La bella Varenna

[Notes from our short trip to Northern Italy the weekend past.]

May 27, 2011: Varenna, Lake Como, Italy

I'm writing this on a balcony, looking across Lake Como at the town of Bellagio, while classical music that I know, but can't name (Dvořák?), plays in a villa further down the coast. [The Wedding March could be heard a bit later, so I thought the first piece might also be Mendelssohn. Now that I'm home and fiddling, I know it was Bach's Air on the G String, at a point past that distinctive harpsichord.]

I am so happy to be here. So happy the ash cloud moved along. We had some rough weather coming into Malpensa airport, but the torrents didn't even last our whole bus ride to Milan.

Now... Well, now, it's just gorgeous.

Our train, in Varenna

We met a lovely older lady on the train to Varenna. She was very curious about two Canadians traveling there, but unfortunately my Italian wasn't up to the explanation.

This is the best view I've ever had from a hotel room or apartment. Ever. (And we booked it at the last minute at a little more than €200 per night.)

San Giorgio, Varenna

There goes the church bell. I'm almost giddy. [And a bit disjointed. What's with all these new paragraphs?] The sound of the lake lapping at the shore, the birdsong... Where could the locals possibly vacation? [I was reading Beppe Severgnini's La Bella Figura at the time, and he says Italians go abroad simply to reaffirm that they have it the best.]

The sun is filtering through the slowly dissipating clouds, down on the heavily forested mountain face; stunning. We came through so many tunnels on the train journey here. (Jules, Dev would love this place! Mountains in the foreground, snowcapped Alps at the horizon. Sigh.)

The hotel stocks Menabrea 150° Anniversario, "the flagship" of Forst (according to one of my beer books), in the mini-bar; nice touch. There's also a little grocery store across the street. Loving the Royal Victoria so far.

Parts of Milan reminded us both of Naples. Getting Severgnini's perspective on the same route, from Malpensa to Milan, was a treat, particularly when informed by Solly's take on Italians: I finished his book, The Xenophobe's Guide to the Italians, on the flight over.

10:00 p.m.

After the storm

Such an entertaining storm earlier! Stayed in the room, popping out for snaps of the scene, long past supper time. Eventually went out to our little grocery, and then to the pizzeria/hotel across the street, Albergo del Sole. There was a big family ahead of us, but it was well worth the wait. It's clearly a favourite with the locals: they moved a Reserved sign to a different table for one couple; the guy immediately went back to the kitchen to say hello. And it's cheap too: our appetizer, wine and pizzas only came to €32! We left a big tip, in case they made a mistake, as we'll definitely be back.

* * *

May 29, 2011

The view from our balcony

We're taking it easy today, beside the pool. It looks out over the lake to Bellagio. There's barely a cloud in the sky, again.

I was just saying to Tea that, in idle moments, I'm still trying to categorize this place. And failing. The view outside our window, off our balcony, convinces me we're cruising the Mediterranean each morning. This outdoor space reminds me of a resort, if only in my desire to stay on the property and relax -- no resort I've stayed at could hope to replicate these sights and this solace.

Yesterday, we took a slower ferry down to Como; it was about a two-hour journey. (You can take a faster one that will get you there in less than half the time, by paying a supplement.) It was so relaxing. Almost too much so: I nodded off in my seat, a cat in a sunbeam, and burned my thighs and forearms. (I'm writing this in the shade. Tenderly.)

On the ferry to Como

And such sights! We must've passed twenty towns on the way down, stopping at close to a dozen of them. The combination of the brightly painted houses -- just like the outport communities back home in Newfoundland -- the heavily forested mountainsides, the terraced gardens, the single belfry of each community, and the crew chatting in Italian behind us was pure bliss.

We heard a lady behind us comment on the water being too rough for her boat, so she and her husband decided to take the ferry to Cernobbio (two stops before Como) to meet friends for lunch instead. I cannot imagine living here, or how calm the water must typically be if that is considered rough.

