Tag: COVID-19

A solo tour through anxiety

There have been many times in the past when Mr W has needed to travel for work. North Wales, Hexham, Latvia, Malaga… and I’ve not been able to attend. In February of this year he mentioned that he may have to go up to Birmingham for a trade show and asked if I would like to join him. 

At first I wondered what I’d do for 3 days alone. Mr W would be gone from 8am till 6pm. After two failed attempts at going to Birmingham in 2020 I started to think this would be another missed opportunity.

Throwing caution to the wind, we booked the train tickets. The plan was simple. Spend 2.5 of the 3 days in bed, watching trash tv and napping. A little pamper here. A little shopping there. In fact the biggest draw was the world’s biggest Primark. I wouldn’t have to worry about dragging Mr W around and could go at my own pace. The spark of excitement was beginning. 

As the date for the trip approached I started looking at Birmingham as a new place to explore and found some areas of interest for my daytime walks. Our hotel was right next to Birmingham New Street station so was in the middle of a hub of restaurants, shops and a stone’s throw away from the old town. What could go wrong?

Anxiety. To be exact, an anxiety attack. So spiteful, it left me crumbled as soon as we reached our hotel. After a rather smooth train journey from Euston I started to feel the creeping fear of being in a new place hitting me. Normally travelling does not affect me and I realised it was down to the fact I would be on my own for the first time in years. I realise now that the anxiety started its creep long before we even jumped on the train. It was when we sat waiting for our train in Euston station that I was very aware of the amount of people in the immediate vicinity. It was the first time in two years I’d been in a place so big, crowded and loud. Thanks covid! Emerging from the train to a new and hectic train station did not help and by the time we reached the hotel room I felt sick. I couldn’t do this. How could I even think of doing this alone?

By the time we sat down for dinner that night Mr W knew something was wrong. And there it all spilled out. The fear. The very real fear I had of being alone in a new place. How different I felt about being in cities after the lockdowns of 20/21 and my fear of being around so many people. I sat in that restaurant going to pieces. It was deserted which is probably why I was able to let all those feelings out at once. We sat and talked for hours about how life had changed so slightly and so massively all at once. I decided to not put any pressure on myself to stick to my 3 day plan and see how I felt in the mornings. 

By giving myself the time to adjust the following morning I was able to think of the day ahead with a clearer head. I had an exceptionally long shower and washed the previous 12 hours of fear down the drain. The fact I slept over 10 hours went a long way to reiterate that my mental health had physically exhausted me. Sipping a cup of tea while slowly getting ready and making a simple plan meant that I felt much less nervous about setting out into the city. The day’s plan was clear. 

Shopping. 

I wandered aimlessly around shops and found that nothing took my fancy. It is always the way, money to burn and yet nothing found to buy. The Primark was enormous and yet I realised early on that being with another person would make the experience that much better. The Disney cafe looked great and yet I wanted someone sitting with me. Otherwise it felt like any other store. After leaving I felt a little boost in going alone. Go me!

Not wanting to push my luck with my anxiety I head back to the hotel. Dinner that night was a much calmer experience and I wondered what the next day would bring.

After another soothing lay-in and pamper, I head in the opposite direction of the shopping centre. Birmingham’s old town was calling. I spent some time in the shadow of St Philips Cathedral before winding my way through the streets. I strolled past the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery and Town Hall, both so beautiful that my intrigue calmed my nerves. My next destination called to me like a beacon. Birmingham library. Was this nerd going to a library? Yes. Was it to see books? Nope!

Birmingham library has a rooftop garden which is free to enter and it may have been the sole reason I had ventured out that day. There is something about an urban rooftop garden’s juxtaposition that I enjoy very much. The paths on the roof wound around pockets of planting that despite the chilly March weather brought the space to life. Semi-circular benches framed the flower beds and I spent a lingering moment sitting in the sunshine. From here I wandered over to the canal that made its way through Gas Street Basin. 

The calming nature of water washed over me as I walked along the bricked bank of the canal and started to thoroughly enjoy myself. Barges were moored up one by one and the restaurants and pubs that lined the walkways were quietly waiting for their first customers of the day.  I walked around the buildings of Brindleyplace and found corners of greenery in the vast expanses of stone and tarmac. 

Arriving back at the hotel I found I felt more relaxed than I had for days. Estimating the time Mr W would disembark his train, I walked to the train station and looked for him coming through the turnstiles. Unable to see me through the crowds I was able to follow him as he headed to where he thought I would be waiting. I was able to follow him straight into the hotel foyer where he turned wondering who was behind him. It took him at least 3 seconds to recognise me and I laughed freely at the ruse. 

The next day was our last in Birmingham and he had to work. I had over five hours to lose while waiting for our train departure. So for the first time in my life I went to the cinema on my own. I wondered if people would think I was weird. I wondered about a lot of things. In total, there were 5 people in that screening and after the film I realised being alone isn’t something to be scared of. 

I took the train to meet Mr W so we could head home. Meeting him on that platform I felt a wave of calm wash over me and I sat in quiet contemplation for the first hour of our journey home. I started forgiving myself for the times in the last 3 days that I had beaten myself up. 

The last two years have been hard for everyone in multiple ways and when it came to being kind to ourselves I fell short of doing so. 

So what if it took me all morning to leave the hotel to go shopping.

So what if I needed to take refuge from a new city in the shadows.

And so what if I cried at the thought of being alone. 

The pandemic pushed us so far out of our comfort zones that it will take time to repair our mental health. All at once is not going to work. In fact, as I found out on that first evening in Birmingham, jumping in at the deep end was such a shock to the system that I just crashed and shut down. That anxiety attack was the biggest indicator of how the pandemic affected my mental health. 

