There was no way I was going to spend £400 on a cake. So, I looked at different ideas to reduce the cost, while keeping it personal and special. Making a cake from scratch was going to be too impractical as I was planning the wedding long distance, so I came up with an ingenious cheat that I am very proud of. This is my secret top tip for having a lovely wedding cake at a real bargain price.

You will need:

• a cupcake stand I bought a 7 tier Perspex one from Exhibitz, but only used 5 tiers (£49 inc delivery, or cheaper if you win an auction)
  
• 8 packs of Asda Smart Price fairy cakes 12 per pack gives 96 cupcakes @ £0.48 per pack, this includes extras in case of mistakes (£3.84)
  
• 2 packs icing sugar (approx £1.50)
  
• sugar flowers in your wedding colours 90 small for the cupcakes, approx 4 large for the top (approx £35). Cake Craft Shop have a great selection for all budgets. Browse around for more colours and toppers as desired. Simple is more effective in my opinion.
  
• medium iced celebration cake (Asda, M&S, Waitrose, Tesco) approx £10
  
• water (free)
  
• 2-3 metres of ribbon (approx £1.50)

total cost: approximately £100 ! ! !

How to make

1. Assemble the stand
2. Make firm icing according to instructions, adding water drop by drop
3. Rope in Husband to Be and Father of the Bride to ice cakes, gently pushing the icing neatly to the sides of each cake wrapping using the back of a wet teaspoon dipped in water. With three of us it took about 3 hours.

4. Stick a sugar flower on top of each cake

5. Assemble larger sugar flowers on the top cake
6. Tie ribbon around top cake so that it drapes all the tiers
7. Take cakes to venue in tin
8. Get nice staff to arrange the cakes on the stand


9. Cut
10. Eat!
Only the cupcakes need to be served on the day. The top cake can be saved if you buy fruit.

No-body clocked that I could have made this myself, it looked professional, did the job, those who knew my secret were very impressed and I was very proud of my efforts. If anyone tries this, I hope you have the same success. Good luck!

Labels: cooking, crafts, wedding

I was always a little dubious about this place. The guide books had nothing good to say about it but I figured it would be a good base for exploring the Amalfi Coast.

Apart from wanting to kill the loud, unruly child banging about in the next carriage, the train from Rome to Naples was fine: quick and comfortable.

The journey from Naples to Sorrento on the local trains, however, was a different matter. The platform at Naples station was dark and grotty and the train itself was packed. I suppose it’s not much different from the London Underground though, so I tried to hold back the criticism. We stood the whole 50 minutes to Sorrento, trying avoid making eye contact with the young crack addict swaying about in the vestibule, and noticing how each town we passed through looked more tumble-down than the last. It was raining, which didn’t help.

We took a taxi from the station, (where I clocked the hundreds of people queuing for the SITA buses that do the Amalfi Coast run), to the Hotel Cristina.

The hotel was lovely and smart, the room was spacious with an amazing view (or so we assumed, as right now, we couldn’t see a damn thing for the thick storm clouds).

Not wanting to leave the hotel in that weather, we ate in the hotel restaurant. I won’t mention how shockingly un-Italian it was, and how we were the only people in the restaurant under 60 years old. At least we knew we’d be eating out the rest of the time.

We woke up the next day to, guess what? MORE BAD WEATHER.

We were so frustrated and disappointed by now, but it was out of our control.

So, to Pompeii.

Following on from our enjoyment of an Italian style breakfast in Rome, (two cappuccinos and two pastries at Paticceria D’Angelo for the sensible price of £3) we walked into a bar on the way to the train station and asked for the same. However, the cappuccinos that came out were not your normal Italian sized ones, they were more like Starbucks' and they tasted as weak as piss. The pastries weren’t dainty freshly baked cornetti, they were big fat jam doughnuts. What the hell was this place? I reeled in horror as, from inside the bar, I slowly decoded the back-to-front writing on the awnings outside “T-O-U-R-I-S-T B-A-R”. Noooooooooooooo!