We were hungry by the time we docked in Como, and so set about finding a restaurant. Nothing could be simpler in Como. We were soon sat on a shaded patio across from the amazing Duomo (Cathedral). Tea had a delicious bellini with her pizza, while I had a piadina -- unleavened Italian bread folded over like a wrap -- with cured beef, goat's cheese and chicory; a fantastic combination.

We then wandered the streets -- very much like Florence, I found, particularly around the Duomo -- and open-air markets, before taking the fast ferry back as far as Bellagio. It was so fast, compared with the morning. I dozed again, below deck this time, thankfully. The biggest surprise was that Tea didn't need to take any motion sickness medication, as it was a rough ride at times, as we crossed others' wakes.

The Duomo, in Como

Bellagio is beautiful, but for your money, staying in Varenna or Menaggio and taking day trips over has to be the way to do it. Still, at no point did I feel like I was dabbling my toes in the pool of my betters: Tea got gelato at the oldest gelateria in town (from the turn of the century, no less), and we enjoyed drinks on a patio later, right down by the lake -- at no point was anyone anything less than warm, friendly and helpful.

We were enjoying ourselves so much that we missed the last passenger ferry to Varenna. No matter. We caught a car ferry back shortly thereafter. And what a view, pulling in as the last of the day's light hit our beautiful town. (Ours for the weekend, anyway.)

We stopped for supper shortly after docking, as we figured we wouldn't leave our room again if we went straight back: the local wine we bought in Bellagio, Sant'Andrea Valtellina Superiore, from the north, and a special harvest of grapes on the thirtieth of November each year -- for a mere €17 -- was calling our names.

Waiting for the ferry in Bellagio

Vecchi Varenna caught our eye with its inspired, confident menu, and then rewarded us with such good, beautifully-presented food and friendly wait staff. Add to this their passion for serving locally sourced food from a menu they change monthly, and I absolutely cannot recommend this place enough. The prices are even reasonable. I defy anyone to correctly guess their bill based on Vecchi Varenna's fantastic location, down by the water, and the calibre of their food -- both its taste and presentation. Honestly, it felt like a glimpse of the life of the rich and famous -- as I imagine it, anyway -- all for €85 (which included excellent wine, starters and dessert).

Pulling into Varenna

At the risk of boring you, dear reader, one final point: an Italian family with two young children came in partway through our meal. Later, as Tea and I wondered what the children would eat off the (largely lake-fish based) menu, they came out with meals made especially for them. At no point was it a big production, for them or the wait staff. And the little ones were nibbling off their parents' plates of local delicacies to boot. Such a contrast to the chaos of the large British party at Albergo del Sole the other night; their staff were saints for what they put up with.

10:30 p.m.

We weren't out and about for long before we settled on a lakeside cafe for another break. Over rosé, bruschetta, prosciutto and melon, and pizza (topped with the most exquisite mushrooms), we watched the world pass by.

Cuppa Fruita

A woman in a bikini, rowing nowhere quickly, puzzled us. I'd almost accepted Tea's theory of a fisherwoman -- "Does anyone actually work in a bikini?" I wondered -- when she tied up to a buoy a bit out from shore and proceeded to lay out for a few hours. I guess that's one way to stake your claim on a sunbeam. As Tea enjoyed her enormous 'cuppa fruita' -- "Do you want to share?" should've been a hint at its size, but Tea persevered -- the sunbather called it a day, expertly guiding her boat in.

At this point, Tea decides she wants to hike up the quarter mile to Castillo di Vezio. An Aussie couple we met partway up let me know how it could be worse: their hiking epiphany came after three bottles of rosé.

Such a view! Probably the most spectacular we've been treated to to date. It recalls memories of our drive through the Alps last year, but then add the lake beside them, train tunnels between the two, brightly-coloured roofs all 'round, and the quaint -- particularly from this height -- Varenna, with its belfry, below us. And the cherry on top was the sun setting on another gorgeous day.

After quickly freshening up at the hotel, it was back out to the attached restaurant for yet more pizza -- Tea concluded it was the best so far -- wine, and, to finish, our first taste of grappa.

