Giudecca

I actually thought this trip would be quite peaceful and without any major news or adventures; I would stroll blissfully through the familiar alleys, enjoy good food, and occasionally sink down to a little café for a glass. But the very first night was quite the experience.

Three of my roommates hadn’t turned off their phones, and one of them rang alternately every half hour until I got up at 5 in the morning and yelled loudly! Finally, there was peace, but sleep was out of the question. I am already looking forward to my nun's cell in the convent where I will move tomorrow, and I will only share the room with a crucifix!

In the morning, the sun finally shines from the bright blue sky; everything looks cheerful, pastel-colored, and shiny. Despite the sleepless night, I wanted to zigzag through Giudecca today. The island is long and narrow, and the streets and alleys only lead from the canal to the lagoon on the other side; there are hardly any cross streets, so one has to keep going back to reach the next street.

Much colorful laundry hangs high between the houses; trash bags are lowered from a line above the balcony where the garbage collection then picks them up and transports them by boat. Blossoming fruit trees, daisies, and sprawling grass grow between the houses and in small parks.

The large church built as thanks after the end of the great plague is quite ugly and bare, even though some Tintorettos can be admired. Behind it, however, I find a little paradise that I almost wouldn’t have entered because admission should cost €12. The young woman at the entrance explains that before the church was built, there was only a convent here with a herb and vegetable garden and a small modest chapel, and that all of it still exists today. The last eight monks still living in the convent seem to be too old or too lazy to tend the garden, so the city of Venice has taken over this jewel, which also suffered greatly during the major flooding in 2019, restored it, and today volunteers care for the beds and trees, most of which were donated. There are olive groves and blooming fruit trees among the convent walls, and the garden stretches to the edge of the lagoon, where one has a magnificent view over the water and many small islands. Occasionally, a gondola or a wooden private boat passes by. The garden smells deliciously of sage, rosemary, and lemon balm; the grounds are well-kept, with wooden benches everywhere where one can sit down. Dogs are welcome, and a small water basin splashes in the middle, everything breathes peace. Only a few visitors have found the hidden entrance behind the church.

I sit contentedly by the water for almost two hours and nearly plan to apply as a volunteer because, as always when I am in Venice, I would love to move here entirely, but then I pull myself away and continue my leisurely walk past boat workshops and artisan shops, ceramic studios, and repair shops until I reach my aperitif high up on the terrace of a historic restaurant with a view of the lagoon.

At La Palanca, I’m already expected; the host himself sets up a small table for me outside next to the canal and brings me half a liter of red wine (even though I only ordered a quarter) and three delicious large crabs as an appetizer and surprise before he serves the green pasta with shrimp and mussels.

As can be seen when looking at my photos, I love