Postcards from Another World
A story about Venice.
Daphne and I woke up early this morning. We had our hotel around a ten-minute walk away from the central train station of Zürich. Our trip to Italy will really start today.
The day before, we spent in Zürich, hopping from cafes to museums and seeking shelter while it was raining. The train to Venice would depart at 8.33 A.M — quite early, but not as early as we were used to.
First, breakfast at the hotel. It was around 6:30 A.M., and there weren’t many people in the breakfast area. The food selection was minimal, but good. I ate some yoghurt and a couple of croissants alongside a cappuccino.
The cappuccino wasn’t really what I expected it to be. I didn’t finish my cup and decided to buy one later at the train station.
We packed our bags and checked out of the hotel. It was now 8 A.M and the streets of Zürich were getting busier. People commuting to work, students to university, and we were heading to the train station.
But first: coffee.
For 11.80 Francs, I bought us a cappuccino and a latte macchiato. This coffee made my morning bearable. And of course, the fact that we were about to embark on our journey to Venice.
For the second time in my life, I would be visiting Italy.
Our train arrived a few minutes after we had our coffee, and we found our seats, which were window seats. Very nice, because I was looking forward to all the pretty views that we were about to witness.
We took the EuroCity train to Venezia Santa Lucia, which directly took us into Venice. It would stop at a few places in Switzerland and Italy, taking us around 6 hours to reach our destination.
Some notable stops were: Lugano, Milano, Lake Garda, and Verona.
The following hour, we saw Northern Switzerland through the train window, and then we approached the Gotthard Tunnel, the 15-kilometer-long tunnel that connects Northern Switzerland with Southern Switzerland by train.
Around noon, we arrived in Milano and we decided that we wanted some coffee again — the restaurant car in the Italian EuroCity makes great coffee and we went for the cappuccino and latte macchiato combo again.
At 2 A.M., our train finally rolled into Venezia Santa Lucia station. We got our bags and set foot on Venetian ground.
It was the view — the Grand Canal stretching out in front of the station, boats and vaporettos bobbing on the water, and the kind of light that seems to turn everything a little golden.
There’s a kind of magic in arriving somewhere by train, especially in a place like Venice.
So, we wheeled our bags just a couple of minutes down the street and found the entrance.
Check-in was easy, and the receptionist greeted us and handed over our keys. Then we stepped into our room and just stopped for a second, taking it all in. Great walls, tall windows draped with soft curtains, a big, inviting bed with crisp white sheets.
We dropped our bags, had a glass of fresh water, and lay down to rest for a couple of minutes before deciding what to do next.
After a quick break and cold water on our faces, we headed back out. We were so excited to finally explore Venice.
The moment we left the hotel, the city hit us up in its labyrinth of narrow streets, bridges, and canals.
Almost immediately, we realized that maps are just a suggestion in Venice.
Every alley seemed to twist in a different direction, and just when we thought we’d found a shortcut, we’d hit a dead end or find ourselves staring at another canal with no bridge in sight.
At some point, somewhere between getting lost and pretending we weren’t, we stumbled into a little square and spotted Suso — the gelato place everyone seems to talk about.
The line out the door was all the confirmation we needed. We joined the queue and decided which flavour we wanted. When it was finally our turn, we went all in — straciatella for me, pistachio for Daphne.
The first bite made the whole search worth it: creamy, rich, perfectly cold on a warm Venetian afternoon.
With gelato in hand and nowhere in particular to be, we wandered further until the narrow alleys finally spilled out onto the Grand Canal. The sun had dropped lower, lighting up the water and the facades in that classic golden hour glow.
We made our way to Ponte Rialto, the most famous bridge in Venice, and, even more beautiful than the postcards.
After Suso, we kept wandering with no real plan, just following whatever looked interesting.
Eventually, we ended up at the Grand Canal, and suddenly, there it was: the Rialto Bridge. Classic, busy, and somehow even more postcard-perfect in real life than you’d expect.
We hung around for a while, finishing our gelato and just watching the city do its thing.
The next morning, we woke up early — well, early by vacation standards — and set out for Piazza San Marco. The streets were quieter than I expected, just a few shopkeepers unlocking doors and the odd delivery boat gliding by.
Venice is different in the morning, a little softer and slower.
Piazza San Marco is almost too grand, too perfect. Pigeons everywhere, the sound of footsteps echoing on the stones, and the basilica catching the morning light.
We went straight to Caffè Florian, because if you’re going to have a coffee in Venice, you might as well do it properly at least once. The place is old-school fancy, with gilded mirrors and waiters in jackets, and yes, the prices are ridiculous, but it’s all part of the experience.
We sat inside and just enjoyed being right there in the middle of it all.
After coffee, we walked around the square, checked out the souvenir stalls at the market, and tried not to buy everything. Eventually, we started talking about getting out onto the water — public transport in Venice is a whole adventure on its own.
We found the right vaporetto stop and hopped onto a boat, joining a mix of locals going about their day and tourists like us trying to see the city from a new angle.
By noon, we were hungry, so we jumped off near Antico Forno — a tiny place that’s famous for its pizza slices.
The line was out the door, but it moved fast, and soon enough we were standing outside with big, cheesy slices and nowhere particular to be.
After lunch, we took the boat back toward the hotel, a little sunburnt and a lot happier.
There’s no perfect way to see Venice, but wandering, getting lost, eating good food, and just letting the city happen to you — that’s probably as close as it gets.
That afternoon, we wandered back through the city, not following any particular path, just soaking in all the little moments.
That afternoon, instead of heading straight back, we decided to squeeze in one last adventure: a trip to Murano.
We caught the vaporetto from Venice and watched the main island slip away behind us, the city getting smaller and quieter with every stop.
After dinner, we took one last stroll, passing shuttered shops and empty squares, the city starting to empty out as tourists went back to their rooms. Venice felt different at night: calmer, somehow softer. Back at the hotel, we fell onto the bed, tired in the best way.
It hit us how much we’d seen and how much we’d never be able to see. That’s travel for you. Always a little bit unfinished.
The windows were cracked open, and we could just barely hear the sounds of the canal outside.
We said goodnight, already missing the city even before we’d left.
And just like that, Venice slipped away as we drifted off to sleep, the day replaying itself in our heads like a dream we’d remember for a long time.
How long was the train?