Technically, it’s 118 islands – in the Northeast corner of Italy at the top of the Adriatic Sea – but most of us know just the few that make up the area around San Marco and the famous St. Mark’s Square. It was once the Republic of Venice, a major trading power, controlling areas far beyond what it encompasses today. But this is not a history lesson nor a geography lesson 😁

This adventure was going so smoothly…until it wasn’t. An early arrival at London Heathrow had us upbeat and ready for the next step, a relatively quick flight to Venice. A unique and beautiful city of canals and pasta and gondoliers awaits just a couple hours away!  

And then we waited. And waited. And waited.

Delayed four hours for this and that had us finally arrive at the Venice airport at 12:30 am. Ugh. At least we have a water taxi booked, so we find our way through shuttered storefronts and empty hallways to Pier 7 – only to be told by the one guy there that our booking expired at 11:30. “Can you take us anyway?” He calls the office, lots of chatter in Italian, and then he says simply “no” and drove off! The airport is literally closed, barely a soul around.  Stranded we were, along with other passengers on our flight who were in the same situation.. Misery loves company, and that was definitely the case now. We huddle and share our plight.

With no energy to be angry, we jump into problem solving mode, making calls (taxi companies; our hotel) and asking for advice. “No more taxis to airport, no.” “I can’t help you.” “Take a land taxi to Piazza di Roma, then take a water taxi from there” seemed the best plan, except there were no more land taxis at the airport. Somehow there was a bus available across from the taxi stand, so our new friends (two families – one American, the other Chinese) and us hopped aboard. Feeling hopeful as we travelled the empty midnight road, we got to Piazza di Roma 25 minutes later, and…no water taxis.

But there’s a water “bus?” A local guy, friendly and patient, helped us figure out which line to take and buy a ticket. We waited on the dock, hoping to get one step closer to our hotel.

The water bus arrives, and by the grace of some higher power, it is the right one and we drag our luggage aboard. It’s essentially a small ferry that slowly rambles through the canals, pulling alongside “bus stop” piers as we approach – we think – Piazza San Marco. As we float along, there is the silence of a sleeping city…the wet heat of Italian summer nights…the sprinkling of sleepy-eyed passengers…the yellow glow of a street lamp cast upon the water…and it is all somehow calming in this unfamiliar dark place.

At last, we are there and dockside, a forlorn group huddled under a dim light, figuring out the way to our hotel (the Chinese family happened to be staying at the same hotel). Through cobblestone streets and over a stepped bridge, the click of our luggage wheels echoing off the buildings, and soon the front door of the hotel is in our sights. It’s after 2 am when the night-shift clerk warily opens the door and gets us our rooms…sleep comes easily.

After some shut-eye and a very late breakfast, we are undeterred by our arrival fiasco! A perfect day for the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, which might just be one of my favorite museums in the world. It is her home, and the small rooms are filled with works from the likes of Picasso, Leger, Miró, Pollock, Magritte, Brancusi, Rothko, Warhol, Dali, Calder, Kandinsky and Ernst (her husband for a time), among so many others – too many to name. Her goal was to buy a painting every day! For us fans of modern art, it transfixes from one piece to the next, from one room to another. 

You enter through the courtyard, a serene, shaded, space, modest and understated. Peggy – and all her dogs – are at rest in one corner of the sculpture garden.

It immediately feels like someone’s personal space, providing a connection to the art and artists that a traditional museum just cannot. The echoes of conversations past reverberate, the voices of artists and patrons alike just beyond our ability to hear them. But you can feel their presence and the art is all the more alive because of it. I could linger in these rooms for hours…

We stop for the perfect lunch of a mediterranean salad and prosciutto pizza, later meandering through the tiny streets, peering in shop windows shaded to avoid the blistering sun. An afternoon nap is in order as we have a full evening ahead: the Doge’s Palace and St. Mark’s Basilica at night are next on the agenda…