I’ve learned a lot since then. I’m able to vocalise when my anxiety is starting to take over. And even though I may not know why I feel so bad, I give myself the time to pass through it rather than try and skirt around the issue. Being kind to ourselves doesn’t necessarily mean solving a problem to continue on with our day but giving ourselves the same comfort as others we would stop and help. To listen rather than give answers and advice. To guide through and know there is another side to the story. Though the path may be dark, if we continue to move forward we’ll find the light along the way. 

Travelling after a pandemic

Other than Italy in September 2020, we have not left the country since October 2019. There is no denial that our trip in September 2020 was incredible. The freedom we felt travelling was second to none. We were so lucky and I know we experienced an Italy that few get to see. Virtually empty, the streets were pleasant to wander in and yet a stark reminder of what the world was enduring. (Links to the Italy trip are at the bottom of this piece.)

Since then we have dabbled in travelling the UK. I set my first foot into Scotland and we have been to Northumberland three times. I truly believe that we have travelled more of the UK than ever due to the pandemic. It begs the question, would we have done so otherwise?

In only a few weeks we’ll be spending two weeks in Scotland travelling the NC500 and it’ll be our biggest and most involved trip ever as a couple. It will challenge our body capabilities and sense of perseverance more than any other joint trip together. And we are so excited! Together we have my stubbornness and his positivity, I have no doubt that we will meet and complete every challenge head on!

Owing to the fact that the world is becoming a less scary place and feeling the need to completely shut down, we want to book a trip away to do nothing. As amazing as our last few trips have been, we have started to realise that we do not stop. When we travel we go full throttle. Up early, on the go all day, physical challenges and often have late nights. Most of the time this is true for life at home. We have a very busy social life and even busier time going out for the day and enjoying every minute of our weekends together. I am sitting here reminding myself that these busy times are NOT to be seen as chores and they are there to be enjoyed. It is a change of mind that is necessary to stop the ‘we’re always busy’ thought pattern. Yes, we are busy, but it’s not something to moan about, it is something to enjoy. We have taken to blocking out days and at times full weekends in order to force ourselves to stay home and spend time in the house we love. It has helped us massively. 

It is only recently, with the hot weather, we have started to consider travelling abroad again. In the past we have spent time renting a villa and car in Majorca and deciding if and when we want to explore when we get there. Just the other day I was saying to Mr W how much joy I find in shopping for groceries when we are on the island. We often land in Palma, go to the car rental office and then head to the supermarket. It is so relaxing. There aren’t too many people, the food is so fresh and I find that we eat so much healthier when in a hot country. Fresh, crunchy salads and lots of crisp, sweet fruit. Eating is more intuitive than at home because we aren’t parked in front of a tv. There will be nights sat out on the terrace in the cool temperature and no wondering what needs to be done on a list of household chores. 

We have never done one of these trips alone and we’ve discussed it a fair few times. So in our talks regarding 2023 travels we have come up with a plan to have one relaxing trip and then an extended backpacking trip. Possibly in Italy. (Watch this space.)

With a relaxing trip in mind, we once again returned to the idea of renting a villa. Just us. On one of our coffee mornings in bed we started (meaning me) collecting prices and putting together a rough budget for said trip. We found a lovely little villa on the outskirts of Pollensa within our budget and set about looking at dates and flights. By now we know where to look for the villa, car and flights so it feels like a really easy process. 

As of two days ago it seemed it was full steam ahead and after the recent heatwave you may have some understanding of how exciting it will be to be able to escape the Spanish sun by jumping in the pool or retreating into the arctic air that is pumped out by the air-con. Oh how the UK needs to adopt the air conditioning movement of other countries!

With the restrictions in place over the past 2.5 years and all the recent chaos in airports around the world we have started wondering when it will be the right time to travel again. It has transported me back to March 2020. Our impending trip to Italy had been cancelled and most of the money was tied up in vouchers to be used within a year. I did not like the outlook. How could the biggest pandemic this generation had ever known be over within a year? So, with a ‘sodd it’ yet cautious attitude we rebooked our trip just 6 weeks ahead of the September travel time. And it worked out amazingly. We did not need to take covid tests, there was no extra paperwork and restrictions were at their worst, wearing a mask in all public areas.  

Yesterday our minds made up, budget set and a very similar ‘sodd it’ like attitude, I secured our house sitter and sat down to click those all consuming ‘confirm’ buttons. There are so few restrictions now that it’s down to the individual to whether they wear a mask and most countries, especially in Europe, require proof of vaccination rather than a clear PCR test. Sometimes you do need to do a PCR test which is always a bit risky but Spain has three requirements, only one of which you need to fulfil. We fulfil our one by being vaccinated. 

So I sat down to book the trip. Flights. Villa. Insurance. 

And then the provider sucker punched me through my laptop screen. In the space of 6 hours the price of the villa had increased by 30%. I mean, come on! This has completely derailed our budget and after checking out other providers it seems it is an industry wide increase. So I send this question out into the void of the internet. Why? What has happened to suddenly skyrocket the prices?

I spent the better part of an hour this morning having a look around and can’t seem to find a reason. So for now, I’m sitting back and waiting. Something I really hate to do but finding a sense of growth in myself that never used to be there. The patience will surely pay off when I find a villa that hasn’t slapped our budget all over the show. 

Until then I will remind myself that travelling is a privilege not an entitlement. Maybe I need to plan a UK break within the same budget parameters just in case? If I open the car window and feel the wind in my hair I can pretend that I am soaring above the clouds. Although… windows don’t open on planes. The plan is flawed. But I’ll do it all the same!

