by Andrea Cuomo
Venice is beautiful, but it can make us borderline sociopathic. The throngs of tourists, flip-flop wearers, and cruise passengers with their caps and tank tops clogging the San Marco-Rialto axis like a saintless procession, can drive you to the worst kind of snobbery (something that, upon reflection, makes you feel ashamed) and force you to seek refuge in areas where the "merenderos" only end up if Google Maps plays a trick on them.
Between Sestieri and Bacari
It’s wonderful, then, to wander through the quieter sestieri, fooling yourself into thinking you belong to the city (a grave mistake, yet one that provides low-cost happiness): among the favourite "Venetian routines" is grabbing a few cicchetti at Timòn and taking them to *Campo del Gheto Nuovo* in Cannaregio, eating them on a shaded bench in a place that is always—always—silent. Or you might venture into the alleyways of Dorsoduro, where you can snatch a cicchetto of baccalà mantecato or sarde in saor (or, more likely, both) with an honest Pinot Grigio in a plastic cup at Cantinòn già ai Schiavi, where there are some tourists, but in a tolerable amount, mixed with regular Venetians. Sometimes it’s nice to sit by the canal, legs dangling over the poetically putrid water, and nibble on your haul while watching workers lazily laboring at the *squero*, the open-air workshop where gondolas are built or repaired. You can let your mind wander, but not too much, because steroid-pumped seagulls are lurking, ready to swoop in on your snack, so it’s worth staying alert.
A Cynar Spritz with the Students
Or you can stop at one of the bars in the elliptical *Campo Santa Margarita*, the largest square in Venice after San Marco, where you can listen to students discussing their theses and invest three euros in a Cynar Spritz, some pigeon-attracting crisps, and an hour of people-watching, as if Venice were just another normal city with shopping bags from Conad. Other times, during the Biennale, you can head to Castello, towards the tail end of the fish where the Arsenale is, to grab a bite at *Caffè la Serra*, a little corner of Paris in Venice, perhaps sitting on the grass in the garden. And you might even feel like a good soul, despite your sociopathic snobbery.
Al Timon – Cantinòn già ai Schiavi – Caffè La Serra
altimon.it – cantinaschiavi.com – serradeigiardini.org
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