NEW BOOK: Calli Veneziane - Venetian Backstreets

This, my sixteenth travel / photo book, features the scenes behind and from beyond what the tourist sees when visiting Venice.  Off the beaten path, wandering the backstreets in December, one witnesses how the working class Venetians experience life, work, love and old age.  

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The book cover features a half of a sarcastic Italian graffiti seen on a wall near the university.  The other half of the saying is on the back cover of the book.

Translated: "Art is dead. Venice is the tomb."

Calli Veneziane – Venetian Backstreets

    "For hundreds of years, these small islands on the northern Adriatic Sea have witnessed the invasions of armies, politicians, pirates and tourists.  Over six million tourists walked ashore last year alone. Over one and a half billion snapshots were walked away of bridges, canals, and gondoliers. 

    Islands without roads or four wheeled vehicles, native born Venetians learn at a tender age the footpaths, the waterways, the ebb and flow of invaders that appear with the seasons.

    Living on land that is slowly sinking into the sea, fifty thousand Venetian inhabitants survive by adhering to the fishing customs and merchant traditions of their forefathers while maintaining their Venetian identity."

 

-  ITALY  2025 -

This photo of the Basilica della Salute was captured by photographing its reflection in a shop window.

While the Venetian gondola is the iconic symbol for Venice, it is the working barges and water taxis that move people and merchandise. Without either, Venice could not survive.

The December fog hangs heavy over the city as bundled workers trudge off to work.

Some work as gondoliers, but with the summer tourists gone, 

many seek other employment.

Walking away from the popular tourist spots, enter the Venetians world.  

Leaves have long fallen, only a few souls brave the morning cold.

Slowly, as the winter sun rises, warming the day.

The elegant architecture and iron work give way to the narrow neighborhood walkways.

 One walks close to the buildings, as the cold wind blows in from the Adriatic Sea.

That same wind that dries the Monday laundry

Being a Monday, it must be wash day. 

Wet clothes are hung in available patches of sunlight.

Now when you think of Venice,  your mind will return to Monday clothes hanging to dry.

These are the neighborhoods of residents. not tourist photo opps. 

Being a Catholic country, Venetians take their faith seriously with holiday pagents, concerts, operas and processions.

Before the sun rays can warm the streets, the morning espresso warms the mind and soul. 

Indoor smoking is now banned in Venice, so one braves the cold for a smoke with their caffé.

The rattle of wheels on cobblestone awaken the day. 

Workers with pushcarts deliver the daily supplies to restaurants and shops. Due to the many very narrow walkways, even bicycles are discouraged here.

The tradesman look for his next assignment. 

A smartphone with a street map is essential to find your way around Venice. Even the locals get lost here. But being small islands, one gets reoriented quickly.

A craftsman waits with his rolling toolbox for the foreman with a key to appear.

In the openmarket, workers prepare the day's catch for customers 

 demanding the freshest fish.

Adrian, the fishmonger, sorts the shrimp by size, pricing each appropriately.

Dominic finished butchering his first shark of the day, 

now oversees the unloading of a large tuna he ordered. 

Luncheonette owner rushes to open his shops for the day.

A retiree finds a dropped lotto ticket

With fresh fish in hand and warm bread from the oven, he heads back home

Even though the islands are flat, crossing the 435 bridges 

can be a challenge for the elderly. One cannot go anywhere without having to climb the steps of a bridge.

For those who live on island Burano, their daily commute is on the Vaporetto,(water taxi) 

to reach the center of Venice.

Her dog finds the warm bakery inviting.

Even the cold winds do not stop love from blossoming.

In Europe, pledges of enduring love are locked onto iron railings, keys tossed into the canals.

A warming sun brings love into the open.

Entangled lives breeds love. Love grows, matures and endures.

For some, their decision is to step up and cross that marriage bridge,

 others step down and silently glide away.

In all of Venice, this is the only covered gateway with steps on the left rising to a bridge 

and on the right down to a gondola stop.

Ah, the dangers of love, hiding behind a mask of romance and intrigue.

Venice is famous for its mask making artisans. 

Spurned by suiters, Italian passions run deep and unforgiving.

Others call for an end with a wave

Fickle love laughs, the mask falling away to expose, nothing. All is an illusion...

And yet the quest to find true love rekindles, is eternal.

Some walk alone...

Others together...

For some love is never found...

For others it survives a lifetime

We are born alone into a family, 

we die leaving family behind.

Venetians are a people like you and I.

Alone... taking it a day at a time.

A lonely waiting game, fishing...            for love or a meal.

Widowed, the professor finds his solace dining alone with a book, 

not far from the university where he still teaches.

Stood up, acheing for a love that never shows.

What a lonely game.

The custom of placing flowers from the casket on the stoop of the deseased 

is a common practice in many cultures.