A piece of Pisa
Faith in Florence
Food and fretting in Florence
Hot chocolate in the clouds
Final frolics in Florence
Stories of Venice – Part one
Stories of Venice – Part two
Stories of Venice part three
Hindhope Linn
A hop, skip and a fracture.
Donuts
Northumberland in 4 days

Frame of mind

Over dinner, I told Mr W how I had entered a competition to win £300,000. And as you can probably guess, the talk soon turned into what we would do with the money should we win. 

Him: We’d buy that van we want and do it up.

Me: The first thing I’d do is book an all inclusive holiday. Somewhere hot, with a pool and a beach. 

How different are those answers? Seriously. And yet my answer changes from day to day where Mr W’s doesn’t. The last year and a half has changed so much in the terms of us travelling that it’s hard to think of how to revert back. Travel has become so much about being budget conscious, thinking sustainably and staying in the UK. It’s definitely a question nowadays as to whether we could sit by a pool and stay still. 

On our first holiday together we booked the very typical beach/pool/all inclusive deal. Having become accustomed to those types of trips during my childhood I was looking forward to leaving my brain at the office and watching my freckles connect. Even in October the heat in Tunisia was perfect and I looked forward to the sunlit days and warm evenings. Mr W had other ideas. He did not do well at sitting still. In fact on one of the few days we did sit poolside I could feel his eyes bore into me from his lounger. We soon jumped on a train to the next town to explore. I could see future trips being a wee bit tricky. I had found a balance between beach holidays where I did nothing and city breaks where I left no stone unturned. But there we were on a beach holiday in completely different frames of mind. 

We have since been to many beautiful places around the world. Barcelona, it rained for a whole week. New York at Christmas. The Maldives for our honeymoon. Iceland. Paris. Italy. The list goes on. However, other than an afternoon on the beach in Barcelona, we are yet to sit still. The only reason we actually sat still on that occasion was due to the sun showing its face after 6 days of rain. I believe we needed drying off. 

In no way am I complaining, our trips have been magical and whetted our appetites to further explore the countries of this world. Our next trip is the absolute definition of exploration. 15 jam packed days of adventure travel and I am totally here for it. I think in a way covid has made us push even harder to squeeze the minutes out of the hours of the days when we are out and about. It’s been 2.5 years of living that way and where I have loved it, I’m starting to miss the feeling of nothing. Of just being in a place. And I believe it’s to do with my frame of mind. 

I do not understand how the heat in the UK feels so different to the heat abroad. People say the houses are built differently. Okay, so why when I sit outside do I feel like I might burst into flames? When abroad it barely affects me. I can also proudly say that having finally experienced our teeny pool that it did help but why then does walking around Barcelona or Egypt and experiencing the heat full on, and without said help from dunking myself in water, not present the same problems as being here? So just what is it?  

As a result of these thoughts, I have spent my days daydreaming of the lazy holidays once more. And I think it goes deeper than just the difference in temperate climates. It’s being comfortable enough mentally to be able to stop. On our recent trip to Northumberland I pondered this while I sat in a cave next to a waterfall. We had lunch reservations at 2pm and yet had over two hours until then. The walk to the car from where we were would only take an hour and I sat in quiet thought trying to think of something to fill the time. It was only when I realised that having free time didn’t necessarily mean it had to be filled that I granted myself the permission to park my arse and be still. And so for an hour, we sat in the cave, with our snacks and watched the water cascade into the pool below. In that hour many other hikers arrived, most with dogs. The dogs practically leapt from the rocky ledge into the water and entertained all that had stopped. 

It reminded me of our walk to Sycamore Gap and how for me time stood still. It is unlike the walks you’ll find to the waterfalls of Hindhope and Hareshaw Linn. They are hidden amongst the trees and rolling hills of the Northumbrian landscape. The walk to Sycamore Gap is up and over the rolling hills. The landscape is all shingle, coarse grass and barren. You pass through a few gates where old walls break up your journey but ultimately it is unchallenging. It is only when you arrive at the most famous tree in the UK that you realise this walk wasn’t about the journey. It is about the destination. So many times do you hear in life that the journey is as important as the destination and in some cases the journey becomes more important altogether. Essentially the journey is longer than the time we spend at the destination and should therefore be enjoyed in order to feel more fulfilling. The tree sits upon Hadrian’s wall and is an iconic image known to everyone. Without even knowing its name or location, show the person next to you the image at the top of this blog and I guarantee nine out of ten people will recognise it. 

Upon our arrival to the tree, we waited patiently for our chance to photograph it without the intrusion of other hikers. Photos taken, I took a moment to climb the hill directly opposite the tree and sat for a while. The wind whistled in my ears and violently forced my hair to take flight. Above me the clouds threatened rain. Below me on the sides of the hill purple heather revealed its colour to roaming eyes. The tree was static in response to the wind. As the light from the cloud dotted sky changed the backdrop of the scene each moment felt like a picture perfect postcard. 

It was just me, sitting, watching and forgetting time. This is what I miss. The ability to take everything in and appreciate it without rushing off to the next thing to see. Covid has changed so much for this world. It has changed the world en masse and singularly. I’d like to think that at some point we will find a balance between sitting and running. Until then I will remember how blessed we are to be free enough to roam the world. 

Limits

It is day 876,352 of having Covid. 

Really, in actual fact, it is day 5 of testing positive. My life hasn’t changed apart from missing one day of work and allowing myself to watch as much tv as possible until my body needs sleep. Today has been a busy day considering that on Saturday I slept for over 20 hours. I woke up and no longer felt the fatigue in my bones. So I grabbed the laptop and started ploughing through the to-do list for our next big trip. 