* * *

May 30, 2011

Another piercing blue sky. I'm on our balcony (again), fascinated by the variety of birds that live around here; and even right above me now, in the roof of our hotel. One species in particular has captured my imagination: they're small and dark, with what seems to be a splash of white at their throats. The odd bit, in my mind, however, is their movements: I mistook them for bats yesterday evening, the flit of their wings is so quick and free from visible feathers.

And then there's their cry: easily twice them, so strong and sharp, like a falcon's. They don't seem to go far, but circle our hotel and call out to one another. I've spent so long trying to get a decent shot of one -- without success -- but oh, how they surround my head with flapping and screams the moment I sit down to pen this. Clearly I amuse them.

[Subsequent discussions, and a flip through Collins Bird Guide, suggest that they were a species of swift, because they never seemed to land in that roof nest and their voice matches the description to a T. Thanks, Katy!]

Speaking of amusement, I think the cleaning staff got a good chuckle from us. Tea heard them laughing and whispering outside our door this morning when they found our homemade sign. (We didn't have a "Do not disturb" sign when we checked in, and kept having the Italian, non-English-speaking maids come in on us in the mornings.) I'm pretty sure the translation of our sign would be closer to "No trouble, please," like we feared being held up by gunslingers each morn.

At least they replaced it with a proper one.

2:00 p.m.

In the gardens of the Villa Monastero

Enjoying some wine -- a pinot grigio for Tea and Villa Sandi prosecco for me -- in the cafe of the Villa Monastero. It's amazing what the waiter can offer from these limited facilities; my gnocchi is delicious, and Tea says the Torta Santa Honore is heavenly; like a roulade.

What a way to spend the day. Before this, we wandered the gardens of the Hotel Villa Cipressi, and dipped our toes in the lake from a (very secluded) public access.

5:00 p.m.

The beach outside our hotel

The gardens continued well down the coast. So beautiful. By the time we're up and back, however, the heat was getting to us. Our hotel pool called.

So cool. "Like swimming in a glass of water," is how I put it; no chlorine to speak of, and unheated. Sipping our Sant'Andrea poolside now, dozing off. There's talk of seeing the boardwalk in Menaggio later, or maybe tomorrow.

* * *

May 31, 2011

Definitely a muted feel to the morning. Like we've had a four-day party and this is the morning after, is how Tea put it. Strikes close to the mark, I'd say.

* * *

We're at Varenna's station now, waiting for our train to Milan. Thick black smoke blanketed the area as we started up the hill from town; looked like the station was in flames. We got the tracks in view in time to see an old-fashioned steam-powered locomotive leaving with its load. Incredible. That's a sound from film and recordings for me.

Hard to believe this is a travel day. Started walking by the lakeside, watching swans and ducks pick at yesterday's bread, discarded in the water from nearby restaurants. Then we got the ferry to Menaggio and walked its lovely boardwalk for a bit. When we got hungry, we stopped for a fantastic lunch on the lakeside patio of the Hotel Bellavista.

In Menaggio

We even caught the ferry back to Varenna in time to enjoy a glass of wine on the waterfront. Such a relaxing day -- in spite of the prospect of driving from Gatwick looming ahead of us.

* * *

On the bus now. Ah, Milan Centrale; such grandeur and beauty. It, and our train -- so, so old -- inspire romance. Well, and the kids sneaking kisses around the corners. Severgnini likes the noise of the trains, and the open windows -- for precious ventilation -- certainly permit a cacophony. He also warns us to reject this romanticism, though.

* * *

Antipasti at the Bellavista

An old man preps for surgery in the toilet. A young woman pumps her arms to an unheard beat -- to squeals of delight from the other end of her Facetime et al. conversation, judging by her smile -- half a bottle of wine to one side.

Malpensa airport is alive.

Speaking of wine, to sit down in a restaurant, and enjoy a delicious red -- oh, the wine we've had on this trip! -- and al dente pasta sounds about as far from the airport experience as one could get. And yet, here it is; able to support the number of travelers around me and then some.

