I’m going to be honest here, our initial thoughts of Venice were of crazed tourists clogging the canal paths, over-priced hotels (and food)…and maybe even a few sacrifices being ruthlessly shoved into the canals (cliff hanger, you’ll find out if it’s true later…) by rabid tourists whilst they tried to take yet another selfie! Just. Pure. Carnage. The last bit was probably a bit dramatic (well, we thought). However, these were the reviews I’d heard from friends who had visited this iconic destination in the peak of summer frenzy. On my lengthy travel list, Venice was in the higher rankings. As much as I wanted to visit, the thought of those heaving, lawless tourist crowds whipped me into an anxious sweat.

So, our workaround? An Italian road trip in winter. Ding ding, first stop Venice. We hadn’t actually planned on visiting Venice for the Carnival, so this was a beautiful accident. It was after having a nosey into what adventures Venice had to offer that I was delighted to discover we’d hit the first weekend of the carnival. Wait, crowds… and… breathe… At least these crowds would have a purpose, right? Plus, carnivals attracted generally fun crowds. I felt like this was going to be a good way to get a proper cultural experience. We’d only had the joy of seaside carnivals in the UK, with floats and parades and cheers and beers. Some of my favourite childhood memories were born there.

The world famous Carnevale di Venezia has two rumours associated with its origin. The first, being that it began in 1162 as a celebration of the downfall of their rival, the Patriarchate of Aquileia (Ulrich II). The second, is that it was a festivity for the lead up to Lent, as it begins two weeks beforehand each year. Either way, it seemed to have erupted in 1162 and from then on Venetians have been ferociously loyal to tradition. That passion has charged forward through the centuries. You can feel it in the atmosphere of the festival. Nothing else will do for the oldest carnival in the world!

Joyous laughter and splashes of colour flooded into the bus as the doors opened, pulling us outside like a magnet. We’d just arrived at the Venice Tronchetto Bus station. A beautiful sea of delicately decorated masks with pops of colour and life engulfed us. Blank, pale, porcelain masks (Volto masks) with bold black eyeliner stared back. Some had leaf and feather crowns embellished with glitter and jewels which softened the blank faces. With each turn a new mask presented itself, all expressions and interpretations of human faces. Mocking smiles and frown from commedia dell’arte masks, a plague doctor mask and many more. Each one had a story behind it, we later found out. One man proudly claimed they were specific to each region of Italy and came with matching costumes.

The Volto masks have been used since the Middle Ages, particularly for socialising. While laws regulated masks, it was fine to wear them during certain events, meaning everyone could have a taste of anonymity. Whether it be gambling, drinking or attending a ball who knows who you could be talking to… In total, people were permitted to wear masks for almost half the year, but only for certain events of course.

A multicultural fusion of people, children and parents buzzed with excitement. Although the winter carnival attracts a bump of tourism in the low season, it’s still half the amount of domestic and international arrivals compared to high season (summer months) on average. Wide-eyed with curiosity and buzzing from the energy around us, we were guided by the determined crowd to the Constitution Bridge (Ponte della Costituzione). And then, there it was: Venice in winter carnival swing, in the crisp air and under a healthy, young-looking sky; the salty smells of the Adriatic Sea weaving through the main canals, crooked corners and people.

As the wide street from the bridge led us towards the train station (Piazzale Roma), the rumblings of drums in the distance reverberated through the ground. The sense of anticipation crackled with invisible electricity. My senses were on high alert from the brisk morning air and teasing sounds of celebrations. For most, this was where people’s celebrations would begin. The centre point for a bubbling pot of emotions and expectations. I couldn’t help my expectations dovetailing with theirs. In my mind I’d imagined floats and entertainment bursting from every corner. A sensation overload caused by the constant presence of a hard-to-avoid party (albeit probably Renaissance style) wherever you went.

Perhaps my expectations were right… Sweeping Renaissance dresses and carnival masks began to emerge everywhere along the rainbow confetti-lined streets, further intensifying my excitement for what was in store. My expectations were anchored to my childhood memories of the seaside carnivals back home – massive floats parading, free live music on the main town green and everyone laughing with maybe too many beers chugged, sunshine and happiness. Of course, here the vino would probably be drunk in larger quantities than the beer!

