In this episode,
You'll take a quiet journey through Venice.
Not the Venice of crowded squares and busy ferries,
But a slower,
Dreamlike version.
You'll wander peaceful alleyways,
Pause on old stone bridges and follow the gentle rhythm of water through the hidden corners of the city.
Let this experience invite stillness,
Let it carry you into rest.
Before we begin,
Take a moment to get comfortable.
Let your body settle into stillness.
Let your thoughts drift like the tide.
Inhale slowly and exhale gently.
With every breath,
Allow yourself to arrive in the present moment.
Now imagine yourself standing at the edge of a canal in Venice.
The air is cool.
There's a soft breeze scented with salt and stone.
It's late afternoon and the sun hovers low,
Casting a golden veil over the rooftops.
Alone,
Wandering,
But there's no rush to be anywhere.
You're simply here.
Your feet move slowly over the worn,
Grey paving stones.
Istrian limestone,
Smooth from centuries of footsteps.
The narrow alleyways twist and open unpredictably.
Tiny bridges,
Quiet courtyards and narrow canals.
The sound of modern life is distant,
Almost absent.
No cars,
No engines,
Just the faint lapping of water.
The gentle murmur of voices and the occasional chime of a bell.
You stop at a small campo,
One of Venice's neighbourhood squares.
In the centre,
An old wellhead sits beneath a leafy plane tree in bloom.
Its tiny green flowers release a subtle scent,
Earthy,
Slightly sweet,
With a whisper of honey and bark.
A man sips an espresso at a cafe table.
A group of elderly women shout in Italian.
In the distance,
A church bell chimes,
Calling worshippers to mass.
You continue on.
The path narrows again,
Leading you between tall,
Time-worn buildings.
Their exteriors are a patchwork of faded ochre,
Coral and terracotta,
Textured with peeling stucco,
Salt lines left by evaporated tides and climbing ivy.
Wooden shutters painted in green and blue stand open.
Some revealing pots of pink geraniums on the sills.
A small sign in elegant lettering reads Cal del Paradiso,
Street of Paradise.
You smile to yourself and keep walking.
Soon,
You arrive at a small bridge arching over a quiet canal.
The water glimmers in jade hues,
Reflecting the surrounding building's delicate arches.
A gondola glides silently beneath you.
It's Gondolier standing tall in a black-and-white striped shirt.
He nods as he passes,
The red ribbon on his straw hat fluttering behind him.
You descend the bridge and wander through a covered sotoportego where shadows are cool and echo with the sound of your footsteps.
As you emerge,
You catch sight of a tabby cat stretched out on a small wrought-iron balcony,
Half-dozing,
Half-watching.
Above the cat,
Laundry flutters between buildings,
Pale linen shirts,
Patterned scarves,
A faded red and gold towel with an embroidery of the Lion of Saint Mark.
You reach the edge of the canal where the world opens into a wide expanse of sunlit water,
The Grand Canal.
Across the water,
You see the Baroque dome of Santa Maria della Salute,
Brilliant white in the crisp light.
The basilica rises from the water,
A vision majestic and weathered,
Crowned by its statues and intricate scrollwork.
A gentle breeze carries the smell of brine,
Moss and warm stone.
You pause here.
From the Grand Canal,
You turn down a quieter side street,
Letting your intuition guide you deeper into the heart of Venice.
The sound of the water softens behind you.
The narrow alley leads into the district of Canareggio,
A part of the city where the rhythm of daily life moves slower.
Here the canals are narrower and the buildings more modest in their faded beauty.
Pale reflections ripple across the walls and you notice several doors here open directly onto the water.
You pass by an old bookshop,
Tucked into the corner of a square.
Outside,
A wooden bench holds a stack of weathered novels.
There's a handwritten sign above the door.
Aqua Alta,
Entrance by boat on rainy days.
Just beyond the bookshop,
You notice another small storefront,
A shop filled with Venetian glass.
The windows shimmer with color,
Catching the light and scattering it across the cobblestones.
Inside,
Delicate sculptures rest on wooden shelves,
Glimmering fish in shades of cobalt and tangerine.
Organically shaped octopuses with curling tentacles and sea urchins dotted with translucent spines.
There are also paperweights,
Heavy,
Each one shot through with spirals of color like frozen fireworks.
Many pieces are labeled Murano,
They're hand-blown and impossibly intricate.
Each piece captures the spirit of the sea.
Creatures sculpted in light and color,
Forever still yet full of life.
You linger at the window,
Mesmerized by the beauty,
Before walking on.
A few streets later,
The stone underfoot gives way to a small dock where a lone fisherman is mending a net.
You follow another narrow street lined with flickering lanterns.
Their glass panels warm with amber light,
Even in the fading sun.
The buildings here feel even older,
Sleepier,
As though resting.
After centuries of stories,
Soon you reach a secluded quay overlooking the Laguna Morta,
The stillest waters of the northern lagoon.
The surface is like glass,
Perfectly mirroring the sky.
Now turning from soft blue to violet.
A heron stands in the shallows,
Motionless.
You sit on a worn marble step,
Letting your legs stretch toward the water.
The coolness of the stone beneath you,
The faint scent of drying seaweed,
And the stillness of the moment create a perfect calm.
As dusk deepens,
Lights start to blink on in the windows around you.
Glowing above the canal,
You hear only the water brushing gently against the quay.
You close your eyes.
In this place of quiet water and fading light,
You feel weightless.
You allow your breath to slow,
And gently you begin to drift.
Drift like a boat untied from shore.
Drift into dreams.
And as you sleep,
The city remains,
Timeless,
Quiet,
And full of wonder.
The canals cradle your breath,
And the gentle rhythm of water carries you deeper into rest.
Venice will still be here,
Waiting,
A dream you can always return to.