These Italians are on to something: why deprive yourself, even if you have somewhere to be? There's always time.

* * *

[We've been home a few days now. Time enough to realize what an amazing trip we had; honestly, probably my favourite one to date.

The drive back was tiring and a bit stressful -- largely thanks to the closure of the A417 near Cirencester and subsequent detour to the M5 -- but, oh, the sights we saw. To have the Alps, but also the feeling that you're by the sea -- it doesn't feel like a lake -- checks two of my top-five boxes. Then to have that food, that wine and that weather... Paradise.

As usual, we have a Picasa album with more pictures from the trip. Tea has an album on Facebook as well.]

Day 3: Nymphenburg Palace and Dachau

Tea had read that breakfast at K+K is overpriced, especially considering that Café Kitchenette is just down the road. Well, it's hard to imagine how any hotel breakfast could compete with this quaint, warm, home away from home.

The owner is a gem; a fact that became apparent before drinks had been ordered, when, in response to Stephen's asking whether they served Coke Light, she emphatically replied, "No! Only good things here!" regaling us with tales of the good ol' days of something she referred to as 'afric coke'. [With the benefit of hindsight, she clearly said Afri-Cola.] Stephen switched his order to orange juice, so we never did set eyes on this elixir.

When asked for recommendations -- the menu, written in German, was a bit of a slog, even with the help of my pocket-size Getting By In German -- she speculated, "You want big breakfast? Eggs?" Satisfied with our eager nods, she said, "I'll bring out tray; then another tray."

Palace Nymphenburg

Shortly thereafter, we were presented with a three-storey centrepiece of delicious meats, including smoked salmon, prosciutto, and other cuts of ham and salami, olives, many varieties of hard and soft cheeses, melon, tart red berries we recognised but couldn't name, honey and jam, breads of all sorts, and, of course, hard-boiled eggs. By the time we packed that down, we were all getting rather full. It was at that point that she replaced our decimated tiers with a fresh one, much the same as the first, but with one of the layers replaced with dainty cups of sliced fruit topped with a ground cherry.

Delicious!

From there, it was on to Schloss (Castle, or, in this case, Palace) Nymphenburg. The great hall and all of King Ludwig's beauties were impressive -- the portraits of the latter struck me as photographs, such was their attention to lighting and detail -- but it was the English Garden that I enjoyed the most. And I loved how many local joggers there were who clearly felt the same way.

For the afternoon, we decided to head to the former concentration camp at Dachau [as it's closed on Mondays -- the next day -- and, at this point, we were thinking about spending one more day in Munich]. First, however, we stopped at the gasthaus of Würmtalhof pension for some lunch.

We were clearly the only tourists in the spot, but the owner's English, while limited, served her very well. We had a fantastic meal of various sorts of schnitzels, and then got back on the road to Dachau.

As we pulled into the parking lot, there was something about the young man posted at the simple wooden hut, in his stance, dress, and the way he waved us on with his cigarette, that was just so German, and, more importantly, military; it really set the tone for the visit.

We had a little over an hour before closing, which was still plenty of time to explore the museum and get a glimpse of what the camp's prisoners went through. Even without the pictures and commentary, standing in that vast pebbled square, surrounded by simple barracks, was enough to drag you down; down in ways that I might imagine as even worse than the physical restraints those poor people had to suffer.

"Never again" one of the plaques read. I hope so.

10:30 p.m.

We went out for Italian that evening -- Pizzeria Europa -- which felt like a little slice of said country to the south thanks to all its expat waiters. Ours was from Milan -- I think he was a bit offended when he learned we'd been to Rome, Florence, Pisa, Naples, Capri, the list goes on, but not there -- and while I couldn't comment on his German, I'd bet he rarely needs English -- which isn't a criticism, incidentally, but simply an observation on the EU in action.

Walking back to the hotel, I was feelin' no pain. While waiting outside for Stephen to grab a "bed-time Diet Coke" at the nearby McDonald's, a poster for a new burger distracted me -- it was called some four-digit number, and, upon deciding it couldn't be a year, I struggled to fathom its meaning.

