Gondola Dreams in Venice

Buongiorno from La Serenissima, my romantically inclined readers! I've arrived in Venice, the impossible city built on water, and I'm happy to report that it's every bit as magical as the postcards suggest. Streets replaced by canals. Cars replaced by boats. Logic replaced by whatever fever dream convinced medieval Venetians to build on 118 tiny islands connected by 400 bridges. As a desert cactus, I should hate all this water. Instead, I'm completely enchanted. Venice breaks the rules and looks beautiful doing it.

Let's address the gondola situation immediately: yes, they're expensive. Yes, they're touristy. Yes, you should absolutely do it anyway. I booked an evening ride through the smaller canals, away from the Grand Canal crowds, and it was worth every euro. The gondolier, dressed in the traditional striped shirt, navigated narrow waterways where buildings rose directly from the water, their reflections rippling beneath us. Laundry hung from windows. Cats watched from doorways. Music drifted from hidden courtyards. For thirty minutes, I understood what it meant to live in a city that exists outside of normal rules.

Beyond the gondolas, I discovered the Venetian art of "bacari hopping"—moving from tiny wine bar to tiny wine bar, sampling cicchetti (Venetian tapas) and spritzes along the way. The cicchetti are displayed on the counter: small toasts topped with creamed cod, marinated anchovies, meatballs, artichoke hearts, whatever the chef feels like that day. You point, they serve, you stand at the counter eating while locals discuss politics and soccer. A spritz costs €3. Three cicchetti costs €5. This is the most affordable way to eat well in Venice, and it's how Venetians have been doing it for centuries.

Getting lost in Venice isn't just likely—it's mandatory. The city is a labyrinth of narrow calli (alleys) that twist, turn, and dead-end at canals. GPS helps somewhat, but I found the best experiences by putting my phone away and wandering. A wrong turn led me to a tiny square where children played soccer against a crumbling pink wall. Another wrong turn revealed a glassblowing studio where the artisan was creating delicate figures in a furnace-hot room. Venice reveals itself to those who stop trying to navigate it efficiently.

The crowds are real—Venice gets thirty million tourists a year on a landmass of five square kilometers—but they concentrate in predictable areas: St. Mark's Square, the Rialto Bridge, the main thoroughfares. Walk five minutes in any direction, and suddenly you're alone on a quiet canal with only pigeons and your thoughts for company. I spent an entire afternoon in the Dorsoduro neighborhood, eating gelato (had to continue my research), drinking coffee at canal-side cafes, and watching boats deliver groceries to waterfront doors. Life here requires everything to arrive by boat. It's wonderfully impractical.

If you visit Venice, stay overnight. The day-trippers leave by evening, and the city transforms into something quieter, more intimate. Take a gondola at dusk when the light is golden. Hop bacari like a local. Accept that you'll get lost and consider it part of the experience. And don't worry about checking off tourist sites—Venice itself is the attraction. Just existing here, walking these impossible streets, watching water do the work of roads, is enough. Sometimes a place is so beautiful that simply being there is the whole point. 🌵🚣🇮🇹