I will preface this blog post by acknowledging the Dumbo in the room: I know; it has been nearly two months since my last post. It makes me feel icky to even acknowledge this. I hate to admit it, but I have always been the type of person to get super excited about a project and then get bored of it halfway through. It is not a terribly positive personality trait, I know. But here I am, back in the blogosphere and totally prepared to use the enormity of the subject of this post as an excuse for my absence. I also come bearing gifts: I figured out how to make my photos bigger. Even the portrait ones. You’re welcome!
This was taken from our apartment. Just…seriously. Look at that. I needed those two months.
Up until now my blogs have been about my meanderings around merry old Britain and Ireland, but now I must write about what is probably my most favourite city in the world: Venice. But this was not just Venice, but Venice in winter. It’s a whole different beast. I don’t quite know what I was expecting, possibly something akin to Sydney’s winter: slightly cold (we like to think) yet still a fairly present sun and the temperature never drifting below 12 C during the day. Here’s the thing though: Venice has this thing called fog. So, an intense amount of water particles in the air, plus temperatures of around 5 C, equals freezing cold water forever attacking your exposed face and inadequately layered body. The fog hung around for the first three days and although it almost gave me pneumonia I have got to say, it created one heck of a mood. Especially when coupled with the somehow distinctively Italian Christmas decorations lining the narrow streets.
Last summer we sat here drinking wine with our feet in the canal as the sun set. This year it was isolated and freezing.
One thing I love about Venice is that you basically have no choice but to walk everywhere. It’s a fantastic way to take in a city and make you feel like you earned that three course meal you just inhaled for lunch. I was here with my Ma and Da, who had managed to obtain an apartment that sat above the rooftops with a view of the Rialto Markets over the Grand Canal. To get up to our apartment you must climb four flights of stairs, enter the flat, and then climb up a narrow spiral staircase into our loft/apartment. Once in the apartment there was then another spiral staircase up to the sun room and balcony. It was like having some sort of dream Venetian tree house.
The Rialto Markets and Grand Canal from our apartment’s sun room.
As it was almost Christmas, there were more locals wandering the streets than tourists; a big change from when we visited in summer 2012. The crowds of fashionable young Italians, the tough old Nonnas and Nonnos and middle aged women looking more glamorous at 60 than I ever will created a constant chattering of incomprehensible Italian conversations; and it is kind of bliss to walk amongst. We re-visited our favourite hang-outs from our last visit, admired the Christmas-themed shop windows, got lost in the tightest alleyways you’ve ever seen and enthusiastically dived into Venetian restaurants to dine on seafood, pasta and tiramisu. Looking through my photo album now I can estimate that about 60% of my photos are of alleyways and canals, 35% are food and 5% are photos actually containing myself or my beloved parentals. This is when you know that your holiday was wisely spent.
Some of that sweet Venice streetscape.
But eventually one desires to feel productive and actually do more with one’s day than eat and walk within ½ km radius of the apartment. Here’s where the vaporetto comes in, the ferries which can transport you around the island via the Grand Canal or to the nearby islands. The day we went to Murano was the coldest I have ever been in my existence, as it is smaller and less built up than Venice so the fog is absolutely inescapable, always there crawling up and around your freezing body. It’s like the nicest horror movie ever. Luckily, the next day our visit to Burano was accompanied by clear skies and this odd yellow orb that has been so lacking in my life for the past year. The son? Sunn? Something like that. Either way, it made a world of difference to the weather and, amazingly, people ventured outside that day.
That reflection though…
Burano is always fabulous to visit, not just because of the technicolour buildings but also because of Il Gatto Nero- the best Venetian restaurant ever. Seriously. Ever. The food is amazing and the restaurant also comes with a Buranese man who speaks English with a Scottish accent and has stories about getting drunk with Jamie Oliver. If you hear a Scottish accent coming from an Italian man while you’re there, do not leave without having a conversation with him!
Oh, to have a swimming pool filled with mascarpone.
We spent the rest of the day soaking up the sunlight like a trio of overfed cats, leaning over the railing on the vaporetto ride back to Venice and then desperately to keep that fabulous light on our faces as the sun dipped below the line of tall, narrow buildings. This was my last day in Venice, so I was very relieved that the sun decided to pop out and say boo. Although my parents got to enjoy clear days for the rest of the week while I flew back to Sheffield to ‘complete my essays’ before Christmas break. (Spoilers: I chose the question for one of my essays by the time Christmas break started. Which I later changed. Solid effort.)
The vaporetto ride back to Venice. That’s Burano’s leaning church tower in the distance.
Heading north of The Wall 