Slowly it occurred to me that Tea was saying my name; at that point, I looked up, into the expectant face of a cyclist I can best describe as the German 'Bubbles'. Three, maybe four, seconds passed as we stared at one another; then, without uttering a word, he deliberately gave his bell a double ring, but made no other move. Still in a bit of a daze -- "The rest of the sidewalk's free, dude," hindsight says -- my body obeyed his command, stepping back, before my mind entirely grasped it. And so, off he went again, like he has a dozen of these encounters a day.

Up next: Salzburg, Austria

Last stop: Limonc(h)ell's, Nancy's smelts, th'land o' the golden egg...

Naples, from the back of the Brilliance

I know the title's a stretch for these lyrics, but my sixth grader's mind was stuck there thanks to the smelts.

6:20 a.m.

We're trying to decide what to do in Naples. Capri is supposed to be beautiful, but we're a bit gun shy about going far from the ship after learning that we just missed the train problems in Rome that saw a group of fellow cruisers stranded and forced to catch a flight to Santorini to meet us. That, and, after watching the news, Stephen said that the Greek protests that closed the port in Athens yesterday looked a lot like the places we went; maybe they started late in the day before. Surreal, to say the least!

6:11 p.m.

On the train to Sorrento

In the end, we decided to throw caution to the wind and take the train to Sorrento. What a wonderful voyage to what must be the lemon capital of the world. We sampled limoncello -- picking up a little bottle for Stephen's dad -- munched on lovely grapes and peaches, and finally sat down for a bit of Napoli's famous dish: pizza.

We also ran into the Amazing Race couple! They'd come by organized tour.

Sorrento

Emboldened by our early success, we then made our way down to Sorrento's breathtaking coastline and bought tickets for a ferry to Capri. We stopped for a bite at an outdoor restaurant by the wharf, while we waited for our 1 p.m. berth. Seafood dominated the recommendations, so Tea had bream, Nancy had smelts, and I had mussels in olive oil with parmesan and garlic. Stephen had lasagna, staying with the Italian theme of the morning.

Capri

Half an hour later, we were in the land of the rich and famous -- at least, as I imagine it, after ogling the yachts in Capri's harbour, and all the zeroes on the price tags in the shop windows. We took the funicular to the top, where, defying nature, it seemed even hotter than the frying pan of the streets below. After a bit of sightseeing -- and a stop in the posh pay washrooms to splash cold water around our heads -- we started back down, by the pedestrian way this time. Despite the 700 odd steps, it only took us about 15 minutes -- thankfully, there wasn't a donkey in sight -- where we caught the 4 p.m. ferry back to the port of Naples.

Rome: all excursions lead there too, it seems

Our third stop (in a row!) was Civitavecchia, and while the train ride to Rome wasn't quite as far as the one from Liverno to Florence, we still felt we needed an early start. Stephen was off the boat like a shot, grabbing the first cab, and in no time we were waiting at the station for an early commuter train to Rome.

The desolate platform (with bleary-eyed locals slowly arriving over the twenty or so minutes we waited) save for one other party from the ship -- two ladies who'd been to Rome at least twice before, and had arranged a private tour this time -- contributed to this feeling that we were on The Amazing Race; particularly when we got talking with the ladies, and were comparing the detail and quality of our maps. [We kept running into them in places that were pretty far-flung from the ship as the cruise continued; they were forever "the Amazing Race couple" in our minds, and I'll be referring to them often in the coming posts. --JJ]

There was some confusion about which stop we needed for the Vatican, but before long we were standing outside Saint Peter's Square, a little deflated at the line before us. It seemed that everyone had these yellow cards -- issued by their tour guides, which was the first time that our policy of avoiding excursions gave me pause (unnecessarily, as it turned out) -- and the terribly winding snake ending at metal detectors. Luckily, just as despair threatened to overwhelm us, an American reporter (I believe), who'd been to the Vatican many, many times, noticed our plight, and pointed to an area well off to the side of all the lines and confusion. You can just walk right into the Square! I still don't know what those people were waiting for (possibly guiding tours of the museums), but that American truly saved our bacon that day, because the line inside Saint Peter's Square, for the Basilica and the Sistine Chapel, was still very short at that hour.