Then came the bill: £10. You shysters!

Now seriously disgruntled, and looking at the world through anger tinted specs, we took the same graffiti-covered local train as yesterday and followed the hoards of other tourists to the ruined city of Pompeii. I hadn’t realised how huge it was – absolutely massive. However, it wasn’t as well attended to as I would have hoped. I didn’t see any official guides anywhere to help people around the site (just thieving con-artist unofficial guides) and I noticed building materials lying around, mosaics covered in dirt and leaves etc. Why weren’t they taking pride in this national treasure? Taking tourism for granted perhaps? The attitude in the canteen was shocking. The staff didn’t even look us in the eye when they handed us our roast pork slops. Where was the delicious Italian food from this nation of cooks? It was sad, very sad, that a country should feel it has to dumb itself down for its foreign visitors. I was hoping the Italians would be the sort to say eat our food or starve.

Back in Sorrento we wandered round looking for restaurants that a) weren’t serving low grade spag bol or lasagne or b) weren’t charging the earth. It started to absolutely pour with rain, but we persisted trekking the streets with our Jack-in-the-Packs working overtime. We couldn’t believe how difficult it was to find a simple, local, Italian restaurant with reasonable prices. It was impossible. I was fed up with the Italians for mercilessly ripping off tourists, fed up with the tourists for being there, and fed up with the incessant bad weather! Tired and wet, we gave in to two cappuccinos and two cakes for a £15 and planned that night’s dinner. We’d give ourselves the standard of food we expect, but for the price we’d expect - we’d make it ourselves. We’d get what we needed from the deli at the supermarket and eat in our room. And so we did.

Of course, sods law, on our way back to the hotel laden with self catering produce, we did find what looked like a great local pizza restaurant. We noted it for tomorrow night.

Next morning, with only three days left of our Italian tour, we walked down to the Marina Grande. The sun started to come out and the whole place looked and felt a lot better. Clearly the bad weather had been having a big effect on our enjoyment.

We took a picnic lunch but suffered the continual nagging of restaurant touts as we wandered back and forth trying to find a spot to sit and eat. When we did, we soon attracted the company of a smelly tramp asking for a cigarette. Brilliant.

At Marina Piccolo the tourist ferries to the isle of Capri were standing room only, packed like sardines with fat Americans off the cruise ships. It didn’t look like an experience we would enjoy.

Perhaps we could hire our own boat. We looked into it, made a few phone calls and the next day we were out on the water as captains of our own motorised duck making our own way to Capri. Luckily the sun was out, the sky was blue and it was great fun. We took a picnic lunch made by our new best friend who worked in the supermarket deli and spent the whole day out there. We docked at Capri and left the boat with one of the harbour workers (for a few euro of course), then made our way around the coast of the island and anchored for lunch at our own private cove. It was absolutely brilliant. This was the sort of thing we liked, away from others, doing our own thing, independent, interesting, explorative.

Back on dry land and burnt to a crisp we re-hydrated with a couple of beers and then went for dinner at the one and only restaurant that met with our approval in Sorrento: Pizzeria Franco.

Our last day in Italy began with hot weather and a dilemma. Now that we finally had some sunshine, should we spend the day by the pool relaxing, or should we climb Mount Vesuvius?

After some serious deliberation, Vesuvius it was. That meant back on the train to Pompeii - un-pleasant, but at least we had a seat.

We bought our tickets for the public bus to vesuvius train ticket window in Pompeii and were told to get the bus from “the square”. So we walked to the square, but no bus stop in sight. Who could we ask? Every Italian was a rip-off merchant, they’d only try and send us to the other dodgy private bus companies. I chose the most innocent looking person I could find: a man selling orange juice. We went where he told us, but there was no sign, no indication that it was a bus stop. I turned around and noticed a bit of paper stuck to a door that said “Tourist Information”. Curiouser and curiouser. Where would this white rabbit lead us? Well, he confirmed the bus stop, but sent us on a real wild goose chase for a cash machine, which, to cut a long story short ended up with us missing the bus and having to wait an hour for the next one.

