The other week I was so fortunate to escape the bubble of the pandemic to spend a few days in Venice. Despite being a last minute trip, I couldn’t shake off this shroud of denial until I was actually sat on the water bus, trundling down the Grand Canal. I think for all of us after the seemingly endless lockdown of this year, small luxuries and liberties now feel alien and borderline criminal. For me, Venice already resided in the part of my mind labelled something along the lines of "wishful thinking" anyway, but for the majority of this year the idea of a holiday abroad had seemed all too ludicrous.
From the sky, Venice looks like a floating labyrinth of terracotta eaves and grandiose church towers. It's a very surreal place, almost like something out of Studio Ghibli film; from the single road across the water from the mainland to these clunky and boisterous water buses (a concept which baffles me still).
We stayed in a small hotel right outside the Rialto Bridge, right amongst the hubbub of the Grand Canal. It was dark and musty, yet somehow retained this age-old air of regality. Wood panels, intricate wallpapers and a mishmash of fabrics - to look at, it was almost as busy as the canal itself. Our room was near the top, up some narrow winding steps which left us winded by the time we reached our floor. No romantic balcony looking over the canal to tell you about though I'm afraid, but there was still the satisfaction of throwing open the shutters and leaning out to nosey on the happenings in the alley below (a guilty pleasure pertinent to holidays in Italy).
Venice truly is queen of alleyways, a patron saint of wanderers and getting lost. It would seem impossible to walk down the same alleyway twice or to leave a square and find it again. When walking about, it really does feel at times like the walls and the bridges shift behind you like a real life labyrinth.
One of the things which captured my heart about Venice was how so much character can be encased in narrow alleyways; tiny restaurants and bars enveloped away in side streets, a five foot high tunnel as a Google maps-approved thoroughfare, an old man playing a saxophone rendition of Elvis’s ‘It’s Now or Never’ on the steps of a church. These minuscule
details which are so warming to reflect back on.
We had our fair share of Aperitif and Bellini's, as well as pizza and pasta - but like standard Brits we also ended up in this compact Irish bar (filled with Italians) down one of the myriad of alleys, where we sat watching football with a pint.
One thing I always love about being anywhere in Italy is how strongly defined the subcultures of style are. It really hammers home how central style is to identity - there’s the middle-aged men in their uniforms of navy linen blazers and loafers to the alternative rebellious grunge of the youth. Styles varying so widely yet all are executed in the same refined manner.
As much as I enjoyed this trip away to the city on water, I think it’s important to note that a holiday is time away from your day-to-day life, but not your own mind. What you see on instagram is always going to be the best bits of someone’s day, what you don’t see is the ongoing work they are doing on themselves.
As ever, thank you so much for reading x
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