Tag Archives: Italy

Travel Guide

Travel Guide: Venice and Burano

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My family travelled to Italy when I was 16, and it was there that I fully formed the fantasy that drove my search for a university, a fantasy that never quite materialized. We spent several days in Venice on that trip and, nearly twenty years later, I was excited to return with my partner for his first visit.

We were rather more strategic with our planning of Venice than with the rest of our summer travels, which was to our benefit. We made as much use of the Venezia Unica city tourist website as possible, thus saving time and money, as well as guaranteeing a parking spot in a very convenient garage. We had a few changes of clothes in backpacks and easily managed to pick up gelato for the walk from the car to our blissfully air-conditioned hotel.

After a shower and changing into appropriate clothing, we walked the four minutes through twisting alleyways to reach Basilica San Marco, where we had timed tickets and could skip the line. I was pleased to see that everyone had followed the dress code, which isn’t always the case in places with posted dress codes. I hadn’t been inside on my first trip to Venice; according to a story my dad tells, the family voted in favour of gelato instead. I don’t remember that, but it sounds right.

This time, my partner and I made multiple rounds of the Basilica interior, stunned by the plethora of gold, the intricate mosaic covering every surface of the floor, the saints celebrated on the walls. We tried to match the Latin names to what we knew in German and English, often coming up rather short. I have always been fascinated with the lengths to which people go to honour that which they wish to honour.

After changing clothes again (Venice, much like living in Singapore, required breaks in air conditioning and yet another shower before pursuing the next activity), we headed to the meeting point for our walking tour, always my favourite way to see a city. The tour took us through all six of Venice’s districts with a focus on the northern part where the locals live. As the tour guide explained, her job was to take us to places we wouldn’t find on our own. She told us about the history of Venice and about Venetian culture today, which we really enjoyed. I had taken a course on the history of Venice in university and I was surprised at both what I remembered and what I had forgotten.

We walked over to the Rialto Bridge that evening and took in the view of the Grand Canal . . .

. . . and returned in the morning to visit the Rialto Market, a favourite activity whenever possible. Tourist kitsch aside, the primary ware was seafood, which should come as no surprise.

From there, we made our way leisurely through little alleys and side streets until we reached Piazza San Marco.

We walked along the water to confirm vaporetto (water bus) times for the transport passes we had purchased in advance . . .

. . . before returning to Piazza San Marco for our timed entry to the Doge’s Palace, again avoiding the long line.

Much like Basilica San Marco, the Doge’s Palace is grand. The wealth that the former Republic of Venice had enjoyed, and the power that came with it, was awesome in the original sense of the word. The gold, the art, and the sheer size spoke volumes.

Afterwards, ready to escape the crowds for a while, we took a vaporetto for the 45-minute trip over to Burano, one of the neighbouring islands. Being on the water gave us some relief from the heat, but I would not recommend July as the time to visit Venice.

Burano is tiny, whimsical, and famous for lace-making, evidence of which could be seen in nearly all shops. What we were there to see, however, were the brightly-coloured houses that practically glowed against the blue of the sea and sky. We walked around, patronized a local café, and took photo after photo of this storybook come to life.

Upon returning to Venice and after some much-needed time to cool off, we braved the heat and humidity one last time to enjoy our final evening. Since Venice was designed to be seen from the water, our tour guide had said, many of the oldest building façades seen from the street side were actually the back. A gondola ride gave us a perspective of the city as it was meant to be seen. The sun was beginning to set and the city glowed.

As we rode, we asked the gondolier questions about how one gets into the business (sons are taught by fathers), how a route is chosen (the routes are what they are and do not change), and who owns the gondola (the family). The gondoliers called to each other in Venetian, the language of Venice that our Italian tour guide told us she had learned to understand since moving to Venice years ago but could not speak. Venice is Italy, but mostly, Venice is Venice.

A friend wrote to us that we were in the city of love, though we were pretty sure that designation belonged to Paris. At any rate, we held hands as we watched the sun set over the bridges.

Since we had day passes for the vaporetto, we hopped on board once again to ride nearly the whole length of the Grand Canal, a cruise for the price of a bus ride. It was dark when we disembarked this time.

There is definitely something magical about Venice, something that lends itself well to the mysteries in novels and stories I loved as a kid. The cemetery is an island of its own; the city glows when it grows dark with the lights reflecting on the water; the language is half a secret; mailing addresses function differently here in order to function at all; there are so many twists and turns that we followed a map every time we tried to get anywhere, consistently unable to orient ourselves.

The following morning, we made our way slowly back to the car, managing to cross yet another piazza where we hadn’t been before. We loved our time in Venice but were ready to get away from throngs of people and back into nature. Next stop: Slovenia.

Travel Guide

Travel Guide: Cortina d’Ampezzo and Treviso

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My partner and I arrived in Cortina d’Ampezzo in Italy’s Veneto region ready for a break. We were in the heart of the Dolomites and though the mountains are part of the Alps, they felt completely different. The Dolomites tower. They impose. They are sharp and majestic and magnificent, vast in scale and scope. And they could be seen from everywhere.