The basilica was truly astounding; so much so that I almost lost my hat! I dropped it, gaping about, and were it not for a kind stranger pointing out the fact, who knows when I would've noticed it. [This is where pictures are sorely needed; soon! --JJ]

We decided to save the Sistine Chapel for our next visit, since we hadn't purchased tickets in advance and, therefore, faced a long line (and no getting around this one) by the time we'd finished in St. Peter's Basilica. Plus, time was a tickin'! On to the Spanish Steps!

On the way, we passed the impressive Castel Sant'Angelo and stopped for a snack to fortify us against the heat: what looked like fantastic pizza for Tea, Nancy and Stephen, and some candied fruit for me. (Yes, I would come to regret this.) The Steps were teeming with folks, like so many crows, and we joined in, snacking on roasted chestnuts, of all things.

Up next was Trevi Fountain; one minute you're walking through these narrow streets, then there are some statues beside you, and, presto! an enormous fountain. The pictures don't do it justice, in my opinion, because you don't feel how close and intimate it all is -- especially with all those people; so many people, and every one determined to get that picture, but in that good way that makes you feel truly alive and part of something bigger.

The Coliseum was next on our agenda, but we got turned about at Il Vittoriano, and ended up at the Theatre of Marcellus, which, I maintain, can look like the Coliseum from a distance when you're hot and tired. (O.K., maybe not, but we were really hot 'n' tired at this point -- walking Rome does that to you, incidentally; you've been warned!)

As we tried to snake our way around the Roman Forum, I lagged behind to snap a picture. As I ran to catch up, approaching a side street, in one of those last second glances, I noticed a scooter pull out from the line of cars beside me and put its signal on; I stopped up so quick that he did too, and the van behind him couldn't stop in time. The van driver was immediately out and checking on the scooter driver, who seemed to be O.K. I waited around for some time, but they ignored me, save to give me a look that would wither the healthiest May blooms when I attempted to say, "Mi dispiace."

Convinced that I wasn't needed, and certainly not wanted, I joined the group again, who, upon hearing the crash, were convinced I was done for. Then, suddenly, my head popped up amongst the parked cars. (I'd never been on the ground; their view had just been temporarily obstructed.) The best part was that we ended up backtracking around the forum anyway, and I got to take tons of pictures, all of which were better than that one that almost cost me dearly.

In the end, we made it to the Coliseum, but were so tired that we decided the outside was impressive enough. We paused for a breath, caught a cab to the train station, and were back on the ship with plenty of time to spare. What we didn't know was that the very next train to Civitavecchia (or the track itself, possibly) experienced catastrophic problems; we learned that many, many cruisers were stranded on the tracks for hours, missed the ship, and had to fly to our next stop, Santorini! [And our luck didn't end there! --JJ]

Up next: After two days at sea, beautiful Santorini, Greece -- yes, really, this time; somehow I forgot Rome, O.K.? -- with pictures... and donkeys!

Florence and Pisa

We got an early start this morning: off the ship by 7 a.m. and a quick cab ride to Liverno's train station. We were lucky all day: we never waited more than a few minutes for any train, as we rode the line all the way out to Florence, and then back to Pisa around 1 p.m., before returning to Liverno and the ship around 5 p.m.

We were a bit smug about our exploits today as we talked to people on the train and in the jacuzzi, but the truth is that I'm proud of what we accomplished on our own today. It cost people $99 each to book the Florence excursion, which basically just got them there. We got there for €13 each, plus a €20 cab fare, and then had time for a separate 'excursion' to the leaning tower of Pisa, which would've cost cruisers even more -- $188 per person for both.

And the best part was that we saw these tour guides holding up Royal Caribbean paddles throughout the day at various points; we had an equivalent experience for a fraction of the cost, and, more importantly, at our own pace.

