Venice revisited

Everyone should give Venice a few days of their time in order to call their lives complete. For me, this is no overstatement. By the size of the habitual crowds, most people agree. If you catch the city at the wrong time, you might have a downright miserable experience … pigeon stepping at a snail’s pace along rancid smelling canals, jostled and overcharged. Please – leave this beautiful city alone from May to September. You’ll probably still love it but it wont be as charming as it can be.

We rarely revisit places with too many others in the world to discover, but Venice called us back. Exploring this truly unique city in early winter was outstanding. True, there were still tourists. But wandering slowly (as you do) getting lost (as you ALWAYS do) just a few bridges and alleyways away from the ‘biggies’ – Piazza San Marco, Accademia and the Grand Canal – leaves you alone but for a few tradesmen and locals. For two days and nights we walked our socks off all over the island. This was made much easier by the ferry from Fusina on the mainland direct to the Accademia and its 3-day passes. Our campsite was on the lagoon and, at first, we thought it wasn’t going to be up to much. We diligently followed the directions and traced a canal for several miles towards the sea. This sounds pretty darned scenic, right? Wrong. Here was the Italian equivalent of Port Talbot – a charming, eclectic collection of refineries, concrete factories, run down residential bits all belching their various by-products into the air. Luckily the best hidden gems can be found in the ugliest mines. Just before we drove into the lagoon was a wooded expanse of land … the trees masking off the worst of the industrial offenders. In front of us, even through the drizzle, was Venice as perhaps best seen, from across the water. Maybe Canaletto stayed at Camping Fusina, then?

We pitched up, tired and relieved as usual and did the usual tentative “helloos” and stupid little waves to our nearest neighbours. When four little heads popped up and we got Australian “watchas” back, we knew our kids would be in utter paradise. This family with four kids were on a whistle-stop tour of the whole of Europe and had seen their first snow ever that morning somewhere high up in the mountains of Hungary, if memory serves. Their breakneck pace was jaw-dropping and we didn’t really feel we could complain any more, having only come from Milan. When we could extricate our kids from the inevitable rugby and bonding therefore, we decided to head on out for the evening. We left the exhausted Australians behind with their much needed tinny (or ten).

Rowan, Rhys and Jenna had been doing a big project of Venice: its geography, history and future, so were well prepared. It had been over five years since they’d been to Venice and they were gratifyingly awestruck from the moment we boarded the small ferry and saw this almost mystical, mythical city coming into clearer and clearer focus. The eponymous bell tower dominates through the mist and even if you’ve never been the Venice before, you’ll recognise it. We were in town before the winter rains had really set in and so could explore without wellies or wading through several foot of water. Now I know I am raving and raving about Venice, but it is that good. It’s a bit like New York … you just can’t stop gaping, ooh-ing and ah-ing over each corner you turn. It must be bloody annoying for the residents. Oh, except for all the income, of course. It’s staggering that only 270,000 people live there and this number is falling – quite simply because Venice is. 20 MILLION visitors trample over the bridges every year. That’s one hell of a ratio.

Oh Venice. Its crumbling grandeur, its romance, its labyrinthine, eerie alleyways, the food (always, this is Italy) just grab you by the throat or lower regions and wont let you go. It imperiously demands your love. OK I’ll stop. Just go there. Please, it’s important to me.

Venice at night is even more spooky and beautiful. The masks leap out from every shop window and can be bizarrely frightening. Not quite as much as the cowled figures carrying a large wooden cross however, that Rowan spotted. She was gleefully certain that they were vampire hunters and begged for almost two solid weeks for a full-length black cloak. This would be the goth phase, then.

We drank deep of all the city’s pleasures including gelato and pinot grigio and missed the last ferry home. Feeling quite extraordinarily brave, we navigated our way to the very edge of the causeway – on foot of course as cars can get anywhere into the city – found the bus to Mestre packed with locals and got backed onto the mainland. After an interminable wait in a cold, underwhelming suburb (anything after Venice is going to be a huge anticlimax) the second bus to Fusina finally got us home and to our beds.