We strolled through Cortina, enjoying the cool mountain air and admiring the architecture of the South Tyrol region. The historic and regional connection to where we had recently been in Austria was plain to see. Mountain regions are like that.

As climbers, Cortina was a draw for us because of its central location in the Dolomites and its proximity to Tre Cime di Lavaredo, or Drei Zinnen, or Three Peaks. We had planned to climb the smallest one and picked up the last remaining pieces of gear shortly after arrival, but the weather, our physical health after our multi-day trek, and the logistics proved more than we were ready for. But we are now prepared for next time!

Instead, we took a bus up to Rifugio Auronzo, the first of the guesthouses around Tre Cime. From there, we walked the easy route around the mountains, enjoying 10 kilometers of beautiful views and rock begging to be explored.

The temperature was much cooler than we had expected and we enjoyed walking with just a day pack. It was suddenly so easy.

We watched the clouds move as we rounded Tre Cime, waiting for the peaks to come into view. And they did.

As we walked, we looked for the route that we had researched and we watched climbers on other routes. This is not an adventure to be taken lightly and we were more than comfortable with our decision not to pursue a climb. It was enough to be among these stone giants.

The following day I walked alone through the woods near where we were staying. We were at the top of a hill, basically as far up as we could go, just outside of town. The usual feeling of quiet came over me as I followed the marked trail through trees. It’s a different perspective of nature than being in the mountains, and I welcomed the change.

Finally, the weather held up enough to allow us to get on some rocks. We’d brought multiple guidebooks with us and found a crag not too far away. It was typical Italian sport climbing, at least as far as my experience goes: Lots of protection, routes helpfully labelled, benches placed in convenient locations, lots of people, grading generally easier than what we have at home. But every crag has its quirks, and this was no exception. For instance, we warmed up on a climb with a grade that would have been much too hard elsewhere, and then we ended up abandoning a route with a much easier grade, leaving behind a green carabiner. Maybe you’ve seen it? Finally, a prominent sign expressly forbade individuals from pooping. All in a day’s climb, I guess.

After the fresh mountain air of Cortina d’Ampezzo, we were not fully prepared for the heat and humidity that greeted us the following day in Treviso, also in the Veneto. The landscape grew flatter as we drove and the mountains remained far in the distance. The air was thick, hazy, and dusty, and as we made our way into the old town, it made sense that everyone was home for siesta. We were nearly the only ones moving about in a city of closed shops and restaurants, precisely in the hottest hours of the afternoon, and the heat and humidity were punishing.

Unable to fathom anything else, we had our first gelato since arriving in Italy. Thus reinvigorated, we wandered through all of the city in just a few hours, taking in grand historic buildings . . .

. . . charming side streets and passageways . . .

. . . the rivers around which Treviso is built . . .

. . . and various stylistic elements (wrought iron, painted buildings, satellite dishes and antennae rising from tiled rooftops) that are, for me, typically Italian.

While seeing what there was to see in the old town, we stopped into multiple supermarkets, enjoying the opportunity to look at what was on offer and at what prices. A peek into another’s day-to-day, leading to reflection on my own, is an activity of which I never tire when I’m somewhere else. And importantly, supermarkets are air-conditioned.

As it would turn out, this heat was only a warm-up for our next stop: Venice.

On My Mind

13 Pitches

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One of the reasons I moved to Germany was to play outside. I did as much of this as I could in Singapore, but the tropics don’t lend themselves to the same sorts of opportunities as this part of Europe. As it was, I scouted out the local climbing hall before moving into my apartment and purchased a bike before I had a bed. The universe smiled and I was very fortunate to meet people with whom to cycle, climb, and go skiing.

It was with these people that I visited Arco, Italy for a week of playing outside on the rocks.

Arco is located in Trento, north of Lago di Garda (Lake Garda), and this provides a beautiful environment in which colourful buildings and a wide range of trees (including palm trees!) are situated within the mountains. We took a walk around town on our first day, both for the purpose of getting the lay of the land and for the first of many breaks for gelato.

Spring was in a different place in Arco than what we had left behind in Germany, as well, and this created a general feeling of excitement among our group.

We headed out the following day for sport climbing routes at Regina del Lago. The rock was glossy limestone and very different to the porphyry I’ve previously climbed in the Thüringer Wald. The routes were fun with some challenges, I took my first outdoor lead fall, and the views were stunning. A stop at Lago di Ledro was in order later that evening, as well.

But we had not driven over 800 kilometers to Arco for sport climbing. Rather, we were looking for long multi-pitches, routes we cannot get close to home. Multi-pitch climbing was new to me when I first climbed outside in Germany. At that time, I had never seen anyone set up an anchor from the middle of a route and belay from the top, much less tried to do so myself. And months later, here we were in Arco and this is exactly what we were here to do.

