A Walk to Discover Romantic Venice
Where else could I possibly start writing about Italy than with romantic Venice? And with what else than my early morning walk through the empty streets and alleys of this enchanting city.
Like so many before, I fell victim to Venice’s spell on a wet, dreary morning while most everyone else around me slept. The only people I encountered were other tourists unable to sleep and canal workers shipping the day’s goods for us all to enjoy later on.
This is the story of those early morning hours in the City of Canals.
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Arrival in Romantic Venice
It starts the day before with our arrival into Venice. It was 10:00 a.m. local time, 4:00 a.m. where we flew in from just eight hours earlier. I was tired but too excited about finally arriving in Italy to notice.
That first day was a whirlwind. I remember being in awe of everything, and yet, much of it feels like a hazy memory. It’s almost as if it a dream. In a way, that isn’t too far off. I had dreamt about coming to Italy for as long as I could remember. I grew up among family and friends with a strong Italian heritage where I heard the language, ate the food, and read the history. Now, here I was.
This felt like a homecoming. But Venice was already different from what I expected of Italy. Where was the green countryside with its burnt orange villas? Where were the Roman ruins? And why was it so gray, wet and cold? I knew Venice would be unique from the rest of Italy, but I didn’t expect it to feel almost like its own country, separate from the picture of Italy I had in my head.
The other reason it felt like a dream is much more based in cold hard human physiology. I was running on adrenaline that shrouded just how exhausted I was. I remember the sights and sounds from that first day. However, I also remember falling asleep over my first Aperol spritz and then barely making it through dinner.
It wasn’t until the next morning that I would really come to appreciate Venice and her many charms.
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Early to Bed, Early to Rise
With a lackluster dinner in the books, one of only two during our whole trip in Italy, and the first of many gelatos accounted for, we returned to our hotel for an early bedtime.
The early bedtime meant I was awake at 5:45 a.m. I was looking forward to this, though. It meant I had about two hours to myself to explore Venice. No tourists, no locals, no Michelle. I was almost entirely alone to have its sights to myself and go wherever my whims took me.
I showered away the grime of airplane and train travel, got dressed and then was off, little knowing what lay ahead in this slowly decaying city.
There were a couple loosely formed goals in mind as I set out into the early morning hours. The first was to get some photos of St. Mark’s Basilica and its accompanying campanile without the hordes of tourists.
My second goal was to find Palazzo Contarini del Bovolo. We had tickets to ascend the staircase of this former palace at 10:00 a.m. This meant I had to know how to get there. As this palazzo is known to be difficult to find, this was a good way to keep my walk at least somewhat focused.
Don’t forget to take a look at my 2-day Venice itinerary to help plan your trip!
Walking to Piazza San Marco
So, at 6:30 a.m., while Michelle continued to snooze off her jet lag, I was off. I walked out of the hotel to be greeted by gray skies and a penetrating drizzle that had taken hold of Venice during our short time there.
After a couple minutes, I was at one of the Grand Canal’s main docks. San Giorgio Maggiore and its lonely church were across the canal from me and the southern facade of the Doge’s Palace just over my right shoulder. Already I could tell this morning would have a different feel to it than yesterday’s adrenaline-fueled romp through town.
It dawned on me for the first time how grand and magnificent everything was. Here I was actually in Italy walking among some of the most famous buildings and squares in the world. Even fully awake now, it was still a little surreal.
I walked past the two stone columns at the entrance to Piazza San Marco, one with the winged lion of the Republic of Venice adorning its top and the other with St Theodore standing atop an alligator, and thought about the past. These columns would have been the first thing visiting dignitaries would have seen while being received by the doge of the time. Now, centuries later, here I was, no one of importance doing the same entrance. Not for the last time, the history that these roads and monuments have seen began to hit me.
After pondering the history seen by these two monoliths, I made my way into Piazza San Marco. The cold wind slowly picked up in intensity, yet I barely noticed it.
