Having decided to come to Venice for the Biennale Exhibition of Art and Architecture, I was delighted to receive an invitation to stay on La Giudecca. If all your visits to Venice have kept you on the main island, then you are in for a treat. Separated from the rest of Venice by a canal, Giudecca is a long thin island, actually eight smaller islands connected by bridges. On a map, Giudecca seems to underscore central Venice.

Beautiful in its own right, Giudecca also provides spectacular views of Venice. Now, this island is becoming trendy—in at least one unexpected way. I was stunned to find “ALL CITY CREW” graffiti neatly scrawled on a Giudecca shop wall, exactly as it is on the wall of my neighborhood garage in New York. A graffiti artist who had tagged all five NYC boroughs might have been here in Giudecca. Was the writer a tourist from the Big Apple? A Giudecca gangsta wanna-be with his own spray can? Who knows?

That grafitti and a new Hilton Hotel, with the resulting tourist traffic, are visible evidence that outside cultural influences are slowing infiltrating one of the last true Venetian villages. The island has undergone significant post-industrial change—reconstruction of new residences and shops where warehouses used to be.

Until this island truly becomes a tourist destination, visitors can enjoy Giudecca’s charms—the people, the church bells, even the spirited local dogs. A chorus of “Ciao’s!” broke out whenever we walked along the waterfront to the local bar for a Prosecco or a Spritz (Campari and soda) and some tramezzini (egg salad sandwiches made with spinach, ham, and hot spices) as a prelude to a much later evening meal. Everyone on Giudecca seemed to know everyone else. When we were lucky and early enough, we took a table by the waterfront where we could greet friends. Conversations were lively—about children, education, dogs, the high waters, tourism, and the terrible state of the economy.

The human chorus was accompanied by a Giudeccan dogs’ chorus of riotous barking, greetings between hound and hound and hound and human. White dogs with bright and muted black spots, plumed tails, utterly appealing, are welcomed in every establishment. All the dogs were said to be related. My friend’s lovely little dog had brothers, sisters, and a mother all within barking distance, and we all met near the water taxis in a loud friendly cacophony.

Giudeccan women appeared to span the socio-economic spectrum with some dressed in high end international fashion (backbreaking gladiator sandals with four-inch heels) to those dressed in old-fashioned peasant housedresses, gray hair worn in buns. Virtually everybody held a cell phone in one hand and a burning stub of a Camel unfiltered cigarette in the other. Offering a smoke from a pack of Camels was a regular part of the meeting and greeting ritual.

One is always reminded that Venice is a premium tourist locale and that tourism is big business—pretty much the biggest—and that business is not so good. But one could not have told that from where I sat by the Giudecca waterfront. Enormous cruise ships—English American, Greek—came very slowly through the canal. They nearly swallowed it, given the very small margin of space on either side for maneuvers. A small miscalculation and the whole place could have been swamped. To my eye, these giant ships looked like an invading army, but of course they are the staff of life to the Venetian tourist paradise.

Perhaps the central issue, a topic of potential life or death, continues to be the state of the canal and its waters, i.e., the aqua alta or high waters. Listening to the discussion of the waters was like listening to San Franciscans talking about The Big One—edgy, joking, nervous. People in Venice exchange accounts of the stages of the moon, what effect the moon may have on the waters, how high the water may rise, and what they might have to do if the water rises too high. One day I experienced the aqua alta directly during lunch. The water splashed high enough over the landing area to my right to heave a large wave right onto my lap. I spluttered, laughed, brushed myself off. But it was canal water, not clean sea water, and it was clearly aggressive. I took the hint and left my perch.

The single most remarkable feature of Giudecca, to my eyes, was the light—soft, muted, gilding everything, and over the top in the evening with the sunsets. On Giudecca, there is a long stretch of waterfront centering on the dock where you alight from the water taxi. You can sit on a bench by the sea and view the spectacular Turneresque Venetian sunsets. I had always thought these thunderous brilliant sunsets were the painter’s fantasies—ever changing streams of red, pink, and purple clouds across the dark blue night sky. But in fact the paintings are simply accurate.

As the sun goes down on Giudecca, the lights on the opposite shore come up, first as a twinkle, then bright white light bathing the structures. To me the structures looked like large elegant palazzos but are in fact churches, homes, shops, factories. The buildings are endlessly beautiful in coloring; with the dying light the buildings blush golden pink.

Buildings on the Giudecca side are of warm golden stone alternating with stunning colors— pastel aquamarine, soft gold, Tuscan red—once brilliant colors faded to an elegant, duller hue. The muted facades are also shocked by splashes of color where people have hung their washing out—bright pink panties or brilliant blue tablecloths. These colors give even the most dignified municipal building a carnival air. A genteel decay is all around—plaster is falling off walls and stonework is eaten away.

If we’re talking son et lumiere, the sound was a clamor of bells all around Giudecca and the Venetian islands. The churches appear to be ringing bells in the English manner, in a raucous mix of chimes and tones, occasionally producing a conventional melody. Raucous or not, it is very satisfying to hear them, especially in the evening.

At the end of my week in Venice, and before my departure, we decided to go out for dinner. By then I had adjusted my romantic image of Venice and Giudecca. I had experienced some of the harsher realities. I had seen people treat the canal like a garbage dump—like the Japanese with Mt. Fujii—throwing plastic bottles and dog waste into it. I had heard people speaking darkly about undocumented aliens and the need to take a firm hand with them, and even more frankly about Eastern Europeans who were not “like us” (Venetian, Western Europeans) and, therefore, not welcome in Italy. No warm fuzzies rejoicing in the gorgeous mosaic or the melting pot here. Painfully like discussions about immigration in the U.S.

Still, it was so hard to leave. The skies were doing their gorgeous thing; the Giudeccan villagers and their waiters were warm and friendly; the food was delicious (pasta with arugula and Parmesan) and my first taste of Prosecco. Delicious.

My last sight of Giudecca was marked by my goodbye to my friend’s charming little dog. She leapt up and up and up, licked my face, ran round and round barking madly. She licked the tears off my face. I broke away finally, grabbed my far too heavy American Tourister, wheeled it around three times, and headed for the water taxi.

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