My partner and I climbed our first big multi-pitch, a route called Trento, behind another pair of friends and were ecstatic when we reached the top. Two hundred meters and five pitches, by far the biggest route I’ve ever climbed. Some scary moves with big reaches, some polished rock, and phenomenal energy. It was comforting to meet our friends along the way, helpful to know we could call up to them if we got into trouble during the couple of hours the climb lasted. Safety guidance on multi-pitch climbing suggests that because the climb requires significant stamina, both physically and mentally, multi-pitch routes should be a grade below the climber’s maximum ability. This climb was well within our range but the polished rock made it harder and we were tired, in all the good ways, on the hike down.

The following day, some of us were ready for a break that turned out to be far less of a break than I’d thought. We drove to the nearby town of Mori for a via ferrata (or Klettersteig) on Monte Albano, which can best be described as a climbing route protected with cables and ladders. Rather than climbing attached to rope, you climb with carabiners leashed to your harness and clip yourself into the cables and ladders along the way.

The hike to the starting point was a nice warm up and gave us a taste of the views we could expect along the way.

Right from the start, I was taken off guard. Throughout the route, I was surprised at how scared I was, grateful for being there, and had already decided to do it again. The biggest difference between Klettersteig and climbing, to me, is that of partnership. There’s someone on the other end of a climbing rope who cares about you, and I cannot say the same for cables attached to cliffs.

The hike down was a reward, a journey through yet a different landscape.

Again looking for gelato, we stopped in Rovereto as the sun began to sink lower, creating shadows that could tell stories. I’m inclined to believe in magic, so I suspect that they have.

Before arriving in Arco, we had eyes on Claudia, a multi-pitch of thirteen pitches and 455 meters. Much of this route would be a slab climb, meaning a reliance on balance, friction, and making use of tiny footholds when they appeared. Without question, it would be the biggest outdoor adventure I’d ever encountered.

Climbing is about much more than physical strength. It’s about agility and dexterity, about safety, and, perhaps most importantly, about trust. We have systems, we check the systems, and we back up the systems. My life is in my partner’s hands and their life is in mine. Literally. And we know this every time. I have belay scars for a reason. One of the things that makes multi-pitch climbing so spectacular is that the experience is just you and your partner and the rock, and you are in this together for as long as it takes.

Four of us in the group were interested in Claudia and we assembled our gear and decided on pairs the night before. With such a long climb, the length a new experience for all of us, we needed an early start. As we had learned in our shorter multi-pitch routes, we needed to be familiar with the map to determine know how much gear was required at different points, as well as the line we were meant to follow to stay on the correct route. It actually is possible to make mistakes when there are routes bolted alongside each other, and getting into territory that is too difficult or doesn’t lead to an appropriate anchor can be dangerous.

We woke early, left the apartment early, and encountered no one else on our walk to the route’s starting point. We checked everything once more, gave a final round of hugs, and then we started to climb.

For something so enormous, there was remarkably little fanfare. We just did what we knew how to do and worked out the kinks along the way.

The weather remained consistent throughout the day and we were grateful for that because it meant one less thing to manage. Once all of our layers went on, they stayed on. At every snack break, we were surprised at how long we’d been climbing. We kept enough distance between our two pairs that my partner and I couldn’t see our friends below us and periodically strained to hear their commands to one another, just to make sure. We got into a rhythm of checking the map at regular intervals and our anchor setup became more efficient with each pitch. We paused occasionally for photos, celebrated milestones and scary pitches, ate snacks, laughed a lot and listened to the wind around us and the river below.

Six hours and 48 minutes after we started the adventure that was just us and the rock, it was over. We stood 455 meters, thirteen pitches, above where we began and realized how far we’d come. We watched the clouds move, the sky change, and took stock of the state of our feet and hands. The climb had been long and the fact that it was, for the most part, neither difficult nor scary was very important. Claudia required us to be tuned in the whole time, to be aware of ourselves, each other, the rock, the changing sky. We sat in silence for a while as we waited for the moment we’d see our friends, at which point adrenaline took over and carried us through the hike down.

After our day on Claudia, I went to bed with some vague thoughts about climbing again the next day. My body had other ideas, however, and a few of us decided to spend an afternoon in the port town of Riva del Garda instead. The antique bookstore came as a pleasant surprise, and of course I couldn’t resist a look inside.

The weather forecast for the last day of our trip had not looked promising, but we were lucky enough to climb for a few hours before it started to drizzle. Upon heading back into town, we made our second visit up the hill to Castello di Arco, this time heeding the sign that very clearly stated the time of last entry. What is left of the castle sits high on a hill, providing a walk and views of the world that had welcomed us to climb.

It was drizzling the next morning, which is always a sign that it’s time to go. I felt like a different person as we loaded the car and drove away, a feeling that remained with me through the next morning when I woke in my own bed. I went to Arco wanting to climb and left Arco having climbed Claudia’s thirteen pitches, after having spent a day with just my partner and the rock. I left Arco confident in my ability to climb, manage rope, set up a variety of anchors, and deal with unexpected situations. This experience made me a better climber for myself, and also for my partner, which is perhaps even more important.

It was almost a surprise to walk around back home and realize that only a week had passed. A week on the calendar but lightyears in what I had managed, physically, mentally, emotionally. And in that week, the trees were greener, the flowers larger, and I found myself changed.