Arriving in Venice

It’s any other flight; you have eaten the complimentary sandwich and drank the complimentary wine, made yourself as comfortable as possible and settled down with a book.  The occasional glance out of the window reminds you that you are going somewhere and the carpet of clouds protects the privacy of the Earth.  Suddenly, the clouds disappear and you find yourself staring, open-jawed at the snow-covered Alps.  They appear to stretch into infinity and you find yourself a million miles from the dull greyness of Heathrow airport.  You see lakes gently strolling past and even catch a sneak preview of Lake Garda.  The thrill of travel and exploration begins to seep into your body.

The rugged mountains soon give way to countryside and it is not long before you see the Adriatic Sea coming to meet you.  As the plane descends, you are introduced to the Venetian Lagoon, littered with tiny islands.  Before long, you make out the outline of Venice itself; slightly fish-shaped, but otherwise, any other island.  As the plane creeps closer, magnificent towers take shape, hinting at what is waiting for you.

You blink and it is gone.  As the sea beckons you downwards, you are introduced to the grey-brown featureless landscape surrounding Marco Polo airport.  As you land, the thrill is gone, replaced by that familiar tedium of traipsing through the airport, passport at the ready and hoping that you luggage has actually made it onto your plane.   Relieved, as your trusted suitcase approaches you on the conveyor, you head for the exit, waiting to see what awaits you.

As you walk towards the vaporetto boarding area, doubts begin to cloud your mind.  Where am I?  Where is the beautiful city I was promised?  Are we really crossing the lagoon in that old boat?  After passing the small island with the quaint house, you are greeted by the old run-down buildings of any other city.  Old, disused boatyards mingle with cranes that appear to be on a constant lunch break.  But the important thing is that you trust your wife, your patience will be rewarded!

The first few bus stops pass by and you look back at the complicated spaghetti of floating motorways, marked out by wooden posts.  The boat turns around and you find yourself staring straight at the towers of Piazza San Marco and San Giorgio Maggiore.  Without realising, your camera is in your hand and you are transfixed by this beautiful view.  You start to feel the magic of this most bewitching of cities.

The vaporetto chugs on towards San Marco and your eyes sweep the horizon, drinking it all in as though it will disappear at any minute.  You chatter excitedly with your wife as you draw ever closer to the island.  Everyone on the boat is on their feet as the boat pulls into San Zacarria, Piazza San Marco.  Clutching your bag, you reach the front of the boat to be told this is not actually the stop for Piazza San Marco.  To the puzzlement of the on-looking locals a group of red-faced tourists return to their seats.

After five minutes, you arrive at the real San Marco.  The earlier embarrassment is not even a memory as you drift past souvenir stands overflowing with Carnival masks and magnets.  You look to your right and see San Giorgio Maggiore floating on the horizon.  You look to your left and see the busy Piazza San Marco.  Even with scaffolding covering some of the intricate buildings in the Piazza, you know that this is a city like none other.