Traghetto

Transporter

NOTHING BEHIND ME, everything ahead of me, 

As is ever so

ON THE ROAD. - Jack Kerouac

It's long, black, and slightly crooked.

Here near the Piazza San Marco, on the bank of the lagoon in Venice, I'm peering at a water taxi that looks like a cross between a canoe and a coffin - without keel or rudder and flat. Unlike the traditional gondola, it is unadorned: devoid of any bow decoration, brocaded chairs, and other luxury trimmings.

A traghetto! My voice is loud with excitement. A couple of people turn and stare at me. 

The word means ferry. Our trusty Europe Through the Backdoor guide book recommends it as a simpler and quicker alternative to hiring a gondola. A traghetto crossing of the Grand Canal only costs €2, whereas the official fare for a 40-minute gondola ride is €80, or €100 after 7 pm.

The single oarsman standing on its keel announces that it's bound for the glass factory on the island of Murano - and the ride is free. What a deal! 

Without hesitation, I wave a hand, pleading like a spoiled child. Andiamo! Let's go!

We board and find a place to sit. Although Venetians traditionally stand during the crossing, we opt to sit as it seems safer to do so in a bobbing boat.

I'm grinning like an idiot as I survey the cross-breed of land and water that unfolds in the early morning light.

White phantom city, whose untrodden streets 

Are rivers, and whose pavements are the shifting 

Shadows of the palaces and strips of sky.

How can something I have only imagined be so suddenly upon me? 

There's the Bridge of Sighs, I blurt out, as I spy its other-worldly silhouette lifting from the green of the Adriatic. A lacework of interconnected canals surrounded by beautiful buildings and churches, some of which date back as far as the thirteenth century, comes into view as the ferry gently propels down the waterway and under the Ponte de Rialto.

Quello è il palazzo laggiù. That's the palace over there, our boatman drawls, his eyebrows tilted. He gives us a smile.

Leaning forward, I place my fingers lightly on my parted lips as I take in the domes, gilded spires, and majestic arches in the Doge's Palace. I'm nodding speechlessly, my eyes wide and animated. The grime of centuries eats at the stones of majestic palazzos. But the decay is luscious, I mutter, my voice purring with contentment.

The entire scenery is a romantic combination of art and history, old trade, and the beauty of the sea. I can feel the breath of the waterway on my skin as it rushes past. I feel light. 

My voice warm and fond, I give our gondolier a wobbly, crooked smile and whisper, Continuiamo su. Continue on.

I lean back, dreaming vaguely of a new existence of idleness.