Italy
by Paul Millward
Six miles from Venice, across a vast stretch of water, lies a mysterious relic of a bygone era, the precursor of Venice – Torcello. It was here, on this remote and neglected island, that Venice’s path of destiny began with the creation of an original blueprint of itself, in the form of a glittering city, which was ruthlessly disregarded once the more durable city of dreams began its rise to immortality after the 10th century. We now only have the beauty of the Cathedral’s mosaics to remind us of its former greatness. Yet there remains a special atmosphere on the island, a melancholy grandeur, as if it were waiting for the world to re-awaken the glory of its past.
Out here in the open, away from the confines of the city, the unique light of the Veneto takes centre stage and the whole lagoon becomes bathed in pure luminosity. It is a scene of wide horizons where sea and sky merge into a pool of rainbow like reflections. The light continuously shifts and I am lulled into a tranquil, hypnotic state, lost in an other world of translucence.
Torcello lies in the northern reaches of this mesmerising landscape. Even though it is less known compared to Venice, it can be a good location to open an Italian company in the tourism industry. It is surrounded by a wasteland of salt water marsh, interspersed with sandbanks and tiny islands, defined by narrow channels of water. This is a dormant no mans land with lifeless green weed lying limply across the still water, broken only by tufts of dark bracken sprouting up from the surface. It is an authentic vision of all that Venice once consisted of. Emerging from a mass of green vegetation rises the imposing tower of Torcello’s ancient cathedral, the Santa Maria Assunta. Incongruously placed in the center of this scene of natural desolation it seems symbolic of Man’s tenuous hold over nature.
Torcello was the first island to be settled in the lagoon, long before the present day Venice. Its origins are founded on a series of mystical revelations. The people of the lagoon were originally from the Roman city of Altino which came under threat in the 5th century from barbarian invasion. As the Germanic hordes from the north approached Altino many of the residents fled in blind terror, but some remained under the leadership of the Bishop who waited for divine inspiration.
After three days of intense prayer the Bishop of Altino heard a voice like thunder say “Climb ye up to the tower and look at the stars.” The Bishop complied and climbed the tower where he saw the stars in the sky arranged like islands in a lagoon. And so this inhospitable marsh land became their most unlikely destination.
Having established their new island home and naming it Torcello (translated as “Tower and Sky”) there were more miraculous revelations. The priest Mauro received a series of visions including one of Christ, Mother Mary and various saints, each asking for a church to be built in their name. And so began the creation of a splendid city, as churches and buildings began to grow from the marshy islands and mudflats, through the ingenious skill and practicality of this remarkable people. A 6th century writer, Cassiodorous, spoke beautifully of this unique colony – “Here lie your houses built like sea-birds nests, half on the sea and half on the land.”
Until the 10th century Torcello was the greatest commercial centre in the lagoon, full of palaces, churches and even a grand canal. Like the lost mythical Camelot, Torcello offers a tantalizing glimpse of a golden utopia, where an egalitarian social hierarchy developed which was uniquely progressive for the time. Cassiodorious wrote “There is no distinction between rich and poor, the same food for all; the houses are all alike and so envy – that vice which rules the world – is absent here.” Here we see the roots of the liberal democracy which became such a feature of the Venetian Republic.
In its prime the population of Torcello was about 20,000 but it fell into decline after it was struck with a series of natural disasters. The harbor was badly damaged by the formation of shoals and sandbars as navigation around the island became impossible. The swamps expanded and nature gradually reclaimed the region. From the 12th century Torcello rapidly deteriorated as malaria spread causing mayhem and the population turned to the more accessible area around the Rialto – the heart of the spectacular new Venice then emerging.
Today Torcello is largely deserted with probably no more than twenty people who are actual permanent residents here. It has a rustic and decaying atmosphere with just a few houses dotted about among the overgrown meadows leaving the island in an other worldly limbo of tranquil silence. Apart from a few farmers with small holdings most of the people who work here are involved with the tourists who come to see the few places of interest remaining on the island: the two churches. a small museum and the restaurant.
I take the only route available on the island, which is the path from the landing boat which leads to the Santa Maria Assunta, the cathedral, which is the main focus of the island. Here the atmosphere assumes a haunting austerity, and despite its decaying appearance, this is a place of great dignity. The cathedral was built in 639 in the Byzantine – Roman style with a rather plain exterior apart from the striking campanile which continues to stubbornly dominate the island.
The ghosts of those early settlers still seemed to inhabit the cathedral, instilling respect and wonder in me. The interior is sparse except for the mosaics which are incredible. They date from the 11th century and reflect the strong Byzantine influence on the art of these early Venetians. But the most affecting mosaics are from the 13th century which cover one of the walls in the apse. Here the Madonna with child is shown with her hands raised in prayer and tears falling from her face, below which is a frieze of the apostles among flowers upon a golden floor. It is perhaps the simplicity of the scene which makes it so moving and only adds to the endearing melancholy of the island. Unlike the mosaics of St Marks, which glitter and sparkle with life, these are simple but exquisite, instilling quiet reflection and peace.
