Our story starts in Florence, early enough that most shops are still closed but late enough that the sky has found the sun. It’s the day to travel to Venice, we take the TrenItalia Frecciarossa from Santa Maria Novella to the Santa Lucia station in Venice. The train is empty, and even though it’s September 2020 and in the midst of a pandemic, I found myself shocked that we are the only ones on the carriage. We have assigned seats and there have been paper gift type bags left for us. It is a health and safety aid: inside there is a leaflet on covid procedures, a blue medical mask, tissues and a can of water with a paper cup. If we’d forgotten about covid until now, this brings us right back to the heart of it. And yet I’m grateful for it. We stow away our own masks and hook on the blue ones provided. On our flight to Pisa, the airline would only permit the blue medical masks, so we go with the flow and guess it’s the same on all transport. I’m grateful I didn’t do my make-up, these masks make a waste of half of it. 

After reading so many amazing reviews of this particular journey I am glad we are on our way, although luck it seems is not on our side. The rolling hills and working farms are covered in an early morning mist that has continued on until well past 9am. The journey is pleasant enough and I watch the screen overhead for progress. The short journey of 2 hours 14 minutes speeds by and we cross the Ponte della Libertà. We can see the Venetian waters already and it feels like a big blue welcome. This road is the lifeline of the city, the only way to and from Venice if you don’t have a boat. Soon enough we disembark and walk out to our first view of the Grand Canal. It is stunning. I slap myself for ever thinking this stop off would just be a box ticker. I feel in instant awe. We head up to the top of the Ponte degli Scalzi to take it all in. The waters glitter like lights on a diamond. It’s that beautiful!

I snap out of my reverie as soon as possible and find the Vaporetto, Mr W does an amazing job of calming me down as my anxiety flares when I can’t find the right boat and we board the boat on line 1 to San Zacharia. We are staying right next to St Mark’s and owing to my research I know where to jump off. Backpacks strapped on, we spend 40 minutes gliding down the Grand Canal. 

There is just so much to see, at first you don’t know where to look. Small boats, bigger boats, gondola’s, tradeboats, walkways, bridges. Your head is turning every which way. Your eyes are dry because you simply will not blink. The water shimmers. The buildings are steadfast and classic. I am astounded. There are canal side restaurants with huge giant baskets of flowers that distract your eye. The awnings are a deep ruby red and yet the flowers are pinks, yellows and purples. Patrons look relaxed as they canal-watch and tuck into their dishes. I wonder what they are eating. The unattended gondolas roll on the small waves of the water. They create the iconic image of the shiny black vessel proud to be on these waterways. The sight is like a picture perfect postcard. We come around a bend and glimpse the canal’s iconic monument. It stretches across the river and unites both banks with such grandeur you find yourself bowing under its arches. The Rialto Bridge catches the bright sunlight and I’m unsure if I’ve noticed the true Italian sunlight before this moment. The bridge demands its attention. All too quickly it is gone and it is time to alight. 

We are early to check in, but the lovely staff at our hotel allow it. I’ve spoken to Valentina countless times over the past six months due to cancelling and rebooking and we’ve shared laughs and woes over the phone during the difficult times. It’s lovely to put a face to a name. I already know I want to come back here in the future. The hotel could not be more different from our exceptionally modern apartment in Florence (look out for my Florence blog coming soon!)This room is classic, with traditional furniture that has golden accents and small floral designs. In a word: breathtaking. 

Our bodies feel anew as we dump the backpacks and return to the streets. We make our way down to the Riva degli Schiavoni, a very short walk from our lodgings and are greeted by the open waters that precede the Grand Canal. Huddles of gondolas bounce in its wake and the wide walkway allows for much needed space to drench yourself in its splendour. 

Up ahead is the Ponte della Paglia, and a group of people, not large, but sizable enough to be noticed. Where crowds had been few in Florence, this is our first group of people in Italy that reminds us of how much has changed. They’ve paused at the top of the bridge to look down between the buildings. The Bridge of Sighs sits in the shadows. Beautiful and forlorn. I can see its attraction but feel the melancholy history. 

We march on until we reach the columns of St Mark’s Square; the Colonna di San Todaro and the Colonna di San Marco. The gateway into one of the most famous and busiest squares in the world. Here we go I think. Prepare yourself the crowds you’ve learned to avoid for the last 6 months. And yet, they are not here. There are maybe 100 people at most, and we leave the majority of them by the water. The square itself is lost in space and sunshine.We even have time to video call family. A quick update and glimpse around the square before we say our goodbyes. This is not real. The reminder of the pandemic is everywhere. What’s been lost, what needs repairing and what can be gained. There are lessons to be learned at this moment. My haste to the next location is quelled. I don’t want to move from this place. The Basilica Di San Marco stands before us shrouded in blue skies and commands its space. It is not an overtly tall building, nothing is next to the Campanile di San Marco, but it draws you in like no other building. The gilding on its facade, the mosaics and the bronze statues, the Triumphal Quadriga, Constantinople’s horses. 

I feel silly. Stupid even, to have thought of this place as a quick pitstop. Something to throw into the mix. A ticked box. This place is alluring. Maybe I am charmed because I had little to no expectations. For that I am stupid. 

We continue on through the winding paths of Venice to reach the Fondamente Nove vaporetto stop. My planner’s mind has taken over and I know to reach an important stop on today’s plans, we must make haste. The waterways call for my attention, but I drag myself away. This place is soul consuming. Our vaporetto heads to Murano, and failing myself I find no pleasure in its offerings of glassy works of art and anxiety finds me again. This is not us, it’s craftsmanship is lost on us. I praise the arrival of another boat and we head to Burano. 

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