2796 Calle del Traghetto, Venice, 27th June 2005
This year we have abandoned the Piano Rialzato, though we are still in the sestieri of Dorsodoro.
The entrance to number 2796 is through anonymous wooden double doors directly off the Calle del Traghetto. Inside, a long dark corridor leads to a pool light where a pair of glass reveal a rare sun-lit garden. A path runs across grass, between shrubs and small trees and past weathered statues to our apartment. The front door opens directly into the sitting room; opposite a barred window overlooks the Rio di San Barnaba and the grand Ca Rezzonico, where afternoon sunlight reflects off the water and flickers across the pale Istrian stone.
Breakfast in the garden – melon, strawberries and cherries, toast and honey. One of the permanent residents sets up a sprinkler on the grass. Our kettle whistles. Coffee to the sounds of swifts, rustling leaves, a cat meowing, the swish of the sprinkler, a blackbird singing from roof and voices from the alley to the Ca Rezzonico vaporetto stop.
That evening another sound. A rhythmic snuffling from near the patio doors as we sit in the garden with a glass of wine before dinner. A large male tortoise has cornered a female in the angle between the wall and a clump of irises; he is half mounted on her and scraping her shell with blank-eyed reptilian drive. He continues his attentions for two hours, his urgency rising and falling. Then the pair are out in the open, his front feet on her back, thrusting with a clicking of shells and short panting gasps, and moving quickly between the shrubs. After half an hour, they part suddenly and amble off to graze. Later, the owner tells us that he was given the male as a child 40 years ago. He says, ruefully, that though the pair lay lots of eggs, they rarely hatch successfully. There is just one baby, the size of an espresso cup, in the garden.