Burano. The island is small, inviting and colourful. The research does not prepare you. I doubt anything could. Each house is so vivid in colour and yet so dignified in size. The juxtaposition sets this island aside from its neighbouring islands. Again my eyes dart back and forth between postcard moments, I do not want to leave. There’s the stroll to Bepi’s house that captures my attention for a moment, and yet this Instagram famous locale doesn’t quench my thirst for ‘more’. 

I remember the Bussola cookies, famously made in Burano, and grab two from a cafe busting at the seams with Italian treats. The Venetian butter cookie is round, with a hole in the middle similar to a donut and almost cakey in its texture, it is delicious and gorgeously light. The shop is closing and I regret not buying more. As we wander I see small restaurants line the streets and feel I am imposing on this community. We pass a small shop doorway and inside sits a lady, she is working on lace, another famous product of this beautiful island. I can’t help but watch her, she is unsmiling and focused and yet seems entirely untroubled. I wonder what it would be like to move into her mind, to be doing something creative, to have lived here a lifetime and feel untouched by city life. It is peaceful and it is enough. I envy her.  

We wander and wander, our feet tired but unnoticed until we come upon the Tre Ponti. One of many bridges we have crossed and seen today, but holding a beauty of engineering that is special. After the selfies finish we find the spot I timed the entire day around. Mr W wonders why we are here. It is the end of the Fondamenta di Cao Moleca and there is only water stretching before us. End of the line. The sky by now is a light amber. Silence has found us and we sit for what seems like an eternity and no time at all. I know we have to leave, the boat timetable demands it, our feet demand it, but I think I left a part of me behind that day. A wondering of a simpler life. With waters lapping and colour exploding the island into life. Simple pleasures of fishermen, lace makers and bakers, living untaintedly. 

The trip demanded that we carry on and our boat glided into the venetian night. By the time we stopped on the main island, night had fallen so completely that we found the canals in utter darkness. There was something so eerie about the odd streetlight that lit the buildings that I asked Mr W to take the lead. I felt sleepy and hungry. My eyes had not stopped and despite my yawning, would still not stop their roving and rambling of buildings and bridges. Passing restaurants that spilled their clientele out onto the streets. A small bar opposite our hotel offered the most delectable sandwiches and not long after devouring them in a most unladylike manner I fell into a dreamless sleep. 

The late night wanderings behind us, the hotel’s vast continental breakfast set us up for the day ahead. The hotel sat on a small sidestreet and when opening the shutters I felt that if I reached one arm out I could touch the building opposite. There is something so intimate about the layout of this place. As we reached the Riva degli Schiavoni we found ourselves lost in an early morning swirling fog. It was a shock after the beaming sunshine of the previous day. Saint Marks square looked desolate and sad without its visitors. We grabbed the chance to ascend the Campanile di San Marco, I felt transported back to the Empire State building. The lift had an attendant and a metal light panel that traced your journey to the top. Arriving at 09:30am served us well and we were one of two couples taking in the scenes below. Even through the fog, Venice lay out its carpet of red roofs so thickly you could not see the canals weaving their way through the island. Even the Grand Canal was lost in the fray. Again the intimacy of this place surprised me. Once used to guard Venice and guide boats on their approach, it now seems to watch over the island as its keeper and chaperone. From the lofty height you can see the astounding roof of the Basilica, its neighbour the Doge’s Palace and the infamous clock tower. For what it lacks in comparable size to its nearby celebrities it makes up for in intricacy and personality. I can imagine people aplenty whiling away the time, enjoying a drink and watching time tick by from this very square. At the mouth of the Grand Canal I spy the Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute perched on the San Marco basin. It is an enormous structure that dominates the west of the island’s skyline. It reminds me of the other dome topped buildings that impose so pleasantly on the eye around the world. The Sacrè Coeur in Paris. St Pauls in London. And it’s Italian friend Basilica di San Pietro in Vatican City. Mr W and I are not religious people, but we find ourselves drawn to these places in awe.

A short chilly walk from St Mark’s we find another Instagram made-famous site. Liberia Acqua Alta, a bookshop that has embraced the floods that plague the island. There are books everywhere. They fill bathtubs, walls and canoes alike. In the midst of the shop, a full size Gondola sits keeping the books safe and dry. In the side and rear courtyards there are hundreds of books that have succumbed to the rising waters and sit proud, not too unlike sandbags protecting dwellings. It speaks to my inner bookworm and makes my creative soul scream in elation. This place is both beautiful and mysterious. I’m drawn in by the literature and hugged by the winding racks of the written word. I feel as if I am at a flea market and purchase an old print of Venice inself for one euro. There is also a cat sleeping atop a stack of books, resident or no, it seems at home nonetheless. I am in heaven. 