Florence was so beautiful, and the San Lorenzo market was very impressive -- particularly the covered food market, with such eye-catching selections as octopuses, truffles and what I thought of as pig's face, but, after a quick google, what may be called careta (or Spanish for mask, I believe). The stuff of Fear Factor, either way, that last one.

Pisa's tower and cathedral were even more impressive than we'd expected -- Stephen was really taken with the tower, I think -- particularly when contrasted with the city's tough exterior of excessive graffiti [which turned out to be a reoccurring theme through most of Italy and Greece, incidentally] and heavy construction.

I'd expected Tuscany to be beautiful, but here again, as the train rolled on, the countryside really captivated me. Tea's talked about renting a villa there for a good amount of time, and I couldn't be more excited about the prospect now.

We met some great people today: our first taxi driver in Liverno was really fantastic: he had some great stories, and was very reassuring when it came to our plans for the day; he even came into the train station to explain the boards and show us where to buy tickets.

Then we shared a cab back to the ship with a group (family?) of Australians who'd left Spain when they were children. They spoke English with an Australian accent, and Spanish with a southern one. One of the guys was talking about how they taught the locals to eat and dress; that many of the staples of the Australian diet, and their styles, came directly from the Spanish immigrants of the middle of the last century. (And directly from this guy and his dad, the modest gentleman seemed to imply.)

Good times!

Up next: Roma

Venice

We decided to book a last-minute trip to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary, since we plan to be setting sail on a Mediterranean cruise with Nancy and Stephen on the actual day. As you'd expect, lastminute.com had a number of suggestions, including Venice, and so it was.

We flew out of the East Midlands airport, outside Leicester, on an afternoon flight, arriving at Marco Polo Airport (just north of Venice) that evening. One really posh boat ride later – their version of public transportation, although it felt like I was on some cheesy night-time soap about the lives of the rich and famous as I sat on comfy seats below deck, surrounded by wood paneling – up the Grand Canal and we were in San Marco/Saint Mark's Square.

Saint Mark's Basilica

Picture this: just shy of midnight; the surrounding buildings beautifully lit; a string quartet, immaculately dressed, playing to our left; couples dancing, or simply walking hand-in-hand; the water of the canal lapping in the distance behind us. It was unreal, in its most striking sense. (And then there's me, ruining the moment: “Ha, it's just like Vegas!” Curse you, Venetian hotel, for making such a lasting impression on me!)

It wasn't difficult to find our hotel from there, thanks to Tea's knack for orienting herself. We did have to rouse the night man, which was an early test of our Italian (that I failed miserably – thank goodness they get so many English tourists).

The next morning, after quickly breaking fast at the hotel, it was off to the famous Rialto market. Tea's Italian was in fine form as she bought us some cherries, grapes – such grapes! Black, and the size of plum tomatoes! Now I understand the origins of red wine – and 'acqua': it was already heating up; happily, this trend continued for most of the four days, despite the initial forecast for rain throughout.

The view off the Rialto Bridge

At that point we heeded all of our guide books and got lost for a bit. This is exceedingly easy in Venice, incidentally. Simply take a few steps in any direction, and you're unlikely to find your way back. There are many, many signs on the buildings – be they fancy plates, graffiti, or simply print-outs taped to doors – for San Marco Square and the Rialto Bridge. I have no idea how we would've made it back to our hotel each night otherwise; and I honestly don't know how tourists who aren't fortunate enough to be staying near either of those landmarks manage it.

So, yes, we got lost, taking in the wonderful architecture, our fingers sticky with juice of luscious grapes and cherries. Eventually we came upon a little shop; it looked like it was run by a father and his son. The father was in the back, making small sandwiches that the Italians call cicchetti (tapas), and he couldn't keep them in the display, the locals were snapping them up so quickly. Tea bravely waded in, ordering us two, and two glasses of Prosecco, which Venice is famous for. The son poured the latter from a carafe! I wonder whether it'd ever seen a bottle, or if it was some overflow or contraband. Delicious, in either case (and I'm not a big fan of the bubbly as a rule).