I was mere feet away from seeing something I had dreamed of for as long I can remember. We all have these locations we dream of seeing one day. Something we can remember vaguely hearing about as a child that sticks with us. It lingers in our mind for countless years. Always there, reminding us of its existence, steadily building up its esteem in our minds till it seems like something that can barely exist, at least not in the way we have framed it within ourselves.
These dreams are different for each person. For me, many of them existed in Italy. They are sites of cultural beauty and historical significance. Grand constructions built by people centuries removed from us to show off their power and wealth. One of these things was right here, standing mere steps away from me.
And then there it was. The towering campanile and St. Mark’s Basilica with its onion domes there in all their glory with the massive Piazza San Marco stretching 590 feet away to the west. Flanking the piazza on its other three sides were arched arcades containing various boutiques, cafes and a museum. Relatively plain, these arcades performed their task well: inexorably drawing my attention towards the basilica and belltower.
I was afraid I’d be let down. I was concerned that I had built this square up to be too big in my mind and that it could not possibly live up to what I imagined. It turned out I had nothing to worry about.
I stood there in awe of St. Mark’s Basilica for far longer than was probably necessary by any rational thought. Even the gloomy sky and rain couldn’t dampen its ornate exteriors. There was no sun, and yet they still seemed to shine in my mind.
I would return to Piazza San Marco a few more times before we left the next day. Nonetheless, it was this first time as the rain came down upon my head and it was just the basilica and me that I remember most dearly.
From One Icon to Another
I expected, perhaps naively, Piazza San Marco to be the highlight of my early morning wander. That after the basilica and campanile, everything else would seem like little more than filler in this floating city. Despite that, I eagerly set out to see what else I could find as I searched for Palazzo Contarini del Bovolo.
My expectations were proven wrong almost immediately upon exiting the piazza through its northern arcade. Shortly after passing through what must be a busy pedestrian way during the day, I was greeted by an unexpected sight: a docking zone for about 20 of Venice’s famous gondolas.
I was thrilled to see so many in this single canal as this was essentially my first exposure to these symbols of the city due to the rain keeping them away the day before. Because they were docked, I was also able to admire their slender craftmanship without interruption.
I admired the gondolas’ craftwork for a few minutes before moving on to the next stop, whatever that would be.
It turned out to be the Rialto Bridge.
I saw the Rialto Bridge yesterday, swarmed with people despite the driving rain. At that time, it was interesting if only for the fact that I knew it should be interesting. That morning, however, was different.
With no people around it was a much more personal experience. It felt as if I was in the center of Venice all by myself.
If Piazza San Marco is Venice’s cultural center, Rialto Bridge is her commercial center. Vaporetti took small numbers of locals and backpackers from one end of the island to the other. Ferries went to and fro with goods for the day. The odd tourist came and went for their picture with the Grand Canal. It was a quick glance into how this watery city functions.
When I next return, if that day comes, who knows what this canal will look like. From rising seas to decaying building fronts, Venice is a constantly changing creature. I made sure to take as many mental notes as I could in those several minutes. I breathed in the air and looked wistfully at the canal in either direction before moving on.
Even when I came back later in the day with Michelle, the magic of the moment was gone. There were too many boats in the water and too many people crowding the bridge. It was simply not the same.
Wandering Venice’s Romantic Streets
Rialto Bridge would be the last well-known sight I saw on my walk. From here, it was a much more intimate experience as I wandered through Venice’s narrow passageways.
My halfhearted search for Palazzo Contarini del Bovolo continued, but what I ended up finding instead was the soul of Venice. Prior to leaving for Italy, I read several things saying the best thing to do in Venice was to “get lost.” I don’t think I truly understood what that meant till that misty Saturday morning.
