As Time Floats By : Venice Remains Haunted by the Beauty and Romance of Its Past, Despite Tourists, Pollutants and Rising Tides

When a letter arrived the other day from a friend in Venice, I was reminded of Ernest Hemingway and Harry Pickering and Giuseppe Cipriani, individual threads in the tapestry of that waterlogged city that miraculously survives the vicissitudes of flood tides, hordes of summer tourists and pollutants swept in by tides and winds.

One particular summer several years ago I stopped by Harry’s Bar, which was Hemingway’s favorite watering hole, and having just listened to the hum of vaporettos plying the Grand Canal and the notes of a violin rising from Piazza San Marco, it occurred to me what a tragedy it is to be alone in this enchanting city.

This seemed especially true on a summer night when ancient buildings along the Grand Canal are bathed in moonlight and gondoliers sing their arias to couples caught up by the wonders of Venice: The dome of Santa Maria Della Saute, the 15th-Century clock tower on St. Mark’s Square, the handsome Gothic Campanile, the Doges Palace and the Basilica San Marco.

No matter that frequently during the high season it is impossible to secure a room, even in a humble pension, Venice continues to play to an audience lured by its Byzantine beauty and romance. Gondolas sail beneath the “Bridge of Sighs” where couples kiss in a ritual that Venetians insist seals love forever.

And so, indeed, this labyrinth of bridges and canals, palaces and piazzas should be shared, particularly Piazza San Marco, where couples sip Campari and soda while musicians grind out love songs and the clock tower sounds the hour.

My late friend John Squire met a woman one afternoon near the Rialto, and the magic of the city overcame the two of them. During the next several days they spent a lifetime together: Marveling at the sunlight on the Grand Canal, feeding the pigeons in St. Mark’s Square and sipping Champagne on the terrace of the Gritti Palace. Venice had cast its spell.

One evening Squire hired a gondola and later, after a pit stop at Harry’s, he sang opera in St. Mark’s Square to this woman who had come into his life so unexpectedly. The moment was precious but, well, every episode has its ending; personal commitments dictated that they part. And so one afternoon the woman returned to Munich and Squire returned to New York City. Although they never saw one another again, the memory remained with Squire to the very end.

The magic that is Venice is not easily forgotten.

And so one should not go alone to Venice. Queen Elizabeth arrived with Prince Philip; Cary Grant was seen with an exotic beauty and there were the Hemingways, Ernest and Mary.

While Hemingway enjoyed Piazza San Marco, he loved Harry’s Bar. It was only natural that he would, of course, for Harry’s pours the best drink in Venice and turns out wonderful meals. So Hemingway made it his unofficial headquarters whenever he was in Venice.

It is not by accident that Harry’s is known to legions of visitors. Cipriani struggled to make it special to all who dine and drink there. In the late ‘20s, when Cipriani was a bartender at the old Hotel Europa, there was an American, Harry Pickering, who enjoyed the drinks that Cipriani poured.

As a result, Pickering was pickled an enormous share of the time. Later, when Pickering’s aunt left him in Venice, Cipriani took pity on Pickering and lent him money. Pickering went on a binge and then one day he disappeared, resurfacing several months later to repay Cipriani.

As an additional gesture of gratitude, Pickering lent Cipriani the cash with which to buy his own bar. In return, Cipriani named the bar after Harry Pickering.

It has been Harry’s ever since.

With his debt repaid, Pickering disappeared a final time. Later, when Cipriani died, Cipriani’s son, Arrigo, took over the popular watering hole.

Harry’s creates its own pastas and breads and desserts and homemade ice cream and the most delicious chocolate cake in Italy. Harry’s also pours one of the world’s driest martinis (10 parts gin or vodka to one part vermouth).

There was a time when Cipriani served royalty regularly. Even today, a duke or a princess or perhaps a deposed king will drop by on occasion.

Meanwhile, Harry’s bartenders mix hundreds of drinks each day, the favorite being the house drink, the Bellini, a combination of fresh peach juice and Champagne.

Legions of travelers have made Harry’s their hangout since 1931. It has attracted hordes of hungry, thirsty vacationers and Venetians, as well as such celebrities as Rex Harrison, John Steinbeck, Noel Coward, Prince Rainier, Charlie Chaplin and Somerset Maugham.

The list is long.

Harry’s holds forth in its original location on the Grand Canal, just steps from a vaporetto stop.

Guests line up at the bar, and meals are served upstairs as well as on the ground level. For sentimental reasons, a caricature of Harry Pickering hangs near the entrance on Calle Vallaresso, a tribute to the man who bankrolled Cipriani. On the same wall is a photo of Cipriani with Ernest Hemingway.

Hemingway and the late Cipriani struck up a lasting friendship that brought still more fame to Harry’s, what with Hemingway spending many hours at the bar and the tourists begging for his autograph, or competing for the opportunity to occupy Papa’s favorite stool.

On other occasions, Hemingway and Cipriani traveled together to Torcello, an island that’s reached by speedboat from St. Mark’s Square.

Cipriani went to Torcello in 1936 to establish a restaurant with guest rooms upstairs. It was on Torcello, at Cipriani’s inn, that Hemingway worked on “Across the River and Into the Trees.”

The population of Torcello was small, fewer than 100 people. So Hemingway was at peace at Locanda Cipriani, this inn where he drank and wrote and played cards, a peaceful plot surrounded by grape arbors and a garden ablaze with flowers.

