A Superior Double Room and a Table for Two

If one wishes to feel like a guest in the house of an aristocratic Venetian rather than an anonymous tourist in a chain hotel, then a stay at the Pensione Accademia in Venice is a must. Formerly a patrician family residence, the seventeenth century Villa Marageve, or Villa of Wonders, became the Russian Embassy between the World Wars before establishing itself as an hotel in the 1950s. We have now known it for over forty years.

water front entrance to the Pensione Accademia where we first stayed some forty years ago

the main entrance to the Hotel Accademia which continues, to this day, to be called Pensione

Quietly positioned at the end of the Fondamenta Bollani, its leafy garden, a treasure in itself in Venice, is flanked by two small canals which flow busily on into the Grand Canal. Old fashioned and elegant, the 29 rooms are well appointed and comfortable and the most delicious of breakfasts are served outdoors in the summer months under vast sun umbrellas in the Pensione's courtyard.

front facade of the Pensione Accademia - our room is to be seen top right, shutters closed

the view from our open window overlooking the garden and towards the Grand Canal

It is hard to believe when one is enjoying the secluded peace of the Wisteria covered arbour in the Pensione Accademia garden that one is literally moments away from the bustling Accademia Bridge, the seething masses of St. Mark's Square, the crowded Vaporetto, and the heaving shops selling Carnival masks, Murano glass, Burano lace and 'I Love Venice' hats. And yet, in this green oasis, one is transported back to days of the Grand Tour when the delights of this most magical of cities could be savoured at a more refined and gentler pace.

the piano nobile, bathed in sunshine, situated on the first floor of the Pensione Accademia

looking down onto the front garden of the Pensione, the arbour seen in the top left corner

'No Fish, No Sundays' are the watchwords of Ristorante La Bitta, one of our favourite places to eat in Venice. Defiantly, and rather strangely we think, carniverous, and moderately priced, this unassuming restaurant delivers flavour in every course of its limited menu. Directed by the formidable Debora, a small flotilla of black-clad waiters navigate the narrow aisles with precision and panache. The daily menu, 'Antipasti, Primi and Secondi Piatti', appears on a miniature artist's easel. Stewed rabbit, carpaccio of beef, proscuitto with melon, chicken with lemon and basil, and veal with a mixed pepper sauce were all delicious. And the 'dolci' pannacotta with caramel sauce, tiramisu, and pear cake with hot chocolate sauce did not disappoint.

tucked away in a narrow side street, Ristorante La Bitta is one of our favourite eating places 

  

Proximity to one's dining neighbours at La Bitta makes overhearing conversations unavoidably intriguing. Italian gossip left us largely in the dark but a discussion on the relative merits of psychotherapy and a debate about whether or not to inform parents about a secret engagement did amuse and add interest.

it would be very easy to walk straight past La Bitta, hidden away as it is off the tourist trail

On one particular late night, we were asked by a young couple at the next table if we could recommend a bar as they were planning on 'going on'. We replied that we knew of one run by a certain 'Harry', but were unsure if it was still as good as it had once been, and as we remembered it some forty years ago....

Sole Delight

Inside the church of San Sebastiano they are rehearsing for a concert. Otherwise we are totally alone. All around, in what surely must be one of the most beautiful interiors to be found in Venice, the paintings of Paolo Veronese, rich in colour, postively glow in the morning light. Here joy abounds in the splendour of textiles, the transparency of glass, the opalescence of gleaming marble in column, turret and tower, the fullness of figure, the whole a pageant of sixteenth century life.

the somewhat unassuming facade of the church of San Sebastiano which belies its interior

the warm, redbrick frontage of the church of the Madonna dell' Orto in Tintoretto's parish

Across the Grand Canal we revisit the Gothic masterpiece of the Madonna dell' Orto with its Greek marble columns in imitation of watered silk. This was Tintoretto's parish church, and here he is buried close to his vast and truly magnificent works of 'The Worship of the Golden Calf' and 'The Last Judgment' which fill the lofty chancel walls. But most wonderful for us, and of which we never tire, is the 'Presentation of the Virgin' over the Sacristy door with its pre-Redemption world cast in shadow whilst the Virgin child, Hope of Humanity, stands poised at the summit of a flight of steps, radiant against a Venetian sky. Again we are alone.

one of the wonders of Renaissance Venice, and indeed the world, Santa Maria dei Miracoli

the approach to the church of the Redentore, Palladio's mathematical wonder, on the Giudecca