Every turn, new square and small alley revealed a new part of Venice to me, as if I were wiping away layers of dirt from overtourism. I tried to walk down every passageway no matter how dark or narrow to discover what lay at its end. Often, the answer was nothing more than an abrupt end of the road, where my next step took would lead me straight into the canal. I imagined centuries-old lovers rendezvousing here to quietly slip away in a gondola for a romantic tryst. In this setting, making up stories like that was not difficult.
Other passages led only to more passages which eventually opened into small squares typically dominated by some combination of cafes, a church and shops with a more local flair than those seen in the more touristy zones. At this point in the morning, locals were starting their day. I saw Italian nonnas opening their windows to catch the latest goings-on below, well-dressed men and women heading to work, and the cafes filling with Venetians for their morning espresso. I wondered what they must have thought of me, clearly American with my gym shorts, in their space so early in the morning.
And yet some passages would take me to a different type of end of the road, opening up into small residential squares where the tourists only accidentally roam. I lingered longest in these areas, admiring the homes and the religious ornamentation on the outer walls. If the heart of Venice is its grandiose constructions and opulent palazzos, here was its soul. The people who have chosen to live their life here despite living on a slowly sinking island where they are inundated daily by tourists driving up the cost of living.
The convoluted passageways made it feel like I had walked for miles. It felt like I had seen so much of Venice even while knowing I barely scratched its surface.
Finding Palazzo Contarini del Bovolo
After an hour of aimless wandering, it was time to find what I set out for. I could have kept walking, but, alas, we had plans.
Now that I had experienced Venice’s streets for myself, I believed what people said about how hard it is to find Palazzo Contarini del Bovolo. There were signs on the buildings indicating which direction to turn for the Rialto Bridge, the Accademia Bridge and San Marco. I knew there was a sign for Contarini del Bovolo, I only had to find it.
Eventually, by some divine intervention, I found my first sign! It wanted me to turn left. As fate would have it, this took me to a square I had already walked through a few times on my walk. Unfortunately, this square had several exits but no more signs for the palazzo!
I took the darkest passage first; this lead nowhere. The next three were equally unsuccessful. One went into another square with even more exits. I explored some of these before thinking I should go back to the square indicated by the first sign. I might have been annoyed except every wrong turn lead to more Venetian beauty.
Back in the first square, I took the passage that seemed most likely to lead nowhere. Of course, this was the way to go. At its end, there was another sign to turn left for the palazzo.
Here was another, even narrower passageway. At the end, I could see some residences, an old cistern covered in someone’s potted plants, and a black fence to the right. Another wrong turn. Still, the plants covering the cistern looked pretty, so I figured I’d check this small square out.
The space opened up more than what was apparent while I was still in the small alley. I walked up to the cistern to take in the square. When I turned around to leave – there it was!
It seemed to spring up out of nowhere. This spiral staircase was there in the corner of this unassuming residential square like a rose in the desert. Perhaps it was the reward of the search, but the palace and its staircase were even more stunning than I expected with its alternating red bricks and white stone archways. It was delicate and grand all at once.
It was only a staircase, but it seemed to be the perfect icon for the city of Venice. Beautiful but slowly, quietly eroding away with the sands of time. Intricately designed at 90-feet high. It felt decadently mysterious tucked into this small corner of the city.
Here is my full write-up on Palazzo Contarini del Bovolo!
The Romance of Venice
That was that.
After nearly two hours, it was time to go back to the hotel to start a busy day of sightseeing. With my walk at an end, I felt like I knew Venice better than I ever would from seeing the museums and religious houses. I also felt, perhaps a bit selfishly, as if the city and myself had some bond now, however loose and ill-defined, that most tourists don’t come away with.
People know Venice for the world-famous Piazza San Marco and the hundreds of canals that meander through her boundaries. I came away from that morning knowing that Venice is much more than these physical constructs, delightful as they may be. It is mysterious and decadent, timeless yet slowly disappearing. It is endless passageways that sometimes lead to nothing and other times to such stunning squares that they seem to come directly from an artist’s hand.
Venice is there to be fallen in love with if you only take the time to understand it.
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