To be fair it is a small list at this point, but two hours in and one of the days on the trip had transformed completely. Out of the 14 mornings while we are away, most of them start before 7:30am. In fact, most start at 6am. Paint me shocked. Tell the girl from 10 years ago who’s days usually started at lunchtime. Mr W has definitely had an impact. 

The plans I looked at today were busy enough to have us doing three big hikes starting at 6am. There’s maybe one day when we need to start at 5am to drive for two hours to witness the sunrise and I don’t mind it as a one off, but there are certain limitations when it comes to the body. Hell, in January, after a fortnight of deep research and planning for this trip, my limit light was blinking and my brain shut down! So, doing an endless fortnight of 14 hour days of photography, walking, driving and battling all the elements is going to be exhausting. So, when I found myself cutting parts out of the day in question, I was pleasantly surprised at how calm I was. When it comes to travelling I rarely know my limits. I will be up and ready for a long day and I will never go back to a hotel without completing an itinerary. It’s how I’m built. 

Or at least how I thought I was built. Today’s cut, pastes and deletes were owed to something new I found to do near Ben Nevis, a place which opens a lot later than the rest of Scotland. This caused a shift in the day’s plans and meant taking two things off the agenda. It made me choose between events rather than force myself to do everything. In light of these changes, I realised that we would be too late to another event and with a quick ‘delete’ and an ‘Oh well’ I made the necessary adjustments. This is not me!

Also, I know how frustrating it might be for me to sound so vague, but I really want my first experience of telling you about our trip to Scotland to sound fresh, so keeping details back as much as possible is really important. Stay tuned!

It’s not that I haven’t had limits before, I have, I’ve dragged my arse across Australia feeling tired up to my eyeballs. I’ve forced my feet up and down the avenues of New York because the itinerary calls for it. My limits are screaming at me like warning bells and I hear them, I just pretend I don’t.

It’s only since travelling in this country and the changes that lockdown brought about that the voice inside my head with all warnings about limits has started to make sense. In our personal lives we’ve even started to block out weekends so we can be at home, together, with nothing else to do. Inevitably, when I get a message asking if I’m free on those blocked out days, I will feel awful about saying we aren’t available because I’m a 1000% committed people pleaser. Being a people pleaser has ultimately stopped me looking after myself in situations and in turn neglecting Mr W. His limits are often dictated by my own. And that is not fair. Saying no to people is a crushing feeling. Especially as I never have. There’s a mass of guilt that swarms over me everytime I do. And that in particular is something I have to work on.

It just so happens that the weekend just past was blocked out. We needed to do this so we could spend some much needed time in the house we pay a mortgage for because June saw us come and go like passengers at a railway station. And then we got covid and were home anyway. Maybe fete stepped in and missed the memo.

During lockdown we found it hard at first to sit still, but as the weeks dragged on we found comfort in these walls. And as the world began to open up, we found ourselves dreading going backwards into the fray of events. It’s a complicated feeling. It isn’t the events that are the problem. It’s the sheer number of them. It’s knowing your limits. There came a time where we’d be seeing people for brunch on a Saturday morning, after a heavy night out the Friday, running a quick errand before seeing family on the Saturday afternoon and then heading out that night. Repeating ourselves on Sunday. Time flew and it felt difficult to enjoy it. How could we be in the moment, when we were thinking of where we had to race off to next?

When lockdown ended in July 2020, I particularly found it difficult to return to normal. To hug again, close the window and enter the crowds. An afternoon with friends was beautiful and yet saw me sleeping after the exposure to filled hours. Since we’ve put a curb on our weekends, we feel lighter and have to remind ourselves that doing things on other weekends shouldn’t be classed as ‘busy’ but ‘enjoyable’ instead. Yes, we still get rather busy, but it isn’t work, it is socialising. It’s freedom. It’s life. 

For the first time in my life, I’m appreciating the limits before they appear. I realise now that the fear of limiting your life, your time, yourself is very real. Push just a bit harder. Strive for more. You can do it. However there is a very large part of life that calls for boundaries and the ability to say no. It is self preservation. It is knowing that no matter how hard you try, keeping the pace is not always possible. Saying no every once in a while has to be a good thing. Choosing to stop instead of being forced to stop is always going to be win-win. Lockdown taught us that. And for that I am grateful.  

Photo by Dave Watson

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

Hot chocolate in the clouds

The Duomo calls!

We wake early to wander in the deep set shadows of this monolith in central Florence. There are very few people around and we are exceptionally early for its 10am opening. Entrance is free and I anticipate a crowd, but first, we need coffee. 

 A small restaurant is open in the shadows of the Duomo and with outdoor seating we are drawn to it like a moth to a flame. The piazza has that early morning eerie feeling and my excitement is building. In little under an hour we will be walking through the doors of one of the most incredible buildings I have ever seen. The sun is rising higher in the sky as our coffee is brought out in an actual mug! You know the ones I mean, the kind that adorns the souvenir shops shelves and this one has the building in front of me on it. I’m so used to the typical white coffee cups out here I’m taken aback and reminded of my mum who takes her own mugs when travelling because the cups normally supplied are too small! But not this one. Gazing up at the Duomo slowly being unearthed from the shadows, I take a deep glug of coffee. Oh, this is good. The drink. The view. The atmosphere of this place. It’s like I’m sitting at the base of a mountain looking up and every single square metre is different. The light and shadows are dancing around each other. 

It reminds me of my walk around Ayers Rock in Uluru. It started at 4am, something that back in 2013, I could never fathom, the day had not even begun. The hotel and the world outside was still asleep. The coach drove through the silent outback to the dark mass in the distance. We stopped in completely black scenery. The 12km trek began as the inky black night was turning a lighter shade of indigo. The magnificent rock transformed each and every minute that the rising sun moved from the horizon. Black rock became deep browns and blushing reds before the light hit the stone and turned it the same colour as the ground we walked on. The terracotta reds mingled with the ambers and burnt oranges. Ayers Rock, Uluru, had jumped into life before us. 

