This column was first written in 2018. But Venice is eternal. The fog still clings to the canals, the vaporettos still glide into the night, and the city is still exactly as described here.
On December 23, just before midnight, I stepped off the train at Santa Lucia station. I had made no preparations for the trip — there’s little point in planning when you’re traveling alone at Christmas. All I knew was that I would visit my “friend,” Joseph Brodsky, the Russian poet resting on the cemetery island of San Michele.
The first step outside the station dumbfounded me. Water — everywhere. For someone whose greatest fear in life is drowning, Venice seemed a reckless choice. But there I was, forcing myself to breathe the cold air of the city I loved, the city my favorite poet loved.
It was foggy. Across the canal, the dome of San Simeon Piccolo glowed faintly, like an observatory peering through the darkness. The Scalzi Bridge, draped in lantern light, hung elegantly over the Grand Canal. I stood on the pier, squinting at the signs, trying to decide which vaporetto to take. Exhausted after 36 hours without sleep, barely eating but drinking enough Aperol in Verona to feel its warmth, I’d spent far too long on trains.
Finally, on the vaporetto deck, my fear of missing the stop won out over my fear of water. I wrapped my scarf tighter, shivering as the boat skidded over dark waves, the sky and water merging into one inky abyss. The fog turned to a fine drizzle — delicate, like mist from a spray bottle. I whispered the name of my stop to myself like a mantra: Zitelle, Zitelle, Zitelle.
When the boat stilled and I stumbled onto the embankment, I realized something was wrong. Not a soul around. Midnight had fallen, and the clatter of my suitcase wheels seemed deafening against the stone pavement, echoing into the sleeping city. I felt like an intruder, murmuring apologies to Venice and its inhabitants as I wandered aimlessly.
Then, I stopped. A familiar name stared back at me from a pale marble plaque: Joseph Brodsky. His words drifted through my mind: “I am a cat. A cat that has just had a fish. Had anyone addressed me at that moment, I would have meowed. I was absolutely, animally happy.” He seemed to smile at me, as though he’d guided me here himself. I could have stood there forever, drenched and shivering, my silent conversation with the poet stretching into the night.
But somewhere in the distance, a jingle of keys. A tired, elderly man in a cap and mackintosh emerged, walking a beagle. He looked bewildered — Christmas Eve, midnight, a soaked stranger grinning on the Zattere. With kindness and a few gestures, he explained I had gotten off at the wrong stop. I needed to wait for the night vaporetto, cross the canal, and get to Giudecca. My hostel awaited me there.
When I finally reached the hostel, I fled straight to a tiny “double room” under the eaves. Old beams framed a narrow window overlooking the canal and a distant glimpse of St. Mark’s Square. The room was quiet, beautiful, and impossibly cozy — the kind of place where one could start writing a great novel and never leave.
How to Experience Venice at Christmas
Getting Around:
Stay in Giudecca. It’s not only affordable but offers a quieter, less-touristy perspective of the city. A vaporetto pass is essential — buy one for the length of your stay at a supermarket (remember, everything shuts on Christmas Day, so plan ahead). Crossing the canals several times a day on these river trams is an experience in itself.
What to Do:
Walk. Get lost. Listen to the choir in San Marco’s basilica as evening falls. Don’t plan a packed itinerary; Venice will shut its doors on Christmas Day. Most shops, museums, and even restaurants close. Instead, find a bar, sip an Aperol spritz, and sit on the edge of an embankment watching the city breathe. Be sure to get lost at least once, but do not reach for the map: the city itself will lead you.
What to Wear:
Layers are key: a sweater, a light down jacket, and a thick coat with a hood. A large scarf, a hat, and comfortable shoes are essential — Venice’s cobblestones punish poor footwear choices. Rubber boots? I brought them. They weren’t necessary, but in Venice, you never know.
What to Eat:
To be honest, you don’t want to eat in Venice at all. For me, this is one of those cities where you need to permanently experience some minor physical discomfort, be it a pebble in your shoe or a slight hunger, in order to stand firmly on your feet and not go crazy from the beauty. Y But by all means, stock up on wine, bread, cheese, and prosciutto at a supermarket before Christmas. Hotel receptionists are lifesavers when it comes to restaurant recommendations during the holidays.
Text and photos: Anastasia Matrokhina (Seasons Project)