We were in New Pompeii now, so we decided to eat lunch, but three weeks in this country had left us scarred with lessons learnt about where we should and shouldn’t eat and we couldn’t settle on anywhere. Lesson 1: don’t eat around squares, they will be selling at a premium and you will get ripped off. Lesson 2: don’t eat near tourist areas, you will get ripped off. Lesson 3: don’t eat from a place where nothing is priced, you will get ripped off.

What do you do when lessons 1, 2 and 3 leave you with nowhere to eat? Go to McDonalds.

Yes, the Golden Arches just appeared out of the blue and saved us from our torment. Now, I hate McDonalds and everything it stands for, so believe me, choosing McDonalds in Italy, supposedly the food capital of Europe, was a serious low point. I, of course, blamed the Italians for bringing me to this. On the last day of our three week trip, they had finally beaten us. Even in Japan, supposedly the most expensive place in the world, I never had such problems.

Cut now to the bus journey. Higher and higher we go up Vesuvius. The views get better at every turn, we are nearly there, we can see the summit, and then… hang on… we’re going down, what’s this?

So, the bus stops in a car park with one shop. The driver gets off and a woman gets on, and in a dodgy accent she tells us, “My father who is very ill is inside the shop and he will give you the information you need and the tickets you need for the trip to the top.”

Oh, whatever love, give us a break. Everyone on the bus knew it was a con and no-one moved. Then she told us that we might as well get off because the bus was going to park here for 20 minutes. So we got off, and while others were hounded into buying bottles of water and the like, Dom and I steered well clear and moaned some more about the cheek of these people – and this was a public bus too!

Thirty five minutes later and we were all back on the bus waiting impatiently to leave, but the driver was still outside smoking a fag and talking on his phone. One of the Americans decided to do something about it and cajoled the driver back on the bus (not without objection I might add). The cheeky f*ck!

It was literally about 30 seconds more drive to the top of the mountain where we did our climb, saw the crater, marvelled at the views over the Bay of Naples and came back down for a beer. Despite everything, it was worth it.

Of course, it wasn’t over yet.

We got down in time for the 15:00 bus, and at 15.20 a bus turned up but we were told this was the 16.30 bus. We were totally unconvinced, but the driver just hurled abuse at us in Italian and went off to get himself an ice cream. We were proved right, when at 16.05 the 16.30 bus turned up and our driver told that driver to go back down again. They were clearly working it so they didn’t have to do all the timetabled trips in a day, spanning out the drive at their little side line café on the way up. For me, this was the final nail in the coffin for Italy.

I know you can’t generalise, but it seems like Italians from bin men to bus drivers, café owners and taxi drivers are as corrupt as they come. No wonder the Italian mafia are so successful – it’s in the genes!

We drove back through the outskirts of Naples, catching sight of the stinking, rat infested piles of rubbish that have been building up here over the last year and recalled the good and the bad sides of Italian life. Molto interessante.

Venice and Rome were amazing, Florence and Sorrento were not. Tuscany was somewhere in between. Maybe we should have done Italy in short bursts, maybe we should have avoided such tourist-filled areas, shoulda, woulda, coulda...

We have certainly learnt that we like backpacking adventure holidays, honeymoon or not, and we like some feeling of independence away from the crowds and we didn’t achieve that with Italy.

Arrivederci.

Labels: travel

All roads lead here apparently, including ours.

And the roads were good... we stopped at Buonconvento to admire hundreds of old cars from all over the world doing the Mille Miglia Storica...

...but the drivers were crazy: navigating through Rome’s chaotic streets to drop the hire car off at the Villa Borghese was tricky to say the least.