Out of the shadows before us, the Duomo shines, arriving into the new day. The coffee is the secondary star of the show, and my last gulp of it is drunk lukewarm. Tut tut. From where we are sitting, on the sidelines, we can’t see the front door, so at 9:30am with our bums numb from sitting and staring for so long, we shake off the cobwebs and head around the building. The queue already forming is impressive and we find ourselves a part of it snaking around the North side of the piazza.  

The shadows are long here and I pray that the queue moves fast. 10am comes around and the queue slowly moves ahead, they count people in and out, whether or not this is a covid rule I’m unsure, but for my own anxieties I am glad there won’t be too many people inside. Masks on, it is our turn. I take one more look up at the carved coloured marble marvel and step inside. I am shocked. As decorated as the exterior is, is how simple the interior is found. Walls are creamy white between the tall stone pillars and the floor is respectfully tasteful. The interior of the Dome is painted beautifully and reminds me of the paintings we saw in the Vatican. I’m taken back by its simplicity, but in a way I understand, this is a place of worship, it doesn’t need the bells and whistles, they are outside. 

We leave and head towards more sustenance. Breakfast! The sky is a picture perfect blue and the small clouds of the early morning have travelled away to distant places. The Duomo is bathing in light and the awe of the bigger crowds that have awoken. We wander the streets until we step into the Piazza della Repubblica. Walking past a small podium, we realise it elevates a small metal map of Florence. It is very detailed and I trace our footsteps through the city so far. It is an impressive addition to the square. As the sun shines down I gaze longingly at the carousel. Its horses with their feathered plumes gleam in the morning light and the gilded gold glints. I do love a carousel. I feel the pangs of nervousness in my stomach and forego the experience and head on to something special. 

Coffee with a rooftop view can be found at Caffe La Terrazza, in Rinascente, a Macy’s like department store. Just minutes away from the carousel this is something that I’ve hidden from Mr W most. We head up to level 6 past clothing and homeware and are greeted by two smartly dressed waitresses. Mr W looks at me with confusion flooding his features. We are led up a small set of stairs onto a very small rooftop with a dozen or so chairs. We are alone. Mr W orders a pastry and a coffee. My inner child who moaned at my retreat from the carousel orders a hot chocolate at 10:30am. I love her dearly for that. We sit in the corner closest to the Duomo. Here the rooftops feel so close I could touch them. I am transfixed by the colours of this city. The ever present red roof tile splayed out covering the city buildings and the mountains of green, pink and white marble erupting at its centre. We are a few minutes walk from its walls and yet if I just lean over the wall here, ever so slightly, reaching out my arm, I’m sure I could press my hand against her cool surface. I am hypnotised.  

The clouds have returned, and I am grateful, drinking a hot drink in the sun feels wrong. But, oh, the hot chocolate, it is thick enough to spread on a cracker and it is glorious. The cup is tiny and is that a sigh of relief I hear? This ‘drink’ is amazing but any bigger and it could be mistaken for a fondue and I’d be asking for strawberries. We take in the view and ask each other whether we should order another drink. Surely this is the best view in Florence, how is this place not busy? We don’t want to leave, even though the city itself is still recovering from the lost tourism and the roads aren’t quieter than we are used to in the Uk, up on this roof, we are relaxed and away from the minor hustle and bustle. Up here, it doesn’t feel like a city break, we could be anywhere among the clouds and breathing deep. Not wanting to risk getting too much of a good thing, we leave, and head back into a fully awake city centre. 

Today is definitely a slower paced day. It happens to be our wedding anniversary. What a start! 

Food and fretting in Florence

We are a couple who love a bargain, so when I heard of the best value sandwiches in Florence, I knew I had to check it out. And these weren’t any kind of sandwiches. These were GIANT focaccia bread marvels, loaded with Italian delicacies, and reviews in their thousands. There were warnings online to get there as soon as it opens to avoid the crowds and that was the plan. Boy, was there a queue, 100+ people deep. We love a bargain, but for the time spent in the queue we knew we’d rather enjoy the city. See you next time, Osteria All’antico Vinaio!

Our next stop was a hop on hop off tour bus. We spent some time wandering along the banks of the Arno river and meandered across the Ponte Vecchio. With the arched walkway of the Lungarno Anna Maria Luisa de’ Medici on the lead up to one of the most famous bridges in the world it was a very surreal moment. And sunny! The bridge itself is absolutely stunning and so unassuming. Its very nature of standing out is in direct juxtaposition to its very modest structure and shops that are strewn across it. The Bridge is famous due to the shops that line its length. Other than the waters that flow beneath it, you do not see the river past the bridge itself. The buildings upon it dominate the expanse of the river. It is a special place and one of the icons of Florence. 

Back to the bus tour. It is the usual experience. Jump on board, see all the sights, get off if and when you please. If we are in a city long enough, I like to use these buses to get a lay of the land and also to use as transport. If you plan it correctly you can get to the far flung places without paying any extra for trains and taxis. Like I said, we like a bargain. This particular bus company had proven difficult to date, there weren’t any clear maps on the website and I’d had to hunt down a map online. 

Herein started the most anxious part of the trip for me. I pinpointed a ‘hop on point’ on the map I’d found and we headed across the Ponte Vecchio to reach it. Although, ‘it’ wasn’t where it was supposed to be. I asked the friendly locals, the ice cream shop owners and yet no one could point me in the right direction. It was here I gave in and called the bus company and couldn’t get through. After emailing and leaving some messages I was called back. If you can picture an anxious mess retracing her steps back and forth across the Ponte Santa Trinita speaking loudly down the phone wondering what to do next, maybe even pulling her hair out, that was me. Poor Mr W stood by seeing my meltdown in real time and waiting to jump in should I need a timeout. After exchanging numbers with a lovely lady, we were soon texting on whatsapp to get to the right place. The day felt lost. And us with it.  