No-one disturbs us either in the exquisite Santa Maria dei Miracoli or in the Scuola di Santa Maria del Carmine where, for €5, we are permitted to gaze with certain wonder at the wondrous ceiling in the upper salone painted in 1744 by Tiepolo. With a lightness of touch, and employing the shimmering pinks and blues so characteristic of his work, nevertheless the deep piety of this great eighteenth century artist reaches out to the observer some 250 years later. We cannot resist the purchase of a keepsake, a picture postcard, of 'Un angelo salva un operaio devoto alla Vergine'.

a mediaeval archway, pre-dating the present building, in a quiet Venetian courtyard

the narrowest street in Venice, Calle Varisco, to be found in the Cannaregio district

a scene which is so quintessentially Venetian and yet one which remains largely unseen

But in all of this there is a great sadness. Or so it is for us. It is a well known fact that the number of trippers, for such alas they are, now daily outnumbers the resident population. For Venice has become an acquistion on the tourist trail. A city to be ticked off today, for tomorrow will be Florence and the day after, Rome, before the flight home.

a typical Venetian street scene which, away from the crowded tourist trail, stands deserted

a side canal, one of many, many similar, to be found beyond the reaches of the Grand Canal

a sixteenth century well-head in the Campo della Maddalena with today's washing set to dry

With cameras clicking, posed pictures of each other, water bottles protruding from ubiquitous backpacks, these sightseers follow furled umbrellas from the Rialto to  the Piazza San Marco plugged in to earphones through which a commentary is relayed, their only engagement to check a text message on a mobile telephone. Not a Baedeker in sight! Meanwhile, a mediaeval city of church, palace, scuole, calle, court and canal passes by. They look but they do not see.

church and calle so closely connected in a city which can never be fully understood or known

the Porta della Carta dividing the Doge's Palace from the Cathedral church of Venice at evening

Such is the paradox that this loveliest of all cities remains, for the most part, a beauty unseen. And as we wait for our bus under a darkening Tiepolo sky at the Piazzale Roma, we mourn the fact that within a few hours at The Accademia the Titian exhibition will open. And we shall be gone.

N.B. We shall hope to return to the Serenissima with a future post.

Flies in the Ham and Wasps in the Jam

What became of the wasps was never made clear. But, dead or alive, a reward of 6d was offered for every queen wasp delivered to the factory gate throughout the soft fruit season. And even now, all of these years later, it is possible to recall the boiling vats of sweet, sticky jam, the workforce, mainly of women, immune to the stings of those narrow waisted, black and yellow striped, social insects which swarmed overhead, and the urgency which accompanied a new delivery of raspberries or strawberries freshly picked from the fields.

a marmalade label 'signed' by George Hattatt

Acquired by George Hattatt in the early years of the twentieth century the Jam Factory, or to give it its proper title, The Hampshire Preserving Company Limited, had, by the end of the First World War when, as in the 1939 - 1945 War, it was considered a 'protected industry', become a huge success story exporting jam, marmalade, tinned fruit and vegetables all around the world.

a label for tinned raspberries

a label for tinned plums

a label for tinned carrots

And for the people of Romsey the factory was to become one of the largest employers in the town, its chimney stack a rival to the Abbey tower, its siren drowning the Abbey bells.

aerial view of the factory with chimney stack and yard at centre

And still to be heard is the vexation and annoyance at home at the 'downing of tools' of domestic staff, both indoor and outdoor, whose presence was summoned by the siren as additional labour was required with the arrival in the factory yard of some new consignment of fruit.

As a child there was always the thrill at a weekend, with machinery standing idle, of permission, crouched on a wooden tray, to ride the rollers which stretched, to young eyes of the time, into an endless distance, throughout the long packing sheds. Or, weekdays, to marvel as sealed tins shot along tight runs, gathering speed, paste and labels, before finally coming to rest, housed neatly in dozens, in cases ready for transport.

the original Tudor office building of the factory

the factory offices fronting the road - the gate to be seen on the right

Once older there would be the occasional visit through the outer offices, typewriters clattering in what were, in fact, rather fine Tudor buildings, into The Office where, from a huge oak desk, the wheels of industry would daily be set in motion.

But by the mid 1960s the fortunes were in decline. A change in eating habits - people no longer went home to bread and jam - outmoded machinery and a loss of profitability led to its closure. Today, were we to return to Romsey, there would be few left, we imagine, with memories of those wasp collecting days.

Here in Budapest, sole inheritors of a legend, we day after day rotate the date calendar which once, sitting on his desk at the heart of the factory, George Hattatt would turn, doubtless dreaming of his expanding empire.

George and Ethel Hattatt, pictured in 1939, and the original date calendar - now in Budapest

N.B. We are indebted to Chris Levy of 'Woodley net' for allowing us to use photographs in his possession in this post.