We made our way down Rio Tera’ lista di spagna, a cobbled street right out of a fairytale to find our hotel. Spiralled lanterns dangled above the street and quaint Venetian buildings lined up picture perfect, curving up the street. If you ever want to feel like you’re in a period piece drama, this is the place! Rampant commercialism and tat may have swamped much of Venice’s centre like a bad smell from the canals but it was refreshing to find parts of the city that weren’t affected by it. As we zig- zagged through back streets and enchanting communal courts, the crowds began to thin out like mist on a brightening morning, and the space to breathe drew wider.

Our stay was booked at Hotel Tre Archi, next to the ‘Ponte dei Tre Archi’ (you guessed it, Three Arch Bridge). It looked incredibly traditional; we later found out it’s a restored 18^th century palace. That explains a lot! You couldn’t get more Venice, paradoxically, without playing into Venetian stereotypes; it kept its dignity and roots. Although it seemed like the real deal, its past was illusive and we struggled to find out anything more about it.

With time to kill before check-in, we dropped off our bags, then found ourselves going dangerously adventurous to a bar next door. Sandwiches and coffee for breakfast? Yes please! Bar Al Molo hit the spot. All in all we paid 20 euros including a tip. As a veggie I’d prepared myself for cheese and tomato being the only option. The lady who was working definitely enjoyed looking after people. I love seeing people who actually enjoy hospitality, it’s a tough gig. If staff are happy, it usually means it’s a decent place to work. Everything about that sandwich was delicious. And yet, when we asked what type of sandwich was, we were given a shrug and a giggle with ‘sandwich!’. Chef’s improv sandwich? Must be. Whatever she was doing, she was winning. The bread wasn’t just bread, it was a big Italian plaited bagel. Bountiful amounts of succulent, delicious tomatoes decorated the rim and it had a devilish amount of provolone cheese on it. It meant business. My partner felt the exact same, there was nothing but silence when we ate. We had reached an elusive transcendence, the sort you feel when you’re eating a meal, served with genuine enthusiasm, that nourishes the body and mind. There was nothing left to say and small talk would have tainted the experience. Who says fasting is the route to Nirvana!

Bellies full and content, we meandered along the canal side towards the buzz. We passed modest local wineries and tobacconists, tucked away under canopies. With one turn down a street, the crowds abruptly exploded ten-fold. Laughter arose, people were sneakily attacked with confetti bombs over their heads (turns out this is a fun tradition). We wandered and wandered, stumbling across church after church. As the crowds sucked us toward the city centre the music began to float on the wind like a siren call. Every so often you’d pass a street and there’d be an eruption of music from buskers. All the way from a man dressed in hi-vis playing techno on plumbing pipes, to a quartet playing Venetian Classical waltzes. Away from the techno and into this little pocket of a classical concert, costumed couples spurred up to dance to it. It was bold magic, maybe what Shakespeare had in mind when he wrote ‘If Music be the food of love, play on’, the opening lines of Twelfth Night, which was set in a land on the shores of the Adriatic, not unlike Venice. The crowds watching were entranced and when it finished claps would erupt from us to thank them for the moving performance.

Eventually we stumbled upon the Rialto Bridge, the oldest bridge in the city. It was seen as one of the great achievements of the Renaissance period (completed in 1591). Since then it’s been partly burnt and has collapsed twice in its history! Antonio da ponte, an architect who seems was destined for this job given his name (ponte is bridge in Italian), was commissioned for the task. It was originally built so there was access between the two sides of Venice, and to the Rialto market, the economic heart of Venice. From a distance it was undoubtedly eye-catching, but wow, going onto it was something else. In the centre of the bridge there were steps tapering up it, each side lined with gelato and boutique shops. Fairy lights hung from side- to-side, creating a glimmer of mini daytime stars. The shops were gorgeous to look at but a pretty penny to spend inside.

The magic spell was broken quickly, however. Getting a view out onto the Grand Canal from the top was not my favourite, let’s just say. It was like warfare. Warfare we actively avoid. We were reminded why we stayed away from touristy areas. After genuinely nearly being shoved into the Grand Canal a few times from warriors with selfie sticks, we escaped to the streets with sacred peace below!

Soon we were walking next to the Gondola dock, passing smiling and laughing gondoliers. I loved how much laughter there was. They seemed like the type of people you’d want to go for a pint with. We saw excited tourists loading themselves into the boats followed by lovers bashfully snuggling up together. We ended up succumbing to the charm the next morning and taking a gondola ride before we had to leave. I understood why it was a must on the bucket list. With the first light of the morning our charming gondolier paddled us through the quiet, calm canals. Its spiders web of passages shrunk and grew at each turn. Most of them were named after the historical events of the area. We passed through the Rio della Misericordia which meant the Canal of Mercy. The neighbourhood was historically known for being home to a charitable organisation that provided aid for the poor and disregarded community in the area.