Meandering through the streets we head to Baci & Pasta, a small eatery with fresh pasta and gnocchi on the menu. I order the bolognese tagliatelle and Mr W has the pumpkin gnocchi. We wait outside while the friendly owner does his thing, still nervous about being in enclosed areas. It is only then we notice the lack of benches. Were we not particularly looking for them before or does Venice just not have them? There is a small well in the centre of the Campo with a very shallow step framing it. We choose to sit/squat here to eat. My loud inner foodie approves of the quality of the pasta and my quieter internal eco-warrior is happy for the wooden cutlery and paper bowls. A resident cat comes to say hello and it is then I realise Mr W hasn’t said anything. I glance over, prepared for his ‘cat-lady anywhere she goes’ style mockings and find his face drowning in contentment. The food he says is amazing. Triumphant tones play in my mind, girl did good!

We drag ourselves away from the campo and source dessert. Tre Mercanti sits aside a bridge and has the biggest assortment of tiramisu I have ever seen. Hey, when in Rome, give or take a mile or two! It’s delicious and just enough to satisfy the sweet tooth. It is also empty. A sign that we are early to eat and also of the quietness of the whole island. It’s something I am glad of when walking the narrow streets. They are intimate now but during the high season I imagine the intimacy can be quite suffocating. I am reminded of how lucky we are to be here. 

We realise we are making good time and change up our timings for the day, we head to the Palazzo Contarini del Bovolo, a structure that needs to be witnessed to be believed. A spiral staircase leads you to the roof of this many arch-windowed tower and draws your eye across the rooftops and towards this morning’s Campanile. It is beautiful for sure, however I have the nagging feeling its fame owes a lot to being another Instagram hotspot. Only open since 2016, I hope this place becomes recognised for its quirks rather than its hashtag value. Up here we realise the fog has lifted and Italy graces us with another cloudless blue sky. This will make or break the next port of call for sure. 

Through the winding streets we wander, stopping to goggle over the incredible handmade Venetian masks, hung in their hauntingly beautiful way and practically dribble over the chocolate shops. We are invited to taste what’s on offer and honestly what kind of cultural fanatic would I be if I said no? The sweet treat shops here are phenomenal. There are glistening fountains of melted chocolate, barrels of macarons in colours befitting a rainbow and boxes of coffee beans in their abundance. I finally understand the advice you see online. Wandering around Venice is how you find its truth. It takes you firmly and embraces you in its welcome. 

I realise the worth of the advice and find myself stopping atop the next bridge. Something is in the water. Fish of all sizes swim just below the surface that laps against the submerged steps. They are a fair size and I am reminded of the dolphins that once played here during the height of Italy’s lockdown. It is a moment of reflection and a nudging reminder that this place is so much more than can ever be described. It needs to be seen. To be felt.

We find our way to the Rialto Bridge. It is smaller than I imagine, but its presence is everything. I find my inner tourist screams out for the selfies to be taken from every angle possible and am glad of it. The amount of people pales in comparison to the photos you see online. Covid has changed this place so much. I am warmed by the return of the few people here today, Italy will be restored in time that much I am sure of.

Next stop is the rooftop of T Fondaco dei Tedeschi, a free attraction in Venice and one of its top tourist sites. Sitting atop a department store I find myself wildly underdressed climbing its red escalators, it is similar to Macy’s or Harrods and screams MONEY loudly and proudly. There is a short wait for our time slot, but it is of no real bother, what it gives back is simply one of the best views I can ever have the pleasure of seeing in my lifetime. There’s the Grand Canal, the Rialto, rooftops, the now familiar building facades and the sky. So much sky. Behind us are the tokens of St Mark’s Square and I am left speechless. This whole place is so very special. I reiterate again, I do not want to leave. 

Dragged away by my need for coffee, we cross the Rialto and walk the Riva del Vin. I have spent a lot of time on the hunt for this place. It became clear to me in the process that I must have a ‘thing’ for skylines. To bask as they do in the sun and look across and down at the picture of splendour from above. We approach the address and head inside…

For photos of this trip please head to Frameworktravel on Instagram or Facebook which will be shared very soon!

Crashing a hotel bar