We made a mistake on our way to Venice, and bought tickets for the water bus to get in from the airport instead of paying more for a private water taxi, which meant that we spent a long time waiting in the cold on the pier, and even longer on the somewhat creepy slow ride through the darkness, where small, abandoned-looking islands would loom up and slide past, illuminated by a construction light or two. So we didn't get to the city until around 10:30 at night. I was having intermittent sciatica attacks and could barely carry my handbag. Nellie was too tired to stand and Chris was carrying her on his back. It was very cold. Julian was announcing every three minutes that he had not had any dinner.
And yet. The four of us stumbled off the boat and into an alleyway, Chris and I peering at the map, wondering how we would find our hotel, and just like that, our traveler's misery evaporated -- the staggering beauty of Venice changed everything. The narrow streets were empty and spooky and indescribably interesting to look at and to walk in. There was a low murmur of voices in many languages, and the sound of lapping water, punctuated by cackling laughs and shouts. You can feel something like the pressure of history as you pass old palaces and cross bridge after bridge.
We went out for a late pizza, and walked from dark alleys into a lighted up square, with plenty of happy tourists still out despite the cold, and Asleep at the Wheel's Route 66 playing from somewhere.
I had thought that a treeless place overrun with tourists would not be the place for me. But I was utterly and completely wrong.