Extraordinary People

In the course of two lifetimes spent, for the most part, in the public domain, it is perhaps to be expected that the lives of many thousands of people have connected with us over the years. With many the connection has been mercifully brief, with a number, circumstances dictated that the relationship remain on a formal footing, with others it has been like star spangled ships passing in the night, whilst with others firm and lasting friendships have been forged. However, with a few, a notable few, the contact has altered the axis of our lives, a lasting impression has been indelibly printed, our souls have been touched. In these instances life is destined never to be the same again on account of these extraordinary people.

'Extraordinary People' a novel by Paul Gervais first published in 1991 by HarperCollins

Following our recent visit to Paul and Gil at the beautiful Villa Massei, we detected a definite shift in the orbit of our world. To spend time with such consummately creative and cultured individuals has been, as may readily be imagined, a wonderful experience.

Paul Gervais pictured on the front steps of the Villa Massei during our recent visit in July

Paul's first degree in English Literature is reflected in his voracious appetite for reading, the titles of which fill the 'stacks' which line the bedroom corridor and cover every available flat surface throughout the house. However, only under duress does he mention his own published poetry collection, 'A Garden in Lucca', his self-deprecating account of the development of the gardens at the Villa Massei, and his novel 'Extraordinary People' which was selected as a finalist for the prestigious PEN/Faulkner Award in 1991.

Paul's collection of poetry, 'Thoughts That Come In Words', and 'Un Giardino a Lucca'

The poetry, dedicated to his long term partner, Gil, is touchingly tender, capturing the essence of a loving partnership with a sparsity of line which is as technically brilliant as it is powerful. And, in the novel, 'Extraordinary People', we were moved to tears by the delicate portrayal of the descent into dementia of Meg, a principal character, based, we suspect, to some degree on a relative.

Gil Cohen pictured in the shade of the loggia of the Villa Massei during our recent visit

Gil, too, is a man of immensely artistic sensibilities coupled with a social conscience which is as practical as it is endearing. People are instantly drawn to his warmth, openness, generosity and genuine concern for others. He has volunteered his time and energies to work with young people in a variety of situations, including the most challenging of circumstances, in the belief that they may be inspired, supported and encouraged to lead fulfilled lives, as he feels fortunate to have been able to do.

'A Garden in Lucca' seen on our bookshelves - the passion of a lifetime of Paul and Gil

And then, in the last few hours of our recent visit and before we departed, we were afforded a private view of Paul's studio: a white space filled with Art; colour washes in a rainbow of hues; bold lines; mass and void manipulated by the hands of a visual artist; egregious, exotic, emphatic. Extraordinary!

And There Was Cake For Breakfast

And there was cake for breakfast.

Scratch the skin of Kraków and she bleeds. Listen to Kraków's voice and she is both romantically melodic and hauntingly sad. Look into Kraków's face and she is beguilingly beautiful, generously welcoming, and yet etched with worry lines, eyes reddened by so many tears having been shed.

And there was cake for breakfast.

We had heard much of Kraków but had never before visited. Indeed, our proposed stay would be our first foray into Poland, a country which for us held intrigue and fascination but which also, we suspected, concealed a deeply troubled past.

And there was cake for breakfast.

The Piano Guest House was the perfect choice of where to stay in Kraków. A short walk from the Old Town and run by Madame Ola [a stage name for she is also a cabaret singer] and her two sons, it offers a taste of the real Poland with a quirkiness and a touch of bohemia guaranteed to make any visit a pleasurable experience and one not to be forgotten.

a glimpse into our bedroom at The Piano Guest House with hats at the ready for an outing

And there was cake for breakfast.

It could easily have been a scene at the Pensione Bertoloni taken from E.M. Forster's 'A Room with a View' when, upon arrival, Madame Ola swept us up and whisked us into the reception dining room for tea and cake. Mateusz, her son, on holiday from his work as a stage manager and conductor, produced a street map onto which places of interest, restaurants of distinction [he used to be a food critic], and hidden delights were marked with theatrical flamboyance and the confidence of a knowledgeable local.

And there was cake for breakfast.

Our five days were packed with interest, each one launched in glamorous style with the most glorious and delicious of breakfasts. Madame Ola, speaking only French and Russian [apart from her native Polish], draped from head to foot in black, floated among her guests offering black tea, green tea and coffee whilst the breakfast table was laden with all manner of culinary delights sprinkled with red currants which sparkled like rubies in the morning sun. Generous quantities of local hams, cheeses and sausage were supplemented with eggs, patés, yoghurts, cereals, tomatoes, cucumber, fruit and cake. 

the breakfast table without  cake - image from The Piano Guest House

Cake for breakfast! How decadent we thought, and how lovely.


