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
