Picture this: it’s late 2019, I’m on the phone to a stranger. It’s my husband’s colleague and I need his help to secretly book him some annual leave for April 2020. The conversation goes back and forth over the next few months and all is sorted. I feel a wave of nervousness and excitement every time I open up my secret itinerary. The plan started as 4 days in Florence but once I got into the research and my confidence in Italiano grew, I looked at exploring Pisa for one day and adding two days in Venice onto the end of the trip. One train journey from Santa Maria Novella in Florence to Santa Lucia, Venice. I planned on keeping this part a secret until the very last minute. How simple does that sound? I spent the better part of 2 months planning the itinerary. Booking restaurants, trains, tickets, hotels and apartments. I look up boats in Venice and lazy garden wanders in Florence. April 2020 could not come quicker. I feel you laughing. I’m laughing.

And then it did. From the middle of February 2020, the world watched as the virus Covid-19 spread like a wildfire from Northern Italy down the country, regions falling quickly under its deadly hold. Like a vice grip, we saw the devastation it had on Europe and then the UK. 

As people panic bought toilet rolls, another panic took over me. How on earth was I going to take Mr W to a covid hotspot? When the anxiety and lack of sleep got too much, I folded and spilled the beans. The decision could not be mine alone, his health could not be in my hands. The little gifts I bought that once held so much meaning were now pointlessly handedl plaover, in some wild attempt to salvage the thoughts and feelings that had been put into this trip. 

A metal plane keyring – we’re flying somewhere!

A faux plane ticket, with a scratch off location reveal.

An Italian flag – guess where?

A tiny train with real sound effects – choo choo.

One teeny, panettone – a snack while on the move.

A ridiculously small, jelly pizza – something sweet just for you.

A magnet of the statue of David of Michaelangelo – a cheeky part!

On the trip, I would give Mr W a fold out map of each location, to add to our collection and to round it all up nicely. 

He wouldn’t know much about the itinerary, but he now knew about Venice.

In true Mr W fashion, he took it like a champ, his own disappointment forgotten as I went to pieces in front of him. He wasn’t worried about the virus, he said we’d stay as safe as possible, buy some masks, and stay away from crowds. I even had plans in case Italy refused us entry. What if we headed for a private villa in Spain alone and safe. What if we stayed in the UK?

A week later, our choice did not matter. Governments around the world closed their countries borders and I spent two weeks reclaiming what I could from the cancelled trip. In the beginning it felt like a challenge, but through all of it everyone was so lovely. The hardest part was the airline, it was an unprecedented situation and even they didn’t know their head from their arse. Over the course of the months that followed I was either reimbursed in full or given vouchers for my tickets. All in all I lost 5% of what I had paid out. By then, money didn’t seem important, neither did a cancelled trip. The world went to pieces and I with it. When the travel date came, we spent a very long day in our garden, there was gin, music and sun. It was a totally different method of escape. 

Fast forward to June 2020 and there was talk of restrictions easing. I toyed with the idea of rebooking Italy, but the horrors of covid made the air thick with doubt. By July, flight prices were the cheapest I had ever seen them and new guidelines had been brought out by airlines, they favoured the customer! With lots of trepidation, Mr W and I decided to go for it. With only 6 weeks to go, we booked the same trip for a date in September 2020. 

It was easy enough to re-book everything, there was a fair bit of reading to do on the moving between regions and the restrictions in place, but other than masks on transport and in shops, Italy had found its way out of the worst of it. 

I’ll never forget taking off from England, our plane had 37 masked passengers. 37! I realised that we may have similar surroundings in Italy itself. As the plane lifted from the ground, my heart soared, I was back where I belonged. I was on the move again. 

We spent 3 picture perfect days in Pisa and Florence, and like the River Arno, the crowds ebbed and flowed. In certain areas it was quiet, in other touristy areas, there were slightly more people, but nowhere near as many as I expected. I didn’t really think of crowds until we got to Venice. Or rather on the way!

On the train to Venice, we were two of three passengers in an entire train carriage. Despite the busy station, this regional train was quiet. Was Northern Italy being given a wide berth by Italians? By tourists?

Unsure of what to expect, we ventured out to the venetian waters and climbed the Ponte degli Scalzi. I’ve never experienced such wonder. I usually see a lot of photos when researching a trip, so arriving at a pinpointed place is more like visiting an old friend. But not here. I looked down onto the Grand Canal and stood mesmerised by its glittering waters. It was so blue. The light caught it in such a way, the waves turned into sunlight and shone so bright that I could not look away. I’d held Florence in such a high regard when booking the trip, I had treated Venice as a flight of fancy. A tick on the ol’ bucket list. But this was stripped back and raw. The sheer abandonment of expectation, the utmost surprise of beauty in something so fresh and ordinary. 

We spent the majority of the first day in Venice on the water, we toured the Grand canal and once we dropped our bags at our hotel, jumped on a vaporetto to Burano. I still had a few secrets up my sleeve. Burano itself is one of the most amazing places. The terraced houses are painted every colour imaginable and the winding canals capture your inner photographer. It was perhaps a crowd you expect to see on a Sunday afternoon, after dinner, a slow wander to walk off a dinner. That kind. It was welcoming and unassuming. We made our way to Fondamenta di cao Moleca, famous for its Tre Ponti, a stunning three way bridge over the waterways. Lots of people turn up to take photos and repeat their steps back into the heart of Burano. If you walk further down to the edge of the island you’ll find a view out onto the venetian waters. Time it just right and you’ll meet sunset. It was glorious. Just us two. 

Before this moment, the sun disappearing each night, just hailed back the horrors of restless sleep and nightmares of death tolls and feelings of being caged. 

I remember feelings of quiet euphoria at that moment. Nothing could take it away. In silence I watched over the waters and felt a lifting of the anxiety that had clung to me for 6 months. Covid had taken so much from the world. And gave us back fear and anxiety and hopelessness. But that moment, shrouded in an orange sunset, I let it go. I felt that the world could heal. That I could. That’s the thing about a sunset outside of your cage, it feels like the closing of a chapter with a promise of something new tomorrow.