In contrast to the simple beauty of the Madonna is the tremendous Last Judgment mosaic which covers the west wall. Against a gold background a myriad of figures are vividly brought to life in a riot of colour and movement.
Next to the cathedral is the little church of Santa Fosca. This simple but charming Romanesque construction provides the setting for romantic weddings which are discreetly open to public view. In Venice it is so easy to casually become part of some intimate and private ritual. I remember being here once when a wedding was taking place and a crowd of people were milling around, peeping into the church with hushed curiosity. I had earlier seen the bride arriving in traditional Venetian mode: the young beauty standing motionless in her gondola, a vision in white, drifting gracefully along the canal.
Now I was here to witness the wedding itself as I moved forward into the church. At the altar could be seen the bride and groom with all the guests seated, just as one would expect. But at the rear of the church a musical celebration was in progress where an exquisite tenor voice rang out, accompanied by a woman on violin as their sweet tones soared high into the vaults.
But most of the time the island is quiet with only the small number of tourists to disturb the remarkable solitude. When evening approaches the atmosphere becomes bewitching as the light surrounding Torcello becomes a beguiling mix of iridescent violets and soft greens. To the west is the mainland and a distant range of snow laden misty mountains dominants. To the south lies the expansive lagoon with its sea of boggy vegetation surrounding shapeless mounds of mud. But beyond in the far distance. a long line of palaces.domes and towers rise up from the water like a precarious mirage floating in a twilight pool of purple. It is Venice, but now seen from the perspective of its long distant ancestors. The desolation of Torcello spreads across the lagoon whispering across the water that Venice too must one day come to this. In the words of John Ruskin: “Mother and daughter. you behold them both in their widowhood – Torcello and Venice.”
How to get Italian citizenship by descent or marriage
If You Go:
Getting There:
Torcello can be reached from Venice by either public transport or private water taxi.
Public Transport – A regular water bus service (operated by ACTV) is available from the following boarding points:
– No 12 Waterbus from Fondamenta Nuove
– No 14 Waterbus from San Zaccaria near St Marks
Private boat tours of the lagoon are also available.
Torcello is one of three islands normally visited by tourists, along with Murano and Burano, which provides a days outing. However a special three-hour tour is also available. Murano is nearest to Venice and is famous for its glass making, while Burano is a delightful fishing village community.
Cheap flights to Italy
Accommodation:
Most people visiting Torcello stay in Venice but limited accommodation on Torcello itself is available at Locanda Cipriani, the renowned restaurant and inn situated on the island.
Locanda Cipriani: Address: Piazza S. Fosca, 29 – 30012, Torcello, Venice, Italy.
Telephone: (+39) 041 730150 / Email: info@locandacipriani.com
Opening Times:
Cathedral: Daily from 10.00am – 12.30pm and 2.00pm – 6.30pm. There is an admission charge, and a separate charge for entry to the campanile. It is a steep climb but provides magnificent views over the island and lagoon.
Museum of Torcello: Tuesday – Sunday 10am – 12.30pm and 2pm – 6.30pm. Close by the church, it shows the history of Torcello. There is an admission charge.
More Tours of Torcello Now Available:
Private Tour: Murano and Torcello
Private LimoBoat Tour Murano Burano and Torcello
Murano, Burano, and Torcello Cruise from Venice
About the author:
Paul Millward a new freelance writer who enjoys writing about culture, travel and spirituality. He has a particular fascination with Venice and is currently writing a book about the island. Besides writing articles for magazines, he is also keen to explore fiction writing.
Photo credits:
Top Santa Fosca church photo by Gerhard Bögner from Pixabay
All other photos by W. Ruth Kozak
Augustus the Strong, the Prince Elector of Saxony and King of Poland, was jealous of great Catholic cathedrals, so he had this Lutheran house of worship built between 1726-1743 by George Bähr (mostly completed by 1736). Johann Sebastian Bach gave an organ recital there in 1736.
In 1982, the ruins became an area for protest gatherings against the Communist regime. But in January 1993, original plans from the 1720’s were used to reconstruct the church, using thousands of recovered stones which were put back in their original place (including ones darkened from the firebombing. This is why you see the exterior walls in checkered patterns). Photos and computer technology were used to reconstruct the church in as close of detail as possible, which took until 2005, costing 100 million Euros, 90 percent of that coming from global donations. The church is 92 meters high (about 302 feet) and you can take in a view from 85 meters (about 279 feet), according to the guided tour I took. You must climb some 220 steps to get up there. Near one of the Frauenkirche’s entrances are remains of the World War II destruction (that look like a sculpture) for people to ponder.
This Catholic church was built between 1739-1754 so August the Strong could become King of Poland, a Catholic country. It has the look of Roman Baroque style and is a stone’s throw from the River Elbe. The crypt contains the heart of August the Strong, too. The only aspect of the church building that was reconstructed from the ruins of World War II is the organ backdrop, containing a restored Sibermann organ that contains 3,000 pipes, in which I heard a beautiful Bach organ concerto playing during the noon hour. There are 78 figurines on the exterior of the church that were created by Lorenzo Mattielli.