Occasionally a fellow gondolier would sail side by side, with laughter and banter being exchanged between the two. We chatted, laughed and took in the sights. Our gondolier told us of the locals having to move out for the city that accommodates tourism, with the high season becoming the definition of over-tourism. This made us sad of course, he’d come from a line of Venetians who had lived there for a staggering amount of centuries. It’s a difficult trade off, accommodating tourists for your livelihood but having to move further and further away.

I could imagine a week later on Valentine’s Day the city would be filled with love. It seemed like they took Valentine’s Day very seriously here. I guess it’d be an insult to history if they didn’t, given it was Saint Valentine’s home country. Although it was the Winter Carnival, centre streets and alleyways were lined with fairy lights and floaty string hearts above, or carefully drawn over shop windows. It’s nice to see a holiday other than Christmas (for us) being properly celebrated.Being a two week festival there isn’t a public holiday for it, however it is a public event with some businesses choosing to close up for it.

Our curiosity-led walks finally paid off. We’d found it! The Epicentre of the carnival – Piazza San Marco. We were met with a massive tidal wave of Renaissance, masquerade and Baroque style costumes. There are several ateliers you can visit to hire gowns but many are appointment only. They become highly in demand especially with ball goers. We later found out from an Italian festival-goer that people come from far and wide, with some fashioning their traditional regional dress in specific ways. Each ball gown is hand tailored. There were regal red and gold ball gowns and capes with boastful feathers spilling out above masks, crisp and ethereal like white ball gowns and people dressed up in random costumes. We found the flower power crew, who went around throwing flower confetti and many more.

We could see the main stage up ahead but it seemed like we’d missed the big party, the atmosphere was an experience though. We wanted to soak it up and tried to seek the perfect spot for a pint in the square. We were definitely punching above our purses with our budget. We should’ve guessed from the look of the place. Caffe Chioggia had grand pillars like a colosseum, stretching towards the sky with intricately detailed stone arches towering above the venue. Its outside seats sprawled out uniformly and the staff seemed incredibly attentive and dressed to the nines. We felt awful leaving… it was definitely not within our travel budget. If we had more money I’m sure it would be incredible to go there. There was no particular event being held there but you could tell the grandeur of it was enough of a daily event itself.

We weaved our way back to the hotel, finding ourselves traipsing through unbelievably packed alleys, with the Italian police guiding foot traffic and trying not to get squashed themselves. Able to breathe again, we found ourselves at our hotel ready to check in.

Our room was gorgeous, I couldn’t believe the value for money. I wondered if it was having to compete with something that like Air BnB or a local version, which seems to be pushing up rent everywhere (another reason I moved from Edinburgh). As much as money generally doesn’t go too much to the big man with it, I still dislike what it’s doing. To be quite honest, our room looked like a small palace chamber with the décor trying to downplay its beauty.

The room had beautiful arched windows with wooden shutters looking out onto the ‘Canale di Cannaregio’ canal. Exactly how I’d imagined staying in Venice. We were tempted to just relax in our room after our early start but our bodies told us we needed lunch. A lazy stroll lead us to the Trattoria al poggio, at the mouth to the party path to town by one of the larger Venetian bridges, Ponte delle Guglie. We couldn’t believe the reams of carnival goers still flooding into the city. I got one of the best americanos I’ve had in a while as I was still full from the monster gourmet sandwich we had earlier on. I felt spoiled as a coffee lover and Ed had a cappuccino to the waiter’s disgust as it was past mid day (we had not read up the Italian food etiquette yet). The staff were only jokey though, and all of them were attentive and lovely. We also decided to indulge in some pistachio cannolis, seeing as we were in Italy. I can 100% say for sure, there’s a very good reason why people love Italian pastries and coffees. In total we paid about 10 euros, not bad for tourist city at all!

Following our afternoon perk-up, we found the street with vendors, selling carnival masks, keyrings, tourist tokens and much more. I wanted to buy all of the masks, they were beautiful! Each had its own colour palette of bold, invigorating colours, lined with glitter or grand feathers. Although they weren’t handmade they still felt like alright quality at 15 euros. There weren’t authentic Venetian masks made of cartapesta (paper mache) but there were actual Venetian mask shops, selling from modestly priced to high end peacock-like masks costing up to 200 euros.

