All posts tagged: venice

Venice in the fog

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, Read More

view from arsenale

There’s something in the air

If you put your head out the window of a Venetian apartment today, and inhale deeply enough – holding the breath in your throat and your eyes firmly shut – it feels like early morning in summer. There’s something in the air. I can’t put my finger on it. Something like salt and grass, and the faint hum of a day coming to a simmer – one that promises heat. Except it’s February at midday, and the sunshine that bathes my face as I lean on the windowsill is as bright and warm and whole as it’ll ever be. And that still means wrapping up in my scarf, hat and gloves. Yet somewhere in the sinews of the air, somewhere there’s still that promise of spring. Dom’s got in the habit of chuckling at me when we go out on days like this. He says that if someone created a word cloud of the things I say most often, “fresh” and “hungry” would be at the top. And he’s right, at least in these late Read More

Venice is a peach

In January, Venice is a peach. The velvet skin of her buildings – oversaturated in the glare of summer – blushes now in this hazy light. For the most part, she is the yellow kind, her plaster blooming with red, cream, ochre, that where chipped and peeled reveals the flesh of the fruit. There are bruises too, that from afar could be mistaken for shadow. But sometimes Venice is a white peach, like in the campi at three o’clock when stark churches begin to yield to January’s haze. Their walls soften, and the pearl-like light casts shadows of pink and quietens the darkness from their door. Here it is like the fruits are ripening, and soon spring will tease the nectar from them and we will bask in those sweet Venetian afternoons once more. On days like this, wrap up warm and walk to Fondamenta dei Ormesini in Cannaregio. The best bars (Al Timon, Paradiso Perduto, Birreria Zanon) will be stirring from their January holidays by now, and in the early afternoon the light will Read More