P.S. For those who are intrigued to see and listen to Madame Ola, then we include a short video, of rather doubtful quality, found on 'Youtube':

Up at a Villa - to borrow from Robert Browning

the visitors' book of the Villa Massei on the occasion of the visit of HM Queen Sonja of Norway 

There is, as most will readily recognize, a fine but nonetheless distinct line to be drawn between a house in the country and a country house. The Villa Massei, the home of dear friends Gil Cohen and Paul Gervais de Bédée, falls without doubt into the latter category.

the drive approach to the Villa Massei as viewed from the balcony beyond the hall door

a corner of the entrance hall of the Villa Massei - the main door reflected in the looking glass

the fireplace of the principal drawing room at the Villa Massei as seen in summer

the bedroom as occupied by Jane and Lance Hattatt during their recent stay at the Villa Massei

Magnificently situated surrounded by its own olive groves and bosky woodlands, this Renaissance former hunting lodge is today set in the most splendid of formal gardens created over the past thirty or so years by its artistic and very talented owners, Gil and Paul.

the view from one of the many garden terraces towards the surrounding Tuscan hills

lemon trees in terracotta pots and grown in the local traditional manner side a gravel square

the rose pergola, constructed of handmade bricks, which forms a principal axis in the garden

the pool and fountain garden with two of four 'Alice in Wonderland' miniature chairs

And what joy it has been this past week to be entertained in true country house style to all the delights of the Villa Massei. For we have been treated to the most delicious of luncheons and dinners, to the enjoyment of the gardens and grounds in the coolness of the evening, to idling away time in the shade of the loggia, to the brilliance of the poolside and, should this have been not enough, to the meeting with friends on a Tuscan hillside for a salmon supper served 'alfresco' in the gloaming as well as to the delights of a tour of that most romantic of cities, Lucca, by horse drawn carriage.

evening shadows draw across the lawn - our bedroom windows white shuttered in the sun

contemplating the passing of time - Lance Hattatt seated in the shade of the Loggia

the swimming pool of the Villa Massei, the scene of a poolside luncheon with friends

the tree lined ramparts of Lucca which surround the city viewed from our horse drawn carriage

The day of our departure, following on so closely a Puccini concert in the Baptistery and Church of Santissimi Giovanni e Reparata the night before, found us by invitation at the grandiose Villa Reale. Once the property of Elisa Bonaparte Baciocchi, the grounds contain a green theatre dating from 1652, a Grotto of Pan, the near ruined Villa del Vescovo as well as water gardens, lemon parterre, and the most delightful, if somewhat startling, swimming pool complex of the 1920s now, alas, sadly neglected.

a detail on the splendid west front of the Cathedral Church of San Martino dating from 1204 

the portico front of the Villa Reale once the home of the regal Elisa Bonaparte Baciocchi

the now sadly near ruined Villa del Vescovo situated in the grounds of the Villa Reale

built in the 1920s, the swimming pool complex of the Villa Reale remains a fantasy of fun

The highlight of our time at the Villa Massei must be the private visit of HM Queen Sonja of Norway to luncheon and a personal tour of the gardens.

What excitement in the early morning as the Carabinieri descended in force to make their final check and then, some few hours later, to watch from the vantage point of the balcony overlooking the drive as the escort cars, lights flashing, wound their way up the twisting roads of the valley. And then, generously included by our hosts, Gil and Paul, to join with them to greet the Royal party, we descended to the entrance court.

entrance court of the Villa Massei where we assembled to greet HM Queen Sonja of Norway

Such fun it all was. For the Queen was knowledgeable, gracious and charming. Her 'faux' Ladies in Waiting, for the real ones had been imprisoned, so to speak, on the Royal Yacht, were equally delightful and so, in the manner of such an occasion, we progressed in Royal but relaxed fashion through each of the garden rooms.

the sixteenth century Grotto of the Villa Massei where pre luncheon drinks were served

a simple but inspirational table decoration in readiness for luncheon taken in the Loggia

Pre luncheon drinks served in the Grotto and then the most delicious buffet taken in the Loggia where the conversation, never stilted nor silent, was constantly punctuated with the sound of mirth and merriment.

a most regal chair, one of a pair, to be found in the drawing room of the Villa Massei

And now, our sojourn over, we are once more returned to Budapest but where the laughter, life and love of the Villa Massei continues to resound in our ears, as indeed it will do so for many, many years to come.