The afternoon was swallowed up by sightseeing and happy conversations about all things far and wide. One of the many things I love about our relationship is the ease of just being with each other and natural flow of conversation. Venice is said to be one of the most romantic cities, I can see where that comes from but I personally felt other places (like Verona, for example) were more romantic. It’s still a great city to visit as a couple as it’s more than accommodating. At the same time it’s not too cringey or pressurey and doesn’t make you feel like the odd one out if you’re a single or a family on holiday. Personally I feel it’s too touristy to be romantic, unfortunately.

We got stopped off for a pit stop for some Aperol Spritz’s (how could we not in Italy) at Teraferma. It was happy hour and we definitely couldn’t sniff at the price… it certainly made us happy! The decor reassured us that it was trying to keep to its authentic Italian roots, rather than succumb to being touristy in such a tourism-driven place. It was calm but also enjoyable as easy laughter vied with quiet spells. One thing I noticed was it was hard to tell who was local, with such a big event going on. I could imagine this still being a nice spot for a drink when the buzz fizzled out. The staff were also lovely. We asked about any parties or events happening from one of the students who was working there; they said at the moment there wasn’t really much going on. There was an opening ceremony but we were in the second week and, also, here on a Sunday. It was mostly just people going to the square with their costumes and chatting, taking photos, setting off confetti etc. I felt a little disappointed we hadn’t found any events going on, I’d tried to look on the Venice Winter Carnival website as well, but it just directed you to a few museums you can go to any time. We ran out of time to visit them as we wanted to be on the look out for anything happening that wouldn’t happen again. I had in my mind there would be performances, live music, anything! I later found out you can go to ticketed balls, Renaissance style. There were also performances, however they were on at certain times. A Sunday wasn’t the wildest day to go to a carnival. I suspect people used it to nurse hangovers and just do nothing.

I’d heard some enticing things about the Venice Jazz Club but when we tried to swing (no pun intended) by it was shut. It wasn’t meant to be this time.  Although we didn’t find too much going on it was enough ambling about and taking in the atmosphere. We only had a day in Venice so we were never going to get the full experience!

The sky started to become a palette of orange, pink and blue hues as the sun began to drop. It was our cue to get away from the craziness.  We ambled through a more residential area of Cannaregio. This seemed like the real Venice, tucked away from the craziness and touristy centre. I’m not sure how the residents would feel if people increasingly sought refuge here from the full-on festivities, however. Benches and trees on Fondamenta Sacca San Girolamo looked out onto the vibrant blue lagoon reaching ahead to the mainland, a sight people took in as they chilled on the benches, cans in their hands. It felt still and calm but not isolated, very much connected. We sat there for a while watching the sky change and morph and the street lanterns click on one by one. And just as we’d settled into this little slice of heaven… we noticed a big fat cruise ship in the lagoon. I was gobsmacked. How did it fit? Is it allowed that close? I feel as though small waves could cause havoc on this precious island city let alone a cruise ship coming to park up next to it. I felt a little sad seeing this. This was a stark reminder that Venice has slowly become a performing tourist theme park and I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.

Having had our moment of peace from the craziness, we decided to eat. We found ourselves an arancini ball’s throw from the hotel at Agli Archi, a Venetian restaurant with tables right next to the canal. The night sky loomed over us and glowing street lanterns illuminated the ancient buildings up and down the canal – I’m not sure words could do justice to the image and the sensations but it felt like they would have inspired many of Venice’s famous artists (the most famous being Giovanni Antonio Canal  -a.k.a. ‘Canaletto). In the distance we could hear the sound of jazz floating in the air towards us. That’s an atmosphere I won’t forget. We had the Italian classics, a glass of Soave (light and refreshing) and a Peroni (not quite a Venetian beer but acceptable nonetheless), a margherita pizza and a sea bass for Ed. The Margherita fit in well with the northern Italian thin crusts, compared to thicker, bubblier crusts in the south. The food was fairly tasty and definitely fresh, which is always a win. Scandalously, it wasn’t the tastiest Italian food I’d had though. We had another drink at the restaurant, totalling our bill at around 80 euros including a tip, before hitting the hay as the city started to wind down. There were a long couple of days ahead of us and we wanted to make the most of every second of them.