We headed back to the hotel for a nap at some point – it was the heat, not my age, I kept telling myself – and ate in a little pizzeria that evening. (You really need to make reservations in Venice. Even places you might consider middle of the road book up quickly.) It was fun, with a large family enjoying all sorts of local appetizers beside us. (I had the Quattro Stagioni, of course; very good.) Then we were off in search of a nightcap.

We aimed a little high, it seemed: before we realized it, our simple finish to the evening turned fancy. You know, when you've asked for some still water – I don't think they have tap water in Venice, by the way – the bread and olives have arrived, and then you open the menu... I mean, don't get me wrong, the cheese plate was the best I've had: a few pecorinos, a few asiagos, and other strange (but tasty) ones that I don't remember the names of and were served on spoons. This was paired with a local fortified wine. For dessert, I had fresh berries in port (hold the ice cream) and Tea had a fabulous chocolate cake of sorts. This was served with a local dessert wine called fragolino (as it's made with strawberries).

We toured Saint Mark's Basilica the following morning. It was overwhelming, really. At one point we passed a young girl sitting on the floor with a sketchbook and coloured pencils in front of her. Every surface of that basilica was a wonder, and the mosaic tiles on the floor were no exception; this girl was drawing pattern of a particular tiled area, with her mother or aunt crouched down beside her, offering colour suggestions.

Having explored a lot of the sestieri (areas) San Marco and San Polo the previous day, we then made our way to Sestiere Dorsoduro. We'd planned to spend some time in the Accademia, but it was so nice out that we decided to continue walking. Tea bought some gelato, and then we found this shaded dock that a restaurant had built out into the lagoon, facing the island of Giudecca.

We picked a corner table near the water, and spent the whole afternoon eating, drinking and enjoying the view. I had this incredible appetizer of six types of raw fish; Tea had an amazing pasta dish. For the main course, we shared a beautiful sea bass that had been caught within the hour, according to our waiter. They cooked it in salt, brought it to the table again to show us, then took it away to break that crust (with a spoon – really neat), clean it and plate it with seasonal veg. Delish! Dessert followed; then tea and espresso; and, finally, limoncello (a digestif – I liked it so much that I bought some in the airport on the way home). A great meal. We just took our time, watching the boats and ships go by – including two cruise ships, tugs in tow. It was picturesque, really.

We spent our last full day exploring Sestiere Cannaregio. Here, again, the highlight was a restaurant (surprise!). We sat outside again, by a canal that led out into the lagoon after a few hundred metres. This made for some interesting boat traffic as we ate: at one point, a boat pulled up beside two others that were parked abreast. The driver – it feels strange, using these road vehicle metaphors, but that's really the way it seems there – stepped lightly over this makeshift bridge and went into the restaurant; a few moments later he came out and retrieved two crates of vegetables from his boat, and then he was off again.

When we'd arrived, two guys had been chatting just outside the entrance to the restaurant. Partway through our meal, they stepped out on a boat that was parked directly behind us, and proceeded to pull Styrofoam trays out of chest freezer just in front of the cabin. It wasn't until black ink began to soak the plastic bags they were transferring the fish to – to say nothing of the trays themselves, or, in short order, the front of the chest freezer – that we realized we were witnessing a cuttlefish sale. We even noticed one of the patrons eating what looked like spaghetti al nero di seppia before we left.

While we weren't brave enough to order that, we did try another seafood antipasti tray. This one also included a few varieties of raw fish, and sea snails in olive oil, garlic and parsley. I believe they call it bovoletti; they give you toothpicks to work in the shells, and it really is very tasty (once you get past the texture). The highlight of the meal was definitely the primi: risotto with scampi and courgettes (zucchini); the best risotto I've ever tasted, hands down. We shared an amazing mixed grill for secondi, and finished with a limoncello (as you do).

And so, an incredible trip to Venice came to a close; my first trip, and Tea's second. It won't be our last, but we'll take in other parts of Italy before then: in a few short weeks, in fact, as our Mediterranean cruise stops in Florence, Rome and Naples!