"...we darted through the darkness in hidden alleyways, crossed time-worn bridges and passed glittering canals. Little did I know at this point that Venice already had me under its spell."
A good luck kiss, a flick of a wrist and my application letter to the Peggy Guggenheim Collection was Venice-bound. I told myself it was up to Italy – the land of pizza, pasta, wine and disgustingly good art – to decide whether or not I was worthy enough of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Three months later, the heavens aligned. I was moving to Venice for three months to be an intern at one of the world’s most beloved museums. No matter how hard I tried it never sunk in. Me: someone who had learned to love art only through yellowing old textbook images would soon be a mere 30 centimeters away from a real Picasso.
I arrived in Venice in the early hours of the morning where Enrico, my flatmate-to-be was standing in the middle of Piazzale Roma to ensure I didn’t miss him. Beyond this busy square of buses, taxis and street merchants selling kitsch souvenirs, I finally saw glimpses of the city that I had dreamed about endlessly. With my suitcase rumbling against the cobblestones behind me we darted through the darkness in hidden alleyways, crossed time-worn bridges and passed glittering canals. Little did I know at this point that Venice already had me under its spell.
I’ll never forget the moment I opened the curtains of my bedroom the next morning. Looking across the canal outside my apartment I saw the terracotta hues of Venetian palazzos with their oriental facades peeking through the morning mist. The inhabitants washing was strung against them and I laughed to myself thinking that I’d never known a stranger’s straggly underwear could look so photogenic. I tucked my camera in my coat pocket and set off to explore the big unknown before me. In hindsight, I probably should’ve taken a map with me that first morning. I got lost – so lost. I think I walked past the same pharmacy about 20 times in an attempt to find St. Mark’s Square.
Between working in the museum by day and drinking Aperol Spritz in the bars at night, walking the streets – and ultimately getting lost was what I seemed to do most of all. It became a ritual on my days off. I would drink my morning espresso and spend the day meandering the never-ending fondamente and calle. For me it was a way discovering the ‘real Venice’ – something which is sadly becoming a thing of the past.
On my walks I stumbled upon a library which stored all of it books in gondolas so they would stay dry if acqua alta were to occur, I explored the Jewish Ghetto – full of graffiti on 15th century buildings, I discovered a pottery studio where the artist made glazes from gold leaf and a cult-status bakery that made way too many delicious pastries for its own good.
It soon became a joke between us fellow interns. We’d ask – ‘How many times did you get lost today?’ and we’d say something along the lines of ‘Oh, only about 5,234 times.’ One wrong turn of an alleyway and you were done for. I remember we were having a dinner party one night and we couldn’t even find the way of getting to the supermarket right behind us. Even after living in Venice for three months I got lost on the way to the airport.
My suitcase filled with countless new pairs of leather boots, old books and art prints that weighed a tonne so I tried to plan a new route which involved walking over less bridges. My friend and I laughed and laughed because even though we were quasi-locals at this point we still had to shamefully pull a map out to redirect us. To me it was a way of Venice saying that I shouldn’t leave. I should just stay there forever and keep getting lost in its wonder.
When I returned home people would always ask me what living in Venice was like. I’d say that it felt like waking up each day but you’d never stop dreaming. Everything about that city was other-worldly – its morning fog that made everything seem mysterious, the intricate web of old squares I had to pass through on my daily commute or the out-of-this world art I saw during my time there. I wonder now, because it felt like an endless dream – was I in fact walking or sleepwalking those streets all along? Until we meet again Venice, you’re still always in my dreams. I’m forever spellbound in your slumber.
Jodie Botica is a German/Serbian/Kiwi twenty-something who loves art, culture and spending quality time in each city she visits. To get in touch, please email firstname.lastname@example.org
Thank you for visiting! Here you will find a collection of travel stories from women around the world. We post new ones each week and every one is as unique and varied as the next. Enjoy!