Relieved to let a native do the rest of the driving, we took a taxi to our hotel: Pensione Panda. It was in a great little spot on Via della Croce, a buzzing street with loads of restaurants, and the hotel itself was much better than I was expecting for the budget price.

There wasn’t time for much exploring that night, so we went straight for dinner at the restaurant right below our hotel and sat next to a young Liverpudlian couple. Yep, we were definitely back in tourist-ville again.

While we finished our limoncello, down came the rain. Would we ever escape it? We ran out of the restaurant, dodging the umbrella sellers and took shelter in an ice cream shop near the Spanish Steps where we shared a small bottle of vino and people watched for a while. I loved the fact that people of all ages, men and women would come in and get an ice cream with no shame. No grotty kebab shops filled with lager louts here.

Despite the rain, I was getting a good feeling about Rome.

Sunday morning and guess what? It was pissing down. That ruled out the open air Colosseum. So after a cappuccino and croissant at what was to become our faithful breakfast haunt, Pasticceria d’Angelo, we headed for the Vatican shielded from the weather by our Jack-in-a-Packs. It was a fair walk.

Neither of us are religious, but we couldn’t fail to be impressed by the draw that this place had on people and the magnificence of the architecture of St Peter’s Square and the Basilica. The columns surrounding the square were absolute giants, but walking amongst them it could be easy to take their presence for granted.

After a long walk around the perimeter of the walled Vatican City to the museum entrance we found it was closed! Luckily, the sun had now found its way through so we decided to do the Colloseum and Roman Forum.

Using the excellent tip from the Lonely Planet we avoided the long ticket queue at the Colloseum by buying a joint ticket from the Palatine ticket office where the queue was much shorter.

We really enjoyed the Colloseum, and the Forum, although we found the Forum badly signposted and wasted a lot of time queuing for the Casa di Augustus which was a pretty crap reconstruction of the emperor’s house, without realising that there was a whole other bigger, better area in the other direction. Nevertheless, we had time to appreciate it in the low evening sun and take one last look at it from the vantage point of the back of the Palazzo Senatorio, before descending the steps made for giants - another building that was oversized and breathtaking.

We were thirsty, and it was a good job, because you’d have to be really thirsty to pay £7 for a pint of beer, but that’s what it cost, and that’s what we paid.

That night we ate in a wine bar on Via della Croce called Enoteca Antica, which I have since discovered is very highly rated amongst visitors and locals alike. I’m not surprised. The main courses were fantastic, the vibe was good, the waiters were so friendly and the antipasti selection was epic..

The following day it was cloudy and we headed back to the Vatican museums, but the queue was horrendous - about 2 hours. We could pay a ridiculous supplement to skip it by doing a tour, but after our Uffizi Gallery experience in Florence we decided it wasn’t worth it. We’d had our fill of Italian art.

Instead we went to the train station and worked out how we would get to Sorrento tomorrow. We also worked out how to use the local buses: avoid the tour bus touts and buy tickets from the nearest newsagent for 1 euro a bargain for once!

Our next stop was the Pantheon, definitely a highlight for us. We just loved the building, the design, the courage, the effort and the high standards of these ancient people who seemed to have a ‘no fear’ approach to construction. How many things that we build now will still be in perfect condition in two thousand years time?

The Trevi fountain didn’t do much for us. It was rammed with tourists there for the sake of it, just like us.

We went back to Via della Croce for the evening, sat at Enoteca Antica and sampled a couple of wines and some of the incredible array of antipasti available. Delish. We ate at Otello alla Concordia and then headed back to Enoteca Antica for more vino. Outside it was heavy rain, thunder and lightning.

We really enjoyed Rome. It’s a really vibrant city that still has plenty to offer even after you’ve seen the main sights. I found the people friendly and the food good. I’ve no doubt that our road will lead here again.

Labels: travel

We headed west, through Anqua, Massa Marittima and Cura Nuova to the coast and the seaside town of Follonica. Although I could imagine what it would be like in the height of summer, popular with Italians, in May, in the pouring rain at siesta time it was dead. And you know what? It was bliss.

