, 04:18 PM
#10
Original Poster
Join Date: Jul 2007
Posts: 14
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Thanks, Willy. Gorizia sounded interesting; we just didn't have time on this trip. I hope to go to Pordenone someday for the Giornate del Cinema Muto (actually in Sacile for the last few years, but supposed to move back to Pordenone someday...)