After a calm down walk to the new location, we gratefully hopped on our bus and headed onto the real-life map of Florence. Masks were mandatory and the bright day called for sunglasses. If I thought for a second of the strange tanlines my face would get it was a very quick thought indeed. The city was wrapped around us as we drove along and the information was packed into our brains via the onboard headphone sets. Mr W does like a tour bus and I felt the familiar calm that travel brings wash over me. We passed grand arches and beautiful churches. I’m sure I could google what they were and how you could find them, but understand this. At that time, I felt happy enough to be looking with my eyes and feeling free in my mind. Free from the worries of covid and back where I belonged. 

The bus climbs up the gently sloping road that is the Viale Machiavelli, a tree lined winding road that is absolutely breathtaking. I spot a few Italian cypress trees dotted here and there and am transported back to Rome. I am mesmerised. We jumped off the bus only once at the Piazzale Michelangelo. From here you have the most perfect view of Florence. Perfect to sit and watch. Perfect for photos. Perfect to watch the clouds roll in and block out the sun. Yes, it started raining. Big fat droplets fell down on us with nary an umbrella or shelter in sight. What could we do? Nothing. What did we do? Nothing! It rains, you get wet and sometime after you’ll be dry again. This is pandemic travelling. Rain does not ruin this day. 

The rain spent a few minutes prancing off the cobbles and then continued over the city. We spent time until the next bus grabbing a drink, taking photos and staring up at the bronze replica of Michelangelos ‘David’. For the second time we saw how the Duomo transformed the skyline of Florence and even though it dominates the space it feels in tune with its surroundings. It is places like this that remind me of the importance of travelling. How it is a privilege and should never be taken for granted.

Another rain cloud bursts above us as the bus pulls up and we leap on board. No top deck for us! It is not long before we are back by the river and our original pick up point. We alight, hungry and tired. I’ve heard of a small panini place next to the Duomo that makes another cheap sandwich for the budget conscious traveller. 

Panini Toscani, is the first place I’ve been given a taste test ever. The man behind the counter is surrounded by huge hanging salami, trays upon trays of antipasti and piles of loaves of bread. With a flick of his knife, he slices three meats and holds them out for me. This is a hard challenge. Once I’ve eaten, he asks me, ‘A, B or C’. I feel like a contestant on a game show, I choose my answer. He nods. Another flick of the knife, another food. Cheese. ‘A, B, C.’ This game is fun. Out comes a bigger knife. Bread this time. ‘A,B,C’. My choices are made, my panini is crafted. Mr W is given the same challenge. And let me be clear. It is a challenge. Every mouthful has been fantastic. I want all meats, all cheeses, all breads. Our winnings have wrapped in paper and we head back into the shadow of the Duomo. If I was to tell you that when the sandwich was finished that I wanted to cry, it would be a fair evaluation of the incredible taste I experienced. The whole process to be honest was just brilliant. A tiny 2 metre tall doorway leading to a food filled hall of wonder next to the 114 metres of the Duomo and I’m unsure of which one is the top contender. I just eat and let my heart, and stomach, decide.

A rejuvenating shower and outfit change is on the cards. Maybe a cheeky nap. 

We head out for dinner. It is a 10 minute walk and we are eager for food. Raviolo and Raviolo is a small haunt that makes, you guessed it, Ravioli, I have pre-booked a table to be sure of a seat. The booking felt prudent for April 2020, when booking the trip before the pandemic began. Now, we are one of two couples eating in the restaurant and the stark reality of the pandemic is hard to forget. Mr W is not a big pasta fan and I hope that the reviews on this place have set me on the right path. I order a cheese medley and Mr W orders the butter and sage. From the first bite, I see his eyes light up, this place is good. It is more than good, it is a revelation. Hand made ravioli with beautiful flavours and texture. The restaurant is small and I imagine if you didn’t know it was here, you could quite easily walk past it. But that would be a shame. 

The day has had its ups and downs. The fretting that made me so forlorn is long gone and the food that lines my stomach is making me sleepy. The walk back to the apartment is a slow one, we look into the windows of ice cream parlours and wonder… should we?

Faith in Florence

Having only been to Italy once before I had no real expectations of Florence. The only interaction I had had with the city was through a book by Dan Brown which had been turned into a movie starring the god that is Tom Hanks. That is where my knowledge started and ended. Even then the film darted from city to city and country to country. It doesn’t do much to whet the appetite. 

Mr W had always said he wanted to go and as we were to be celebrating his birthday, it was an easy decision. Bookings made, postponed due to covid and re-booked for September 2020 and here we were. 

Florence! We arrive in the city not long before 10pm and make our way from Santa Maria Novella Station to our apartment. It is a 10 minute walk to Via de Brunelleschi and the city is dark. Only a few businesses are open, mostly food on offer and we are both tired. We have to pick up our key for the apartment in another complex and my arse drops out when the man at the reception desk can’t find our key. After triple checking every drawer, lockbox and reading all instructions he finally finds it. I scoop my arse up off the floor and we continue on our way. We glimpse the Duomo as we emerge from Via Martelli. It appears ghostly in the dark night with only a few lights shining on the green, pink and white marble facade. It doesn’t feel real. We’ve been travelling for over 7 hours, travelling during covid is different enough to make the hours longer, and we are ready to rest our backpacks. The city is falling to sleep and we aren’t far behind. 