We hunted down an open restaurant for a coffee, and at 1 euro it was the cheapest so far in Italy, and sat for a while, watching the locals watching the telly, and relishing being the only non-Italians in the vicinity, never mind the restaurant.

Where next? North, along the coastal road to wherever it would take us. The road was very straight and the landscape very flat. On our left was the sea (not that we could see it) and on our right were miles and miles of farms: big estates with long drives lined with baobab trees, against a dramatic back drop of mountains and dark grey storm clouds. It was still raining and the landscape looked lush - almost tropical. This was much more interesting, much more real to me than herding round antiquated hill towns. This was a working, living Italy.

It was time for a break, so we stopped in Cecina for an ice-cream, and boy it was the best chocolate ice cream of the whole trip (more on Italian ice cream and food in general in a separate post). It almost made up for the fact that outside our little hire car, it was still absolutely chucking it down.

Back east now, back on winding hilly roads, and through some pretty towns at which we would have undoubtedly stopped for a wander if we wouldn’t have got soaked through within seconds.

Another calm and silent evening at the villa was spent reading our novels, and we were only just beginning to feel completely relaxed: disconnected from the outside world, no internet, no phone, no TV, just books and our imagination. I was totally absorbed by Thomas Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd, which couldn’t have felt more appropriate. It was lovely.

Wednesday. My heart sank as I peered out on yet another cloudy Tuscan day, the dull grey sky draining the landscape of its beauty. It wasn’t supposed to be like this! But just as we were ready to head out in the car again, the sun started to look like it might make it through the clouds so we decided to take a punt on a day at the villa. Hopeful, we walked up to the village for barbeque meats, then read our books, and at about 4pm the sun finally made it through. We wasted no time in getting sat round the pool, but within 30 minutes the dark grey storm clouds that had been looming over the hills began to rumble and down came the rain. So our lamb did not make the barbecue, we cooked it on the grill indoors instead, got very very drunk and went to bed hoping that the storm would clear the air for the morning.

No such luck. Thursday was just as cold and cloudy as the day before and to make matters worse I was hung-over. I resolved to sulk and lie in bed for as long as possible, only rising at 1pm when a chink of sunlight drew me to the window. Yes, it was sun! So we sat outside for an hour willing the intermittent sun to hold its ground, then we moved to the pool and soaked up enough heat to warrant a swim! Brilliant! But that was it – 45 minutes later and the rain started to fall.

So that night we went to La Pergola for dinner hoping that tomorrow, our last day, we might get a chance to barbecue our beautiful t-bone steaks and Tuscan sausages.

Friday. No sun. In fact mid-afternoon it started raining again. Gutted.

Then, 5pm, just for us, a wonderful thing happened: the sun came out. So, we started the fire, got the barbie going, rustled up some salads, prepared the meat and let it sizzle, poured the wine and enjoyed a wonderful evening. It wasn’t hot by any means, but it wasn’t raining and we were glad for this small miracle.

Labels: travel

Dom did a superb job with the left handed driving, on the wrong side of the road, while I navigated us out of Florence and before long we were on the S222 and marvelling at the beautiful classic Tuscan countryside of the Chianti region.

We reached Radicóndoli at about 2pm, a small village on top of a reasonably high hill, with magnificent panoramic views. We drove through the narrow main street and out the other end down a steep rocky country track to our home for the week – Villa Virgilius.

The house-proud owners greeted us in Italian and proceeded to show us round the house, in Italian. I nodded and pretended I understood. Tour over, Mr Virgilio headed out on his little tractor to plough the soil around his grape vines and olive grove.

