The Redentore, like most Venetian celebrations, seems to combine the sacred and the profane (or, if you prefer, piety and party). It honors the end of the plague of 1577, one of the city's worst. In an age before clean water, contagion and public health were fully understood, cities were frequently devastated by plagues and outbreaks of disease. This was true well into the 19th century, in the US and elsewhere. Venice was particularly vulnerable, because it was an island, and it was so well connected to other places through trading ships. The 1577 plague is believed to have been caused by flea-infested mice brought over on Venetian ships returning from Asia. One popular story, perhaps true, is that the plague was brought to an end when hundreds of cats were brought in from Syria. Many at the time (and since) think that constant public devotions by the survivors in Venice's many churches did the trick.
History aside, the Redentore is celebrated with a massive fireworks display, and a huge city-wide party, most of it taking place on a makeshift flotilla of boats loosely attached to one another. What better way to celebrate the end of a plague than to drink and blow sh*t up? How could we be in Italy, and miss that?
Shana, as always, captured the essence of Venice -- and our visit -- in photographs. To see more pictures, go to
Our hotel, the Caneva, was a bed and breakfast near the Rialto and Piazza San Marco:
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| Maya, on our balcony over-looking a canal |
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| A view from the lobby of our hotel |
Venice, as I'm sure you know, is a remarkably unique city. There are no streets, in the modern sense -- at least not any passable by cars. Transportation is either on foot, or on boats. It is also next to impossible to find your way around Venice without a map. In my experience, most visitors just voluntarily lose themselves in the maze. That's really the best way to see Venice, because there are constant surprises around every corner. It is a heavily touristed city -- the permanent population is small, and getting smaller as the island sinks and the water rises -- but one can suddenly and inexplicably find yourself alone, if you wander far enough.