We fall into the most amazing apartment and sleep soundly. Mr W in particular wonders what the morning will bring!

The following morning feels like a dream. We aren’t used to arriving so late into a city and so waking up here this morning is like arriving all over again. Before we found the apartment the night before we grabbed a breaded chicken panini and half of it is waiting for us in the fridge. Our day begins at 8am and I find myself praising the huge shower. I need to wash the previous day off my body and out of my mind. It is a luxury I do not want to leave. The sun is gleaming outside and I am wondering whether my choice of jeans and a jumper is appropriate.

Our first port of call this morning is the Palazzo Vecchio and Arnolfo’s Tower. It’s only a 6 minute walk and there aren’t many distractions, the city is still waking up. There are street cleaners whirring by and only a few other people going about their morning. Piazza della Signoria is enormous. The sun engulfs the entire space. Arnolfo tower makes a statement both against the blue sky and with its shadow on the ground. We have arrived. Welcome. Hiding in the shadow we can see how the space is blindingly lit from above and many of the restaurants around the square are slowly opening their doors to the new day. We are early for the Palazzo Vecchio guided tour to the Tower and Mr W requires coffee. 

We wander all of 30 seconds and find a small eatery. Caffe San Firenze will sit roughly 10 people, but as we soon learn, the counter is where the action happens. As we sit and sip our coffees, people walk in, order, drink their coffees and pay in less than five minutes. This is a quick stop place and we are here to witness it all. This is the Italy I love. The intimate moments here, that in England are both boring and forgotten. Caffeine gloriously flooding our veins, we head back to the Palazzo. Our tour isn’t a typical talking tour, the only reason we have a guide is to see the tower. That’s the only way to see it. By being led, I imagine it’s safer and numbers can be monitored. And by safer i mean, it’s a long way up and therefore a long way down! To maintain the integrity and beauty of the tower there are no guide or safety rails. Hence the guide or dare I say chaperone.

We are in the main entrance of the Palazzo and are sent up to the most awe-inspiring spectacle I am yet to witness. The hall of the five hundred, the Salone dei Cinquecento, is absolutely stunning. It’s paintings are vast and are actually hard to comprehend. The sheer size and detail stops you in your tracks. The only thing in the room that tears away your gawking eyes is the panelled ceiling. It. Is. A. Wonder. 

We have to leave to start our tour. So we, a group of ten, start our ascent. We are taken through the winding maze of staircases, rooms and corridors. Mr W and I are nervous about the walk up the tower. I have a fear of spiral staircases, I thank the Sacre Coeur for that, and Mr W worries about his asthma. Ignoring the stairs we have already climbed up into rooms, and then down again, before turning corners and heading up more, we have 233 steps up inside the tower. I am praying for normal staircases. And there they are. Not a spiral in sight. Dark stone stairs that just keep going.  As our group is small and the only ones permitted in the tower the nerves have subsided. We don’t feel hurried at all. Unlike other stone staircases I have climbed, this one is warm and I am glad for the ascent to end. The breeze at the top of the tower is glorious but pales in comparison to the view. 

Having seen rooftops of Italy only once before in Rome I have forgotten the earthy red tones of the roof tiles. The view stretches for miles like a red carpet. I could sit up here all day. The bells of the tower are above us held up by old wooden beams. I think for a second about the weight of the bells and the strength of the aged structure. What if they should fall? If it is my time I am happy to be doing what I love to do. With the person I love to do it with. 

The view from here is the perfect introduction to the city. You could say it was planned with this in mind. Wink wink. From up here we see the Arno river. Almost green in the sunlight. It creates a natural divide on the map of the city. From this lofty space we see the Duomo in all her glory. Rising 114 metres from street level it dominates the skyline. The surrounding buildings bow to its presence. I am strangely drawn to its immense stature. 

As always, I am reminded of why the Duomo is here in the first place. Faith. As an atheist I often find myself wondering how blind faith can lead to something so substantial being built. And yet I am drawn to them. I don’t mean to kneel at their gates and alters and utter silent words to a god. I am drawn to the blind faith and how it guides people everyday. It may not be my path but the more I see these cities the more I respect the faith people have. 

The faith the world has lost sight of in the past 6 months is on my mind. Covid has ravaged the world. Horrors unseen on such a scale in my lifetime have dominated the headlines and inch by inch taken our confidence in the world and the future. 

Up above this new city, I feel like myself. I’m exploring again. I’m believing again. Possibilities are creeping back. My faith is getting ready to return. 

Stories of Venice part three

We are at the Hotel H10 Palazzo Canova. I’ve found it to be one of the only rooftop bars with a view in Venice. It’s not stipulated online whether it’s for hotel guests only and my attitude after being ‘caged’ for 6 months pushes me to try my luck. I’m dressed casually and this place is beautiful. We walk straight in ‘like we own the joint’ and head around to the bank of lifts. Hit the ‘bar’ button and walk out onto a stone terrace with the most phenomenal backdrop. 

The terrace overlooks the Grand Canal. Leaning slightly over the balustrade gives you a wonderful view of the Rialto Bridge, it isn’t the whole picture but it’s enough to make me want to squeak excitedly. The staff are so friendly and accommodating, they show us the QR codes on the table. When scanning them with our phones, we are able to bring up the menus with an English option. We order coffees and sit in the afternoon sun. This is the first time we have stopped and watched Venice’s world go by. I am transfixed on the water and all the boats moving about. The whole scene is intoxicating. Gondolas, vaporetto, people, smiles. It’s as if Covid doesn’t exist. It is by sitting for a while we realise how tired we are and adjust our plans for the day. This is very strange for me. I’ll usually walk til I drop. But I’m either out of practice or Venice demands your full attention, you need to sit and stay. NO! Seriously, stop. Enjoy. Drink it in. And that’s what we did. We sat laughing, talking and enjoying it all. Whatever plans were left for today could be done tomorrow, or when we return, I don’t think I had noticed at the time, but I had fallen head over heels for Venice and deep down was already planning the next trip. So if we didn’t finish the plans that day, we’d do it another time! I’m too busy watching the rows upon rows of gondolas rolling on the canal below. There is something so beautiful about their shiny finish and red interiors. 