The dining room at Locanda Cipriani receives raves from visitors who travel to Torcello merely to dine, returning later to Venice. Others take tables at a rival restaurant, Ostaria al Ponte del Diavolo, whose casual atmosphere is appealing.

Hemingway took up residency on Torcello more than 40 years ago, during the winter of ‘48, and the desk where he wrote remains in the same room that he occupied at Cipriani’s.

Because of its peacefulness, Hemingway remained on Torcello for weeks. During this period he established a ritual: In the morning he would write and in the afternoon he would hunt with the inn’s gardener, Emilio, or visit with the parish priest, Don Francesco Taglipietra.

Besides Harry’s and Locanda Cipriani, Hemingway enjoyed the Gritti Palace, the famed hotel on Venice’s Grand Canal.

The 15th-Century Gritti Palace has attracted dozens of celebrities: Charles de Gaulle, Elizabeth Taylor, the Duke and Dutchess of Windsor, Princess Grace, Queen Elizabeth, Winston Churchill, Claire Boothe Luce, Sinclair Lewis, Ava Gardner, Clark Gable, Laurance Rockefeller and Greta Garbo.

Maugham, who loved Venice and the Gritti, wrote: “At the Gritti, you are not merely a number as you are in those vast caravansaries that appear all over the world; you are a friend who has been welcomed as you step out of the motorboat, and when you sit down to dinner at the very same table you sat at the year before and the year before that, when you see that your bottle of Soave is in the same ice pail waiting for you, as it has been year after year, you cannot but feel very much at home.”

For those searching for less expensive shelter, my vote goes to the cheerful little Hotel Patria Tre Rose, on Calle dei Fabbri, as well as another close to St. Mark’s, the Casanova.

Leaving the Patria Tre Rose one evening, I struck out for a small family restaurant I’d enjoyed earlier and became lost in a crowd that had gathered for a fireworks display on the Grand Canal.

Exploding skyrockets were reflected in the canal like a watery rainbow. Sparks showered down while the crowd applauded, and other fireworks roared off into the night from handsome yachts facing the Danieli Hotel.

Later I found the restaurant I was searching for, and in a courtyard nearby a young woman with braids was playing Venetian love songs on a mandolin to the crowd that was leaving the fireworks show. A lad with a fine tenor voice joined her and together they sang until the moon had disappeared and the clock tower in St. Mark’s Square sounded midnight.

While Venice is inviting, it can be trying at times. On a summer day as many as 30,000 visitors arrive. At the height of the winter carnival in February, more than 200,000--or twice the number of permanent residents--jam the city, which inspired one Venetian to grumble that Venice will sink one day, not due to flooding but under the weight of these invaders. They crowd the vaporettos and gondolas and swarm over the Rialto and the Bridge of Sighs.

Poor Venice.

Residents complain that vibrations from rock concerts in Piazza San Marco are damaging delicate mosaics in the piazza’s magnificent cathedral. And still, said a spokesman for the Italian Government Travel Office, they’ve not been outlawed.

If Venice is seduced by tourists during summer, in winter it is ravaged by floods. Only inches above sea level, the city is often inundated by tides several feet high. And so for years, responsible citizens have struggled to preserve the palaces and other buildings on Venice’s 100-odd islands.

Artisans spent 15 years and billions of lire refurbishing the Ca’ d’Oro, one of those lovely palaces on the Grand Canal.

Dating from 1420, the building is considered as much a treasure as the treasures it contains: Priceless paintings, mosaics, ancient bronze figures and tapestries. Additional billions of lire have been spent restoring bell towers, churches and museums.

In the high season, Venetians live under constant pressure. Often when they get stressed out they escape north to Cortina d’Ampezzo, the little Alpine village in the Dolomites.

Set in one of Italy’s loveliest valleys, Cortina lies beneath peaks lost in the folds of great billowing clouds, its mountains separating Italy from Austria. For Venetians who live surrounded by water, Cortina, with its wildflowers and grassy meadows, offers relief.

Waterfalls spill, swelling rivers and lakes, and in the golden time of summer the high meadows are yellow with buttercups and blue with forget-me-nots and columbine.

With the arrival of fall, cattle are returned to the village from the high slopes, the signal for another of Cortina’s festivals that attract great crowds of Venetians.

Environmentalists as well as Venetians applaud Cortina’s campaign to discourage developers.

Unlike the Venetians, the residents of Cortina were aware of threats to the environment long before others voiced fears over polluted air and water and overcrowded land. It is sobering for Venetians, the contrast between the pristine valley of Cortina and the polluted canals of home.

Still, while Cortina is fine for a holiday, legions of travelers--I among them--prefer the treasures of Venice. Yes, even with the decaying buildings, murky canals and oppressive summer heat.

Besides, on a muggy day the beaches of Lido Isle are only minutes away. Those who can afford the heavy ransom take shelter on the island of Giudecca at Hotel Cipriani, which is blessed with a swimming pool and breezes that sweep away the humid air.

The next time I return to Venice, take a table again at Harry’s and listen to the vaporettos and the music that rises from St. Mark’s Square, I shall again raise my glass to the ghosts of Hemingway and Maugham and my late friend John Squire--and the other departed souls who shall never again know the serenity of a sunset along the Grand Canal.