Don't Look Now

Venice in the misty cold is a very different experience.

The first time I went to Venice, it was the start of a 3 week interrail adventure with Chris, my first real long-term boyfriend, back in 1999. I arrived at Venice train station after travelling all night from Switzerland and doing the last leg of my journey from a tiny suburban train that rattled through the Veneto,after accidentally ending up on the wrong half of the train and getting halfway to Firenze before realising and having a confused bleary-eyed panic at Bologna station at about 4am.
I watched the sunrise through summer fields after not having slept all night, and saw a hare lolloping beside the crawling train before disappearing into the misty olive grove. It was one of those pictures that stays with you for life, bringing with it the epiphany of what film directors actually meant all these years when they talk about the fire of sunrise and pumping dry ice onto a set for 'atmosphere'. I quite literally dropped my bags in shock when I came out of the train station and was confronted with the blue water and the palazzo's of the Grand canal. Sat on the steps there for 5 hours waiting for Chris to arrive from London, not bored but almost in a trance from the poetic fantasy-like vision of it all...having conversations with random strangers as they waited for friends, eating panini and fresh fruit from a nearby stall... I instantly fell in love with the place and we had a gorgeous 3 days there in intoxicating summer heat before moving on to France, Spain and Morocco.

This time I was a veteran. I knew what it looked like. That relationship was long gone (I think he's getting married and moving to Australia. Scary), and this time I was here for work. A week of staying just off Piazza San Marco while we film a drama documentary for the BBC about Vivaldi's life and work at the Pieta church and orphanange. It was all girls (his orchestra of little orphans), so no romance in Venice for me! We had a boat take us from the airport to San Marco (honestly, Venice has to win the award for the most picturesque transport hubs in the world) across the lagoon, and from the moment we all walked past curious tourists with our instrument cases on our backs I knew that this time by the end of the week it would hold very different memories for me.

Venice still has all the magic of an ancient city battling to keep its culture through a modern tourist age. The buildings are still gorgeous and crumbling, the locals still wander around buying their fresh veggies and pasta for dinner... but I did notice a lot more of the tourist extortion going on. Overpriced murano glass jewellery everywhere and cheap Carnevale masks. Slices of pizza for 8 euro when over in Dorsoduro you get a whole one for 7...

In a way I liked having the veil lifted. Realising that just because it was in Italy didn't mean that the coffee would be universally fantastic. Getting used to walking through the Piazza San Marco between rehearsals and recording and wincing at the tourists voluntarily covering themselves in flea-ridden pidgeons For The Venice Shot. Catching the Vaporetto everywhere and wandering around with new and old friends after a gruelling day, managing to regain our sense of humor by employing the time-tested girlie remedies of ordering expensive thick hot chocolate and tiramisu.

That said, we still found the places worth spending time. You just have to look. We found great little restaurants (another difference to my last visit... this time I was getting given 50 euro a day sejour!) where I discovered a new and lasting love of gnocchi al salmone, and enjoyed many evenings standing at little bars with locals drinking quick glasses of prosecco and exploring every tiny side street in the city with only our Rough Guide for, well, a rough guide...

It was cold this time, and the island didn't flood once (a la global warming) in the whole week we were there. The skies were clear, which meant misty mornings walking to the Pieta for rehearsals, and a Venice more reminiscent of a 70's Polanski or Kubrick film. Darker, with more overtones of late nights and garish masks and dark alleys. Somehow it felt more real in the cold. Not as many tourists and less like a Disney film set.

One night we filmed until 1am, performing Vivaldi 'Gloria' in the partitioned galleries of the Pieta by candlelight... tied into corsets and long layers of thick dark skirts. I don't know whether it was the adrenalin of the atmosphere or the practicality of their period dress, but it was strangely enough the warmest I was all week. Can't wait to see it on TV in March.

I still love Venezia. But now I think I've seen its darker side. I wonder how many more experiences of it will I have?