Italy's Magical Island

A black cat with green eyes, sprawled on a window ledge, is staring at me. 

Twitching the tip of her tail, she watches my frantic scramble to grab my camera and attach a lens. The sun is moving rapidly toward the waterline, and in the small canal next to me, a liquid canvas of brilliant color is coming to life like an exploding rainbow on the water.

Suddenly, art emerges all around me, like an animated movie that is a Sunset in Italy. Crayon colored boats are bobbing in the canal water creating ripples that twinkle with crimson, purple, electric blue, pink and yellow.

A small island four miles from the shores of Venice, Italy, Burano is a tiny fishing village with a storybook feel. The island’s narrow canals are lined with brightly colored homes painted according to district. For visitors watching the local residents go about their daily routine, hanging laundry, off-loading fish from their boats and cooking meals, it is like watching a living canvas. The artistry of daily life here epitomizes everything romantic about Italy.

The history of Burano is unremarkable compared to the neighboring islands of Murano - where famous glass work is created, and Torcello, one of the first islands populated in Venice.

A fishing settlement with bright homes that legend describes as “vivid enough for the fishermen returning home to see them,” Burano eventually became prosperous for exporting hand-crafted lace starting in the 1600s.

Another legend – and there are many – explains this origin of lacemaking with yet another romantic spin. It is the story of a fisherman who was engaged to be married to a girl on the island, and managed to resist the call of a siren while out bringing in his catch. 

Impressed with his resistance of her and devotion to his betrothed, the siren swatted his boat with her tail creating white foam that became a wedding veil for his soon to be bride. That veil was gifted to his betrothed and replicated with needle and thread by the women of the island who later exported their handicrafts throughout Europe for more than three hundred years.

A lace making school opened on the island in the 19th century, but today, the time-consuming tradition has given way to modern methods, and anyone seeking an authentic piece of Burano lace will have to pay a substantial amount.

Walking past the bits of lace displayed in shop windows, I stop to photograph the Church of SanMartino and its leaning campanile. Aside from setting up an easel to paint the view, or more realistically, visiting the lace museum, the third most compelling reason to visit Burano is to eat.

There are only ten restaurants – and two pizzerias – on Burano, and I have come to the island to experience one in particular. Strolling along one of four streets that frame the canal as it twists through town; I am looking for Trattoriael Gatto Nero. Translated, it is the “Restaurant of the Black Cat” owned by the same family since 1965 and rumored to be home to some of the finest seafood dishes in the Venice.

It occurs to me the green-eyed cat watching me earlier might have be a clue. Returning to the place of my first photograph on Fondamenta della Guidecca, there is a sign for El Gatto Nero I had overlooked while distracted by the wild rainbow unfolding in the sea.

Stepping inside the trattoria, I see my husband already seated, drinking a glass of wine, grinning from ear to ear. Tonight is the restaurant owner’s anniversary, and Ruggero and Lucia Bovo have shut down early to celebrate with friends and family. But hearing how far we have come to experience their restaurant, we are ushered to a table and are watching the boisterous celebration.

Pouring wine from a small white jug on the table, we feel privileged to be part of the intimate gaiety of an Italian family celebrating 50 years of marriage. The music and laughter are infectious. It is some of the best wine and most intimate atmosphere we have experienced in all of Italy.

Our appetizer, the “Antipasto Gatto Nero” arrives, and the salient colors of the village were beautifully replicated on the plate. A colorful depiction of Burano and the resident black cat are painted around the edge of the porcelain, the village design circling our meal – a succulent array of scallops and razor clams. This is art on a plate. This is what you hope to experience in Italy.  

Our main course is “Branzino al forno,” a sea bass baked in parchment paper, fileted at the table and served with island grown vegetables. The delicate white meat is the best I have eaten anywhere in the world.

Lingering after dinner to watch the festivities, we offer Ruggero one of the fine cigars my husband carries with him when we travel. Appreciative and surprised, Ruggero graciously reciprocates, placing a tiny black glass cat in my hand.

Stepping into the last ATV boat back to Venice, I am clutching the tiny black cat like a lucky charm. As the lights of Venice approach, I know I have fallen even more in love with Italy - again.

The End

Where Angels Fear to Fly

I know that look. 

It is the grim expression of a woman on a horrible date with her best friend’s brother. It is the resigned expression that means this is a situation with no easy way out. The pinched smile hides an effort to stay cheerful and enthusiastic. 

Nicky is wearing that look.

But Nicky is not on a date. She is strapped vertically, belly down and head first into a canvass harness connected with four metal clips to the highest, and one of the fastest, zip lines in the world.

A three-hour drive from Naples, Italy, in the heart of Basilicata, Volo dell Angelo is an adventure experience called “Flight of the Angels.” 

Nicky was about to fly - zipping from one mountaintop to another on a cable strung between the villages of Castelmezzano and Pietrapertosa.

Her husband Joe is applauding her courage from the landing pad where eight of us are standing after our own headfirst flight from one mountain to another. Our adrenaline is still pumping. Because we have to do it again, to get back.

Braking wildly above us like a giant sling shot suddenly stopped, her first exclamation echoes my thoughts exactly. “That was terrifying!”

This is so terrifying, that two in our group have declined to fly the zip line after hiking up the steep trail to the first flight station platform.  The fear is easy to understand, which is why I went first, before terror could fully kick in.

The operators said that no journalist has ever done the zip line with a still camera. I felt challenged to photograph firsthand such a thrilling,  albeit intimidating  experience, and I did not want any time to ponder a worst case scenario. 

Cinched into my harness face down, the zip line disappeared ahead into thin air with no end in sight.

Below me was a rock cliff dropping off to a deep canyon. The push from the ramp came, the ground fell away, and the thrill of “flying” 74 miles per hour at an altitude of 3,200 feet for almost a mile trumped the fear. Fighting to keep my head up against the wind, I had tried to capture the experience through the lens.

Euphoric after our wild ride on the “Peschiera” zip line from the town of Castelmezzano to Pietrapertosa, we are shuttled a short distance into the second village. The return flight on the “San Martino” zip line is going to take us back across the canyon, and it’s a short hike to the flight station.

Now I am opting to fly last so I can watch the Volo dell Angelo crew prepare each of my companion “angels” for flight. Part of that preparation involves attaching a small parachute to each flyer that enables a stop from high speed at the finish. Accurately relaying our weight in kilos determines the size of our parachute and I am debating overstating mine for the first time.

Everyone has flown, screaming at the top of their lungs, back across the canyon.

I am the last flyer geared up, standing on the platform overlooking the mighty Dolomites and a deep ravine scattered with colorful villas, winding rural roads and tiny farms.

I feel myself smile. 

But this time it is not the frozen grin of a terrified American, dreading the launch off a mountain in Italy, but the smile of another angel ready to fly. 

The End