Musings of a later starter

Venice at first sight

I always was. Late to read, late to puberty (I’m still waiting for various bits), late to the joy of sex, late to technology, late to painting, late to blogging. Strange really, given that I am usually prompt – early even – for appointments. However, I am also relatively late to the 54th Venice Biennale.

My excuse for this is that as an ex-art critic, I am no longer due official press accreditation and therefore access to the biannual bun-fight known as the press previews.  Oh, I’ve been there, done that as a freelancer (– not quite a freeloader, but it's been a fine line at times). So now, as a general punter only, I am comparatively late to see the art, minus the feeding and drinking frenzies that accompany these temporary additions to the glories of Venice.

Harry's Bar

....So I find myself in Harry’s Bar (as you do) three hours after stepping off a plane. To be fair, not having been to Harry's before (late starter) I almost didn’t make it at all. I got to the end of Calle Vallaresso and even in front of the unprepossessing doors to the place but kept bottling it, wary as I was of the reviews. Images of pushing my way in only to be a victim of surly service and being thrown out on my ear for merely wanting one drink and not speaking Italian. Not only that, but when there’s no price list outside, you know you’re in for an expensive time and if I wasn’t spending a fortune in there, was I going to be welcome?

However, a good friend of mine had provided me with an envelope containing a message for the barman. I hadn’t a clue what this might say, (in Italian of course) but in deference to him and homage to Hemmingway, I felt it was my duty to enter. Before I dithered any longer, I saw my chance and quickly waded in behind a wealthy looking family, the tanned women sporting nude-coloured pashminas and patent platformed stilettos to match.

Lining up the Bellini's

Despite my trepidation, my, “Posso bere solo al bar?” was greeted by a friendly, “Of course”, (am I so blatantly English?) and a gesture towards a vacant stool, next but one to an old, portly, unsmiling guy at the end. It's a small bar so cosy, fairly sandwiched as I was pretty much between him and another guy to whom I hadn't yet paid attention.

Long story short, my friendly barman laughingly obeyed the instructions contained within the envelope I'd handed over to him, showering the bar with small silver hearts as he opened it. Turns out my friend had also supplied enough euros to set me up rather well for the evening. A bellini, vodka martini, and a bellini #1 (bellini + vodka) later, and I had made friends with a family from Chicago doing the European tour and spent the rest of the evening talking all things Biennale with that other guy, a street artist and curator from New York, who happened to be Michael De Feo.

Not a bad late start to the Biennale…..

Bo