Mr W made it quite clear when we arrived he had no interest in going in a gondola, we’re both really uncomfortable with being ‘served’. So being in a boat, with the gondolier transporting us about, is something unimaginable. But who said because I don’t want to ride in one I can’t watch those people! You can literally see their faces transform as they mentally tick that box on their bucket list. They are here. They’ve done it. A lifelong dream, a spur of the moment bit of fun or claiming back a missed opportunity due to covid.

I find for the third time, I do not want to leave, but we have dinner plans, and they’re quite special. In the last few years, Mr W and I have enjoyed a cheesy little tradition when we travel. I’ve always laughed when you see a Mcdonalds bursting at the seams when abroad. Don’t the customers know there is a Mcdonalds on every street corner. But as I’ve grown, I’ve started to acknowledge the ease of a fast food joint, the cheaper option, not having to worry about the language barrier and simply enjoying what you enjoy. So, with that in mind, wherever we go, we’ll check if they have a Hard Rock Cafe. We both love the music, the cocktails and we always buy Mr W a t-shirt. It also helps that this is the year we celebrate our 2nd wedding anniversary, which happens to be cotton, so the gift shop is calling out to me! It’s also a surprise for Mr W, we are afterall celebrating his birthday by being here.

We enjoy our food, dance along to the music and head back into the throngs of Venice. We idle away the time wandering the canals until nightfall and we find ourselves in St Mark’s Square. It is unbelievably quiet. There are pianos being played for the patrons of the night-time dwellers. There are less than 20 people in the entire space. It feels so personal. We stop to enjoy the music. For the second time today we stop to drink it all in. It’s our last night and rather than be sad, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude to be here. The world is phasing in and out of restrictions every week. In May 2020, it was possible to travel to Greece and Spain from the UK and not have to worry about isolating on your return. Every Thursday the red, amber and green travel list was updated, and every week it brought new countries into the green and pushed others into the red. The situation was always changing and taking the risk to book our trip to Italy for September was a tough decision. We made the leap because financially the risk was very small. The emotional risk of losing the trip again was a bigger one to us. So just getting out of the country was a big enough deal, without finding this place half empty and yet so full of life. While that piano played, it felt all so surreal, to be in the midst of a pandemic and feel happy. Not happy about the pandemic, but in spite of it. We still clung to parts of ourselves we thought all too lost. 

The next morning brings new adventures and the return of the fog. Except the fog is thicker and there is rain in the air. Today we fly home, which means our backpacks return to our shoulders and we have to face the elements. We have breakfast, take one final nap and head into the winding walkways. The venetian waters are lapping over the edges of the Riva degli Schiavoni and parts of St Mark’s Square have giant puddles. The water reflects St Mark’s Basilica, a beautiful time to reflect on the last six days.  Large raised walkways have been erected, it seems that Venice is preparing for a high tide. There is a light rain and we decide to take it easier today. Mr W takes out his trusty google map app, a godsend through our whole visit, and we head towards the Ponte dell’ Accademia. 

The fog lifts and the light of the grey sky reflects differently on the wet cobbles. The walk is slower paced and it becomes sadder the closer we get to going home. The rain sets the emotion of the day perfectly. We come to the dark wooden bridge that spans the Grand Canal, and we say another goodbye to a true icon of Venice. From here it is a 10 minute walk to Fondamente Salute, the alleys here wind more than ever, the bridges and canals are very small, it feels like a hidden part of town. Art Galleries line the streets with gated courtyards to tempt the eyes. We reach Fondamente Salute and look out across the Bacino San Marco. The water is rough and laps up to where we stand, we stay for a while looking out and over the Campanile di San Marco. Turning away from one of the most iconic landmarks in the whole of Venice feels like the trip is already over.

We walk away, the rain has stopped but the water is starting to flood the streets. We take a brief moment to stop in front of the Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute. The building is on a platform of stone, with stairs leading up to its vast front doors. It is hauntingly beautiful, in the grey of the day it merges into the sky and then back into the water. It feels as if the stairs lead you into the water. I know now that my love affair with this place is far from over. 

We cross a small bridge in the Dorsoduro and have to wade through an ankle deep puddle. A man stands on the other side, trying to sell us plastic booties that will keep our feet dry, he looks at us with his eyebrows raised when we walk straight through. We pause in a tiny Trattoria Pizzeria for Cicchetti and talk to the owner about the weather. Of all things. It seems apt to discuss rain in Venice. In broken English he tries his best to tell us about the floods that devastated the community in 2019. He shows us on his polished bar where the water came up to. I look at the table in front of me, in those depths it would be completely submerged. We continued to listen as he explained he’d replaced all his kitchen equipment just before covid snatched away his livelihood. And yet despite the last 10 months, he is here talking to us, smiling and sharing his story. 

I thought alot about that man on the coach to the airport. His story, his enthusiasm, his strength. It brought the whole trip full circle. The feeling of being uncaged, the beauty of an awakening country and the strength we were all regaining. It made me realise that despite the horrors of the pandemic, life would carry on and we could either be submerged by it, losing ourselves in the process, or rise above to fight again. 

Photo by Dave Watson

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com/ 

Stories of Venice – Part two

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

Stories of Venice – Part one

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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