Venice Travel Diary
From the moment we boarded our water ferry and began motoring through the Grand Canal to our hotel, I knew Venice was the magical place that would live up to its reputation. Pastel buildings levitated above the water like confectionary masterpieces. Balconied pink facades set against cobalt sky. Patios peopled with al fresco lunchers enjoying mid afternoon Prosecco and the warm breeze rising off the water.
We checked into our room at the hotel, unlatching screenless windows to a view of stepped tile rooftops. After changing out of our travel-worn clothes, we enjoyed a long lunch while watching boats pass along the canal. Venice seems made for patio-lingering, long sunlit days of lazing about over incomparable food and crisp drinks.
We wandered the city corridors, tucking into remote corners to take photos and to imagine what it would be like to live in such a place. Unshuttered windows took in salted air and echos of travelers meandering the maze-like alleyways. Open-aired shops dished up oversized cones of gelato. Gondoliers navigated the canals, nodding to one another as their boats inched together then drifted.
Vendors displayed their colorful wares, embroidered scarves and keepsakes. We stopped at one where we bought two blush scarves for me to wrap myself from the evening cool.
We returned to our hotel at dusk. Gondoliers were parked outside, leaning dockside, waiting on passengers. We hired one to take us out, and returned back with a bottle of champagne and glasses. We floated out into the canal, ducking into narrow passageways and under close ironworked bridges. Just as we neared one of the bridges, our gondolier broke into an ethereal tenor. Twilight hour framed the buildings in gold. The lapping of water echoed hollow against the rocking of boats. A single birdsong sharpened the air just before I heard the fumbling of my (now) husband getting down on one knee to propose. The moment etched itself into my mind like a cool marble statuette.
Later that night when we returned to our hotel room, we tended to my husband’s bruised knee, laughing about the perils of proposing on a gondola. He would spend the rest of our Italy travels nursing his knee. But the memory was worth it.
The next morning we drank mimosas and ate a full breakfast, situated next to an ornate ballroom. Opera outpoured from within. Only in Italy do you stumble across such an opulent spectacle as pure happenstance. The room was draped and adorned in gold curtains and chandeliers, intricately designed crimson rugs.
As we bid arrivederci, we could not help but feel an enchanting connection to the timeless rhythm of this water-bound city. Venice, with its bridges that whisper tales of centuries past and piazzas resonant with laughter, becomes a living poem etched in the heart. The melody of gondoliers’ songs linger in the air, weaving a symphony that captures the essence of a place where time stands still. In every narrow calle and under the soft glow of lamplight, Venice’s poetic allure unveils itself, inviting wanderers to be part of a romantic sonnet that transcends the pages of guidebooks—a timeless ode to the City of Canals.
