Ahhh, Venice. 20 years had passed since I had last been there and I remembered it well. We were looking forward to our visit after our two weeks in Cortona, me because I wanted to see if my memories had held up, and Juliann because she had never been.
Braeden, well, he just wanted to see the city where there were boats instead of cars.
We arrived just outside of Venice in our rented car, sadly said “Arrivederci” to it (we knew we wouldn’t be driving again until late July when we went to Ireland) and took a taxi over the causeway to the city. From there we hopped in a water taxi. Both Juliann and Braeden had their heads on swivels as the little boat wound its way through the canals of the old city.
The water taxi dropped us off at the San Zaccharia vaporetto (read: big water bus) stop, where we met our host, who led us to our apartment building. We lugged our bags up six flights to our penthouse flat.
The apartment was huge, bright, airy, and had amazing views of the city. We loved it immediately and knew we were going to feel at home there.
Our plans had us staying in Venice for only a week, because (1) Venice is expensive, and (2) I wasn’t sure we would be entertained there for more than a week.
I was wrong about the latter.
If we had done nothing else but explore the streets of Venice we would have been happy there for months.
[It was admittedly a little difficult for me to get to a CrossFit gym, so I had to settle for making the 50-minute trip to CrossFit Serenissima once, and hit the little globo gym around the corner for the rest of the week. But other than that Venice was wonderful.]
We started by wandering around, getting the lay of the place, and finding the closest supermarket where we could stock up on groceries for the week.
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When we thought we could do so without being stampeded by the hordes of tourists there, we walked over to Piazza San Marco, one of the most famous squares in Europe. It was busier than Wal-mart on Black Friday, but impressive all the same, and we let Braeden fly around on his scooter for awhile, terrorizing pigeons and unsuspecting tourists, before ducking into a little hole-in-the-wall lunch place, Birerria Forst, for some vittles.
Within days Juliann had fallen madly in love with Venice and decided she would happily live there. I found Venice to be beautiful but a bit claustrophobic, kind of like Positano but without all the calisthenics. But I would definitely spend a few months there, especially after reading a bit of Berendt’s City of Fallen Angels, which Juliann started reading upon our arrival.
Venice is stupidly romantic, and it was easy to imagine living there for a while during the off season, getting to know the tourist-weary locals, maybe even wearing high green boots on the days when the city was flooded. But I’m finding that I’m no longer a city boy, and I prefer open space, grand vistas, and a small-town feel.
It’s also gotten much more difficult to keep up with our location research, and by the time we got to Venice we hadn’t even figured out what we’d wanted to see, other than the few spots from Braeden’s Bella and Harry book.
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So a day or two after hitting the city we hastily looked at TripAdvisor and made our list: Piazza San Marco, the Doge’s Palace, the Basilica, Burano, and Murano.
And wine. Though it was unlikely we would forget the latter.
Since we usually take things very slowly, our list was more than enough for a week, and we filled in the gaps by exploring the city, stumbling upon delightful little spots, enjoying lunch in newly discovered restaurants, and letting ourselves slip into the ebb and flow of the city.
Juliann also decided she wanted to visit La Fenice (“The Phoenix”), the opera house that was the subject of Berendt’s book. We took an audio tour, which the boy always loves, and spent a couple of hours exploring the beautiful venue. It’s burned down a few times over the centuries, and each time it seems they’ve rebuilt it to be even more beautiful. Thus “The Phoenix”.
Since we were in Venice we also had to take a gondola ride (we simply haad to, dahling), so we found a friendly gondolier near our apartment in the evening and we hopped aboard.
Valentino, our gondolier, was perfect. He sang, he joked, and he went out of his way to make our short 30-minute trip romantic, entertaining, and memorable. We had a blast. It’s an expensive half hour, but I would recommend it to anyone.
Towards the end of our week in Venice we took a Vaporetto first to the small island of Burano, then to Murano.
Both islands were peaceful and lovely. Multicolored houses lined the streets and locals congregated in curtain-veiled doorways to chat. We wandered all over each island, got some lunch, snapped a ton of pictures, and headed back to Venice.
Burano, the smaller of the two, was quieter and more to my liking, but Murano honestly wasn’t that much busier. Both were smaller, quieter, cozier versions of Venice.
Shocker: my wife was right.
One week in Venice was not enough. We could have stayed for a few months, and though I find myself preferring the countryside, there’s a mystery and an ancient romance to Venice that is alluring.
It’s an expensive and crowded and crumbling city, but in quiet moments, memories of Venice surface, unbidden, and I feel…
I just feel. And I love that about Venice.
Next: Barcelona!