We headed up to the village for supplies. There are three general grocery shops in Radicondoli: the Coop, the Alimentaria Tipico (our favourite, ran by a Penelope Cruz look-a-like), and another one, of which I don’t know the name, (we only ventured in once, ran by a scary hunch-back old man). They are all small and they all sell much the same things, pasta, rice, cleaning products, wine, fresh local veg, fresh bread from the bakers, and cheeses, meats and other anti pasti in the deli.

I must admit, I was hoping to find that food and wine would be cheaper on the continent – but not in Italy. Even right out in the countryside, where tourists are at a minimum (for now), it was pretty pricey.

We came back laden with cheese, ham, pasta, tomatoes, garlic, onions, etc and I cooked us a nice tomato and pancetta pasta dish for dinner. We sat in the evening sun with a bottle of Mr Virgilio’s wine (pretty damn good), and felt very happy and satisfied with ourselves. We were eagerly awaiting the Virgilios’ departure so we could get in that pool and enjoy a week of sun and relaxation.

On Sunday, with the Virgilios still here, we decided to head out on a drive. We went to San Galagano, where there is ruined abbey, but of course, where there’s a religious building, there are tourists – busloads of them. We walked the paths away from the people and as the cloud cover came in and it started to turn chilly, we headed back.

We ate in the village that night at La Pergola – top restaurant of the holiday, good value, with a homely feel and a great host and what has to be one of the best views in the whole of Italy.

Monday, and Mr & Mrs Virgilio were gone. That was the good news. The bad news was it was cloudy and cold. Staying positive we decided to use the bad weather day for sightseeing and we drove off to Siena.

At first it looked like a ghost town, but once we’d walked up the incredibly steep hill to the centre, it was actually jam packed with hundreds of (mainly American) tourists. There was yet another cathedral, and yet another square, except this time, the square was sort of skew, which was supposed to be the great thing about it. I was impressed for about a second.

We made the fatal error of eating in the square, which, of course, is the priciest place in these tourist hot spots, and it was made even worse by having to endure a street “entertainer” squirting unknowing passers by with water, tickling them between the legs with paintbrushes etc whilst listening to the high pitched squealing of an American lady who looked like she was wearing the tablecloth and found this lame form of slapstick humour absolutely hilarious.

So we hurriedly ate our lunch in fear of becoming the butt of his jokes if we took our eyes off him for a second, and when his begging bowl came round we made sure we snubbed it in typical haughty English style. Ha!

Done with Siena, it was back to the villa for a home cooked risotto and reading until bed time.

Tuesday. One look behind the curtains told us it was going to be another day of bad weather. So, it was another day of touring. We knew if we headed to San Gimignano we’d be among another million people who were doing the same thing, so in a blatant attempt to avoid other tourists we headed for places that barely get a mention in the guide books. Perhaps that would mean there’d be nothing to see, but at least we’d see nothing in peace.

To be continued…

Labels: travel

It was never high on my list of places to go, and therefore, I had low expectations, but I must admit to hoping that Florence would defy those expectations.

We got there by train (let’s not talk about how we missed our train by three hours because I mistook the arrival time on the ticket for the departure time!). We rolled our over-sized cases in the sweltering mid-afternoon sun from the station to the hotel, dodging the dog shit, and trying to ignore the heavy traffic.

We headed out along streets like deep gorges in the shadow of the buildings that line them to find the duomo (cathedral), continuing to avoid the dog shit, and realising that after clean, serene Venice, where cars with their noise and fumes are non-existent, Florence might not be to our liking.

There was the duomo, bright in its reflection of the lowering evening sun, and surrounded by hundreds of tourists. I couldn’t get excited. Churches don’t really do it for me, and after the Basilica di San Marco in Venice, my low appetite for ecclesiastical architecture had already been curbed.

So we walked on towards the River Arno, stopping on the way for a pizza and what was to turn out to be the best wine I tasted in the whole of Italy. It was nothing more than cheap red table wine but that didn’t matter; it was a deep, dark purple, and incredibly fruity.

