The city of Venice will always hold a special place in my heart. Sure, some call it the Disney World of Italy, where few Italians live but where tourists flock in herds. A tired washed-up place devoid of the Italian culture and charm that draws so many people to the country of Italy in the first place. I was regaled with stories of how crowded Venice is in the summer, how the canals smell like dirty sea water, and how 24 hours there is more than sufficient.
For me, however, Venice will always represent perseverance, fortitude and vigor at a time in my life when I felt fragmented and unsure. You see, Venice was my first experience as a solo traveler. That alone warrants special recognition. More importantly, though, Venice was the first location on a trip I took to escape reality after the demise of a decade long relationship. Sure, trading in my ticket to Mexico for a ticket to Italy was slightly Elizabeth Gilbert-ish. And sure, I happened to watch Eat Pray Love just a few times following my breakup. I just couldn’t help but be moved by the following proposition: ruin is a gift; ruin is theroad to transformation. Let things crumble around you and you have the unique opportunity to build something stronger. And so, off to Italy I went.
Nine hours after leaving Newark Liberty, I landed in Milan. Made my way to the TrenItalia station and I was off to Disney. Despite being alone, I was somehow less lonely than I had been when surrounded by people in New York. It’s simply impossible to escape the masses in New York City, and I had grown tired of being forced to fake a smile.
Who wants to go to Venice in the winter, you ask? I didn’t care. The grey clouds, misty rain and overcast sky were a welcome insight into my own feelings. Venice in January was cold, rainy and bare. I would go so far as to describe the conditions as harsh. Venice was, in a sense, naked – restaurants had no patrons, tourists were noticeably absent, and San Marco’s occupants were limited to its iconic pigeons. It was in this state that Venice’s true character was revealed to me and, through this, my own character was rebuilt.
When I arrived in Venice, I waited patiently for the water taxi from the main station and made my way up the Grand Canal to my hotel. It being winter, I got a killer rate on a little inn right on the Grand Canal a few yards from San Marco. My room was in the annex building, just a stone’s throw from the water and reserved for single travelers like myself. It had no frills. However, the bathtub was pleasantly nice and a welcome solace from the cold and rainy weather outside.
The next few days in Venice proved to be therapeutic in a number of ways. I read a book. I wandered through the empty canals. I got lost on my way back to San Marco. I sat alone at restaurants. Essentially, I went off the grid. Sure, there were moments when I felt like crying in my gnocchi, but the most vivid feeling that has stuck with me was a feeling of freedom. It was ok for me to feel what I was feeling. No more was a mask needed. Venice in winter was empty, I could roam free and I felt insulated from the often harsh judgments of life back in New York. I could just “be.”
My first stop on the day I arrived in Venice was Harry’s Bar, also known as the original Cipriani and the birthplace of the Bellini. Traveling from New York City, I was intimately acquainted with Cirpriani, having spent many a weekend day sipping Bellinis at its SoHo outpost. Like the rest of Venice, Harry’s was empty. Despite ample table space, I chose to sit at the bar. One overpriced Bellini was followed by three free Bellinis and a slight buzz. I think the bartender was just happy to have someone to talk to. After a complimentary appetizer, I set off to wander through the picturesque city on water. It was spectacular – the Rialto Bridge, the Grand Canal, the gondolas. Say what you want – Venice is a photographer’s dream.
I came upon a small restaurant, Osteria da Alberto, where I sipped a glass of wine and savored a delicious squid ink pasta. It was at that moment that I had a true appreciation for the journey I had embarked upon. Despite whatever was going on back home, I felt lucky to have found myself in such a magnificent setting.
By the time I spent a few days in Venice, I began to feel like myself again. I began to realize the utter unimportance of the sometimes seemingly over-important things I had going on back home. I had purged all of my negative feelings and I once again desperately sought human interaction.
My only regret in Venice is that I followed Anthony Bourdain to the island of Burano in search of world-famous risotto, only to find that the restaurant I had been coveting was closed. Burano was a lovely island though, cheerful and light-hearted compared to Venice, checkered with pastel-colored homes and lined with stone streets. For a photo diary from Burano, click here.
Rialto Bridge.
Trattoria Sempione.
Restaurant overlooking the Grand Canal.
Shopping alley behind San Marco.
Grand Canal.
Empty San Marco.