Which brings us to the end of my Ventian story.  Life is the same in every culture, every continent, every race. We are all human, all the same, yet all individuals.

Which is what makes us all so fastinating to observe. 

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That concludes our book reading for today. Thank you for taking the time to stroll along with me as we learned the Venetian backstreets as seen through the camera's lens.

Jan H Daub

Morocco to Spain

Don't know what happened, but I wrote this blog post last fall, 2025. Then never posted it. I was leaving Morocco, taking a train across southern Europe to attend a Photo Workshop in Venice, Italy.  

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Preparing to leave Morocco was decision time, take a flight direct to Venice for the upcoming photography workshop, OR...

Take a taxi to the north shore of Morocco, jump on a ferry crossing the Strait of Gibralter to Spain. Once there, try something new, ride the train across Spain, France, ending up in northwest Italy. 

Destination: Venice.

I have never traveled by train in Europe but wanted to. But trying it alone while dragging a heavy suitcase, backpack, camera gear, etc, are you sure you want to do this?

 I read somewhere you are never too old to learn something new,  so let's do it! What can go wrong? People have been riding the trains in Euroepe for decades and decades. 

Not one to shy away from trying something new, decided just do it. Regrets can come later, if ever. But for now, get out of your comfort zone, have an adventure. 

Having an adventure is bravely going where other people live!

We'll focus on what a great positive adventure it will be, meeting new people, learning how to navigate sa different mode of transport, learn to read train schedules in several languages. decipher train station boards, find hotels, taxis, and commnunicate with porters and security guards in three different languages.

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Alan and I left Chechuauen at 4:30 am for Tangier on the northern coast.

By 9:30 we dropped Alan near the airport so he could catch a flight to London the next day.

 There was an MG automobile dealership next door to his hotel, He thought he might do a little tire kicking.  Remember the little two door MG convertible sportscars of the sixties. They are not even sold in the USA anymore, but are still available in Europe.

The driver then took me to the new marine terminals 40 km west of Tangier. Was very glad the driver we hired knew which of the six spread out ports was the passenger terminal and which were cargo only terminals.

Buying the passage across the Strait was easy. The reader board displayed the departure time for several different ferry company. Each company had a separate kiosk where you could buy passage on their ferry. Simply select the departure time that suits you, go the appropriate ticket window and buy your walk-on ticket. 

After a short twenty minute wait, I was on board, watching the ferry pull away from the dock.

From the ferry railing, a view of the port.

The ferry had wifi so I could pull up the Google map showing exactly where we were.

Was a bit cool out on the deck once we cleared land. Being the middle of the week, Thursday November 27th,  there were not many passengers. Was told that every weekends the ferry is packed with tourists heading down to Morocco for sun and relaxation. One can take your own vehicle for an easy, affordable trip.

The port for landing in Spain was Algeciras, near Gibralter. Mainly due to the fact there is a train station in Algeciras.  If I had gotten on the Tarifa ferry by mistake, I would have had to take a bus to the Algeciras train station.

Both the Moroccan and the Spanish ports are both busy commercial ports of entry.

Once through Spain immigration and customs, it was a short seven block walk to the Algeciras train station.

Already mid-afternoon, had to start thinking about where I would spend the night. Do I spend the first night in Algeciras or try to move inland? I did not consider using a sleeper train on this trip as I wanted to experience different cities as I made my way across Europe. 

Checking the maps, ask the train booking agent about several small cities, then used booking.com to secure a room for the night. 

Even when traveling in the states, I look for smaller city/towns to find a hotel for the night. 

I try to avoid staying in large metropolitan cities, preferring the mid to smaller towns where crime is less, people more open to helping strangers, and hotels are more affordable.

In Europe, train stations tend to be near the center of town where one can usually find hotels within walking distance.  Which is importatant when lugging a heavy suitcase everywhere. 

The ticket lady agreed that Ronda, Spain was an interesting city. 

Unfortunately I arrived too late in the day to go see the ancient Roman bridge in Ronda. 

Before leaving the Ronda train station, I spoke with the ticket the agent to find out departure times for the next day to make it to Girona, Spain where I planned to spend two nights, Friday and Saturday. 

Showed her my Eurail Pass I bought before leaving the US, paid the small fee for reserving a seat in first class car. Not sure why the reservation was necessary are there were only five persons in first class the next morning. 

Luckily the Hotel Anadalucia was directly across the street from the Ronda station, no chance of getting lost here. Made a loop around the neighborhood looking for an open restaurant. Seems 8 p.m. is too early,  several opened at 9 p.m. A burger joint turned the sign on, I walked in. A burger, fries and a cold beer made for a healthy dinner. 

Tomorrow, we board the train hoping to find the steel rails leading to Venice.

CCjon