Chioggia

If I ever had the privilege of sharing a hotel room with someone I really wanted to spend the night with, I would want it to be room 203 at the Grand Hotel in Chioggia. This is a town at the extreme southern end of the Venetian lagoon. Other people go to Venice: I go to Chioggia, which is a miniature Venice and carina da morire--beautiful beyond belief, especially on a sunny Saturday morning when the fish market is open and people are calling out to each other in the sing-song Venetian accent--Dio can'!
The historical core of Chioggia consists of a single, broad, pedestrianised street called Corso del Popolo, which ends in the wide, watery spaces of the lagoon. On either side of its large marble flagstones there are churches and palazzi, all in the Venetian style, with their curious tall, pompous, top-heavy chimneys and elegant classical façades. Behind these are two canals, Canale Lombardo Interno and Canale Santo Stefano, in which boats are moored, for the Chioggiotti, like the Venetians have a boat instead of a car.
The Grand Hotel stands at the end of the street next to a marble bridge of breathtaking elegance. It has recently been renovated so I hope that room 203 has not been ruined by modernisation. It is the room with the stucco cherubs playing mandolins in the corners of the ceiling and as an annex it has an original art deco bathroom, all angles, diagonals and deep green glaze. From the window there is a view of distant watery spaces and reeds undulating in the tiny waves. Outside the hotel a motor launch leaves for Pelestrina, the next town on the lagoon. From there a succession of boats and buses takes the visitor to the Lido, from which a vaporetto ferry can be boarded for Riva degli Schiavoni in Venice proper. One alights at this point outside the convent where in the early 1700s Antonio Vivaldi taught orphan girls to play the violin. The brash, audacious music of his La Cetra and Cimento dell'Armonia ed Invenzione runs through my head every time I make that journey, which lasts nearly two hours as one works one's way steadily and methodically up the windswept sea defences that separate the lagoon from the northern Adriatic Sea.
One cool, rainy Friday evening in March we arrived at the Grand Hotel and checked in, sadly not to room 203, which was occupied. At 8.30 we went out in search of somewhere to eat. All was dark and deserted. Sprays of seawater and rain gusted off the inhospitable lagoon. It seemed as if everywhere was closed, but there in front of the hotel was a small illuminated window with the sign of the golden snail in it. The insignia of the Slow Food Academy! Holy Grail of gastronomy! There was just one table left inside. We sat down and ate superb Venetian food: risi e bisi (Venetian rice with peas), fish straight from the lagoon, eels. Finally, along came the owner of the restaurant and for 45 minutes we fell into an impassioned conversation about desserts. He was an uncompromising enthusiast. The true Venetian dolce is not very sweet, but my goodness is it tasty! At his insistence, we tried them all. His recompense was our appreciation. The bill was light by Venetian standards.
The next morning was a sunny and bright Saturday. On Canale Santo Stefano the boats had come in with seafood of all shapes and sizes. The wide, canopied market was a hive of activity, a riot of colour. The fish and shells glistened in the humid air. Eels writhed on the marble slabs. Shouts rang out as traders sold their wares.
So if you ever fancy a weekend away let me spirit you off to Chioggia, Venice in miniature, pearl of the Serenissima lagoon. There's nothing like it.