It wasn’t far to the river and the Ponte Vecchio and luckily for us we hit it right on sunset. The view from the bridge was pretty, I won’t deny it, and we hung around there for a little while, taking pics, but the bridge itself is ordinary.

As we sat at a bar in the Piazza della Signoria, sipping on a ridiculously priced glass of Ruffino chianti, we asked ourselves, “So we’ve seen Florence, what are we going to do tomorrow?”

The answer, as it turned out, was, “We are going to spend three hours in a queue rolling our eyes at the loud Americans behind us, to get into the Uffizi Gallery, then spend about two hours wandering round it with audio guides, weaving through the crowds and trying to muster up appreciation for painting after painting of Madonna and Child. Then, exhausted from being on our feet for six hours we will refresh ourselves in the Uffizi bar with a £3 bottle of water and a £4 cup of coffee.”

Please excuse the sarcasm, we are not total philistines, and there genuinely were some jaw-dropping works of art in there. Our favourites were the Botticellis: La Primavera and the Birth of Venus, but this may have been because they were two of only a few paintings that weren’t heavily religious. This sort of thing just doesn’t float our boat. The outside world, nature, adventure, atmosphere – yes.

And so to Tuscany.

Labels: travel

From the moment we stepped off our water taxi from the airport, onto the landing platform of our hotel, with it's red and white candy cone gondola posts, I knew I was going to like it.

We stayed in the Giorgione Suite of the Ca' Vendramin Di Santa Fosca - with sumptuous red and gold decor and fascinating ceiling frescoes. Both of us slept like logs, exhausted from the wedding, but woke up with the sun streaming through the grand windows, calling us out onto our little stone balcony, beckoning us to feast our eyes on the spectacle that is Venice.

It looked like a film set. I half expected a director to shout 'cut' at any moment, and for all the walls to be carried away by crew. The water in the canal below was a stunning opaque jade, as if it had been treated with colourants to look this way. It was just incredible.

A short walk to the Grand Canal and we hopped on a vaporetto (that's the local bus, by the way), to get our bearings. What a sight! Every building facade along the canal had it's own colour and character, and the water was a highway for boats, some with engines, others with a single oar.

Piazza di San Marco was our stop. We followed the crowds through the narrow streets and then out into the vast open space of the square swarming with people and pigeons.

We marvelled at the mosaics in the Basilica di San Marco: the golden ones on the ceiling and the marble ones on the floor, and worked up an appetite for lunch.

After a panini and a pint, we decided to hop back on the vaporetto to the island of Murano. Neither of us were interested in the decorative glass that Murano is famous for, (and we are even less interested for having gone there), but it was a refreshing trip out on the open water, clearing our heads, beginning the process of un-winding.

We soaked up the last of the sun at a table by the Grand Canal, with vino rossi and the meatiest green olives I've ever tasted. And in the evening we ate at a restaurant near the hotel. Do Italians really eat pasta and then a main course? We gave it a go, but it was just too much!

Day two. After the obligatory gondola ride, where the sunlight reflects the canals and dapples the crumbling stucco, where the cries of gondoliers echo around corners, and the motorboats of the canale grande seem a million miles away, we changed our mode of transport and set about exploring Venice on foot. Through dark narrow alleys that open out into quiet sun-bleached piazza down to San Marco, then crossing the Grand Canal by traghetti (gondolas for where there's no nearby bridge), to have a wander through the Peggy Guggenheim museum. This late, rich American lady has a collection of modern art housed here, in what used to be her home. We keep an open mind with these things, but must admit that some pieces stretched our mortal imaginations just that bit too far.

Pizza and salad in the mid-afternoon sun, and then back on our feet again, weaving through the beautiful back streets of San Polo, rejoining the crowds at the Rialto Bridge.

Our last night already! We maximised the romance with a meal at one of the canal side restaurants - pricey, but delicious. Time to leave this fairy tale city, with fond memories and head off on the next stage of our honeymoon tour of Italy. Ciao Venezia!

Labels: travel