T

HE Trenitalia train sped through the Italian countryside; the Alps eventually giving way to the vineyards of the Veneto region. The weather had improved and the late afternoon sun was smiling down as we crossed the lagoon from Mestre to Venice.

Our train had left Innsbruck two hours late but now all was well as we were in a magical city and buying the vaporetto tickets that would take us to Giudecca Island, where we would be staying. We got off at the designated stop and headed for the two yachts we had passed a few minutes earlier. Colin and I had been to Venice twice before so when I saw an ad for a “yacht” B&B, berthed on an island across the Giudecca Canal from Venice, we thought that would be something special.

As we drew closer I felt an uneasiness come over me as there was no one around and everything looked closed up.

“Hello,” we called, and then we tried “Buona sera!” No one answered. Any panic I was feeling had to be hidden from my companions as I had made this booking — surely there couldn’t be anything wrong? After 12 years of travel we had never had a hitch — was this going to be the first time? With the light rapidly fading, I got out my booking confirmation and phoned the number. A lady answered and in broken English mumbled something about overbooking and suggested I call the booking agency on a UK number.

Low on airtime, I suggested she get them to phone me. While we waited for the call a local man who had just tied up his boat walked past and, in response to our questioning, he gestured with a hand across his throat that the B&B had closed down.

We looked at each other in disbelief — what to do now? My cellphone rang and a pleasant young girl on the other end assured me not to worry as they had booked us into another “very nice” hotel on the island. I worried about what “very nice” meant since we were in Venice. On my first trip here in 1966, our hotel had overlooked a stinking ally filled with dirt bins and fighting cats! I shivered at the thought but decided this was 2014, and anyway we had no choice!

Colin scribbled the directions on a small piece of paper and we set off. It was now almost dark and we were all hungry and tired. We turned down a narrow ally with washing hanging overhead. At the end of it, we turned left and now faced a grassed square but no hotel. A lady was walking her small dog and, on questioning, she asked us to wait (while her dog finished) and then pointed towards a small, nondescript building. “There is your hotel,” she said.

It was situated between a narrow canal and another small square. I took a deep breath, thought “How bad can it be?” and I pushed the glass door and in we went.

“Wow,” my sister exclaimed behind me as we all filed in. With a black-and-white tiled floor, lots of Venetian glass and windows overlooking the canal, it was beautiful.

The young man behind the desk was charming and, apologising for the fact that he did not have any canal-facing rooms, he handed us our keys. I could have kissed him. Never mind the view, at least we had a clean place to sleep. He also suggested a nearby restaurant and after a moment to freshen up we headed out into the night. We dined on well-cooked, simple Italian food washed down with large amounts of red wine. It had been quite a day but our fears had been unfounded. This was a wonderful small island where we would spend three glorious days.

St Mark’s Square was four vaporetto stops away and coming home to our quiet island away from the crowds was a real treat. Each night we ate at a different restaurant and dined on such delights as cuttlefish with squid ink and flash-fried baby squid. Eating al fresco with a view across the Giudecca canal was what dreams are made of and each evening the sunset was better than the one before.

That yacht B&B’s closing down was in fact a blessing in disguise. I would never have discovered Giudecca Island without it and now that we have, we would love to go back for a longer stay. — © Barbara Walls

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