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Los Angeles Times Valley Edition | Glendale News-Press | 2005 July 2
Predictable meets fickle
BY PATRICK AZADIAN
Going on vacation needs to have a cause beyond just relaxation for me. Otherwise, guilt kicks in rapidly. It's a formula extracted from my Armenian roots: If I am having fun, I should feel guilty.
Instead of getting over the hang-up, I've discovered a way to trick my brain. I've found an excuse to spend time in Italy every other year, as Venice is home to the International Art Biennale. I am hoping non-commercial art will fuel my creativity and benefit my profession in the graphic arts. Time will tell whether this will bear any fruit, but for now, I'm back with some reflections.
Life in Venice struck me as opposite to life in Glendale.
First, the real obvious contrasts: Venetians have polluted water canals while we have asphalt streets. We have buses for transportation and they have 'vaporettos' (water boats). Their historic monuments are at least four centuries old, and ours come in the form of dilapidated fire stations from the beginning of 20th century. Venetians minds lean left; I am not sure where our politics are headed, but they're certainly not in that direction. And finally, and not necessarily related to the last sentence, Venice is sinking, but we're not.
Think of Venice as a place run by what we Americans call "immigrants." Of course, they are not immigrants, they're Italians living in Italy. But, if they were to magically be transported here, we would initially label them as immigrants and would find their manners unusual.
Italians (and Greeks) are probably the closest you can come to Armenians in the European Union. So, if you want to know how Glendale would be if it was run by first generation Armenian immigrants, now you know where to go. Meanwhile, I can try to share my insights on this creepy "what if" scenario.
Waiters in Venice can be slow and fickle. They aren't rude, but you must keep in mind it's as if you are asking your younger sister for a fresh cup of coffee just when she is out the door for a dream date. You can't really be too demanding.
Unlike here, the customer in Venice is rarely right.
One night, my friends and I ended up at a restaurant in a lively square. After about 40 minutes my American patience ran thin; I walked up to the waiter and asked him for eight sprits (a local Campari drink). He wouldn't take my order and asked me to return to my seat: "Si, I comeh to you," he said.
A few minutes later, a local customer lost patience with the waiter and broke a bottle on the waiter's head. I expected police, ambulances and arrests. None followed.
Instead, the waiter was bandaged up and swiftly returned to work. The victim and the villain shook hands before he meekly arrived to take our order.
It is hard to be cited for minor infractions in Venice as well. There were no seat belts on the vaporettos to fasten, crossing the Grande Canal at undesignated areas would've required the ability to walk on water and, sadly, there were no citations for those who casually tossed their cigarettes into the ocean. In Venice, police weren't a presence, and often not necessary.
One evening, I was going back to my hotel, in an area where the term "ghetto" was coined. A couple of intoxicated young Venetians stood in my way, a sight which would've made me nervous at home. I thought to myself: "How dangerous can a couple of wafer thin Venetians boys dressed in tight pink shirts and white Bermuda shorts be?" And I was right, the "thugs" were harmless, and the "ghetto" was peaceful.
In Venice, I was constantly reminded that the customer is never right. I left my usual 20% tip for a waitress at a restaurant. She chased after me and asked: "Are you sureh? Due euros?" Yes, I was "sureh."
Now, that's courtesy!
Whereas immigrants may look out of place here in Glendale, it's us, the Americans, who look totally out of sorts in Venice.
I don't understand our fascination of taking so many pictures. One reason could be to share the moments with friends back home.
And if that's the case, then the tourist needs to be in the picture. An obvious conclusion, you may think. But how valuable can the photo be if the "world traveler" is pictured with a pair of large dark sunglasses, a big hat, with one backpack resting on the torso, and another one on the back, standing in front of a replica monument (the real stuff is in museums, not outdoors)?
I'll be going back in two years. I've set two goals for the myself: First, to not fool myself by having a mission for the trip; and second, to leave all my cameras at home.
Copyright 2005 Glendale News Press
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