Tag: grand canal

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. 

For photos of this trip please head to Frameworktravel on Instagram or Facebook!

Reclaiming a sunset

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.