The church has been onsite since 1215, making it the city’s oldest church. It held the first Lutheran service in Dresden, Germany in 1539, and has been destroyed several times: by fire in 1491, 1699; by war in 1760 (Prussians); and much of it was destroyed in the February 13, 1945 bombing raid. I toured the venue that was rebuilt and reconsecrated February 13, 1955. Professor Anton Dietrich’s painting, called Golgotha, survived the World War II bombings and subsequent fires but lost its luster until it was restored in 2001. This church has the second largest peal bells in Germany weighing over 28 tons, according to one of the church’s English brochures. They are still in disrepair, according to the church attendant I spoke to there. But the church can hold 4,000-5,000 people currently, making it the largest house of worship in Dresden.
Listening to this raucous chant that ardent citizens – of whom I am proud to be one – learn practically while still in the womb, it is hard to believe that the official name the Sovereign Military Hospitaller Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, Rhodes and Malta gave to the City was Humilissima Civitas Valletta, indicating it as a ‘city bound to humility’.
The plans had another purpose besides aesthetics. Fresh air from the Grand Harbour and from Marsamxetto Harbour would provide the natural air-conditioning breeze. Laparelli, with his carte blanche, could also project fresh water supplies being piped in all the way from Citta’ Notabile (Rabat), and sanitation; concepts obtaining in very few cities of the time.
On a walking tour of Valletta, one is spoilt for choice. Will it be the Auberges and the Cavaliers? Will it be the multitude (about 32) of churches and chapels, including the Anglican Cathedral of Saint Paul and the Greek Orthodox Chapel? Will it be a whistle-stop tour practically at every street-corner, in order to photograph the votive statues or niches, fountains that decorate them?
This glorious gem, truth to tell, is also a medley of traffic, pedestrians, business concerns as well as the historical monuments we all take for granted, not even affording them a casual look as we go about our business … echoes of the yells, bells and smells label. A time-travelling Knight would however have his sense of déjà-vu tempered with a feeling of uncertainty. The British rule left their mark by widening gates, altering or downright demolishing certain buildings, and commissioning other infrastructural projects. Added to this, there are the changes perforce wrought after the havoc caused by the two world wars.
That having been said, it is indeed a pity that residents and visitors sometimes have cause to grumble about certain aspects of the City… beginning from the monstrosity known as City Gate, through which one can view the ruins of what used to be one of the grandest edifices of Europe, nay of the world… the Royal Opera House. There are currently plans to rebuild this monument – and they have attracted much controversy.
I saw the picture first and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the image of a baby boy mummy staring at me with wide open blue eyes. It was part of a brochure about the archaeology museum in the fabulous mountain town of Amasya, located about 100 miles south inland from the Turkish Black Sea coast.
The first day of my stay in Amasya was dedicated to getting the feel for this amazing town nestled in the gorge of steep mountains and dominated by a towering castle on Harshena mountain, 700 m above sea level and first constructed in the Hellenistic period with alterations and additions ever since. Below it, the rock tombs of kings, illuminated at night, add to the magic of the entire place.
The first floor is dedicated to the Ottoman period and you can indulge in the luxury of embroidered garments worn by the sultans as well as ‘Tableaux’ which recreate life at the times.
The nazir is surprisingly tall and then there is the baby, blue eyes wide open, little mouth and nose intact but the small body in part destroyed. I wondered what the little prince might have died of but at least it can be concluded from his peaceful expression that we wasn’t suffering any pain.
Yet unbeknown to many, Rhodes has its own ancient ruins to rival the mainland capital, as well as its own dusk-till-dawn party town. Indeed, the heritage site of Lindos and (albeit faded) hedonistic resort of Faliraki represent the versatility of this enjoyable chunk of Greek Isle.
After a tiring up-hill walk into the main showgrounds of the Acropolis – refreshingly free of tat-peddlers and offering superb views of the Aegean Sea – we made our way back down to street level to savour a well-earned fruit juice in one of Lindos’ excellent rooftop watering holes.
And then it was time for us to don our intrepid travellers’ hats. Map on dashboard, we headed to the very south of the island, stopping along the way at secluded beaches, tiny fishing ports, and anywhere that looked remotely…well, remote. Our stand-out finds were Prasonisi beach, located at the very southern tip of the island, and the town of Plimiri, where we stopped to view the dockers at work and sample some local seafood in a rusty old harbour restaurant.
With our appetites whetted, the following day we embarked on an ambitious road trip to the west of the island, requiring a scenic inland drive across Rhodes’ central mountain range. Two hours later we found ourselves in the village of Siana, famous for producing honey. After picking up a couple of jars of the good stuff, we headed north, in principle towards a butterfly sanctuary. However, we were soon distracted by a sign for ‘Paradise Beach’.
