I thought that Venice in winter would be foggier. Or rather, I’d hoped it would. When I visited the city a handful of winters ago, the fog that rose from the Lagoon in the mornings seemed as habitual as the late night high tide in Piazza San Marco. I remember watching Venetians move unflinchingly through the mist and the damp to buy their fish, or to trudge towards work, stopping in a bar for a coffee on the way. Venice, it seemed to me, was a city of water and marble and fog.
So when I came here in November, I waited for the foggy mornings, except they never came – or at least never caught them. We had Acqua Alta (only the once – both a blessing and curse in a way), we had belting sunshine, mild damp, the odd storm, and of course bitter cold. Yet no proper fog.
Then a couple of weeks ago, I woke up to a bedroom lit by only the finest veil of dawn. Behind the thin curtains, I could sense the air was thick and the day only just there. I got up quickly, pulled on my jeans and went outside.
I’m really glad that I did. Here are some of the photographs from my walk, before I ducked into Pasticceria Alla Bragora to warm my hands on a coffee. I go from Ruga Giuffa to the belly of the fish, or Arsenale. You can barely see the Lagoon, but it was there, somewhere. The occasional foglight of a passing vaporetto told me so.