Venice: Fried Chicken, Backstreets, and Bookish Nostalgia
After wrapping up my time in Zagreb, I hopped on a train bound for Italy — a full-day journey that turned out to be one of the most beautiful rides I’ve ever taken.
The train rolled through Slovenia’s lush hills and quiet towns. Somewhere along the way, a station went down, and I found myself suddenly being pulled off the train by the conductor. Thick accent, zero shared language — but she was determined to get me where I needed to go. She loaded me onto a random bus to the next section of track, made sure I understood what was happening (sort of), and waved me off like a true hero.
Later that day, I had a three-hour layover in Villach, Austria. I figured I’d kill time at the train station — until hunger (and curiosity) got the better of me. I wandered outside, walked a block or two… and immediately stumbled into what felt like a time capsule.
The whole town was in celebration mode — music echoing off stone buildings, rows of stalls selling roasted meats and hand-carved trinkets, and a steady flow of people wearing traditional Austrian clothing. Dirndls, lederhosen, wide-brimmed alpine hats — the works. It wasn’t for tourists. It felt like something the locals did every year, like clockwork, and I just happened to be there at the right moment.
I grabbed some crispy fried chicken from a festival stall — hot, greasy, absolutely perfect — and found a spot to watch the parade roll by. Marching bands, dancers, and whole families in embroidered folk dress walked past like it was the most normal thing in the world. Kids waved from horse-drawn carts. Older couples swayed to accordion music. It felt like everyone in Villach had come out for this.
And then, just as fast as it appeared, it poured. The sky went black, and the rain came down in sheets. No warning — just chaos. Everyone scrambled for cover under awnings and archways, laughing and holding onto their steins of beer like lifelines. I took that as my cue to run for the station. When I got back, I looked like a drowned rat.
But honestly? It was one of the most unexpectedly magical stops of the trip. No ticket, no plan — just good timing and a reminder that the best travel moments are usually the ones you stumble into.
The rest of the journey into Italy was uneventful, and late that night, I arrived in Venice.
Day One: Getting Lost (On Purpose)
I spent two days in Venice, and I mean this in the best way — I was never really sure where I was.
On my first full day, I signed up for a walking tour called The Backstreets of Venice. Easily one of the best decisions of the trip. Our guide — who calls himself a "Backstreet Boy" because he refuses to walk the main tourist paths — led us on a maze-like trek through alleys, over canals, and into parts of the city most people will never see.
We started in the Jewish Quarter, learned how Venice is the birthplace of quarantine (literally quaranta giorni — 40 days), and saw the site of the first-ever pawn shop — the inspiration for Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. Then he told us something I didn’t expect: Venice is also the birthplace of Carnival masks.
He explained how Carnival started as a way for nobles and peasants to blend in — and misbehave — without being recognized. But despite all the flashy tourist mask shops around today, there are only three traditional styles that actually go back centuries:
Bauta: the full-face white mask with a long square jaw (worn with a tricorn hat)
Moretta: the black velvet mask held in place by biting a button (used by women)
Volto: the simple, ghostly white mask that became the most iconic
Everything else is just modern decoration.
As we moved through the city, the guide pointed out another strange detail I’d never have noticed on my own: nearly every corner in Venice has a statue, niche, or shrine built into it. They aren’t just decorative — they were originally put there so no one could hide in a dark corner and jump someone. The city was built like a stage, but also like a trap. No place to lurk. Always lit. Always seen. It was wild to realize how much thought went into designing not just for beauty, but for safety.
He even showed us the narrowest alleyway in the entire city, which opened into a hidden courtyard with just six little homes. It felt like discovering a secret level.
After that, we took a short 2-euro ferry across the canal, and the tour ended in a massive, lesser-known church — where we saw the largest oil painting in the world. I wasn’t expecting much, but the sheer scale and detail of it stopped me in my tracks. Just standing beneath it, in the quiet of the church, was unforgettable.
The whole group followed the guide afterward to a tucked-away spot called The Dolphin, where we sat down for pasta, wine, and conversation in a quiet back alley. It was the kind of night that makes you forget time exists.
Day Two: Boats, Bookstores, and Fiction Flashbacks
The next day, I set off on my own little self-guided adventure — jumping on and off the public boats that snake their way through the city. Venice doesn’t have cars or bikes, so boats are the transit system. It’s equal parts ferry, scenic cruise, and chaotic floating traffic jam.
I eventually met up with a few people from the hostel to do the classic gondola ride — and honestly? It lived up to the hype. Floating through the quiet back canals with water lapping just below you, listening to the oars dip in and out — it was pure magic.
Pro tip, though: skip the Venice tourist pass. It’s overpriced, and unless you’re hopping on boats constantly, it’s not worth it. Just pay as you go and you’ll spend way less.
At one point, I made a stop at a bookstore that’s gone viral on TikTok and Instagram — Libreria Acqua Alta, the one with the staircase made of old books. It’s marketed as “the most beautiful bookstore in the world.” It’s not. Not even close. I showed up genuinely excited and left totally disappointed. The staircase was tiny and awkward, the place was overcrowded with tourists taking selfies, and the books inside were more moldy prop than literary treasure. It felt more like a tourist trap than a real bookstore. Skip it.
That evening, I kept things simple. I stayed in the city, found a good spot by the Grand Canal, and just watched the city breathe. Taxis and ferries cut through the water, gondoliers drifted by under golden light, and the buildings lit up like a painted set. Venice is the kind of place that asks you to slow down. I did. And it was worth it.
As I sat there, it hit me — the city reminded me of the Warrens from The Night Angel Trilogy. That was the book series that got me into reading, and Venice’s endless maze of canals, alleys, and hidden neighborhoods felt exactly like those shadowy, secret-filled streets from Kylar Stern’s world. It didn’t feel like walking through a city. It felt like walking through a story.
Final Thoughts from the Floating City
Before this trip, I had this romantic idea in the back of my mind that maybe I’d move to Italy one day. Spend my days surrounded by art, history, and food. But even after just a couple days in Venice, something started to shift. It wasn’t the heat yet — that came later — but I could already tell: this wasn’t going to be my place. The magic is real, but so are the crowds, the prices, and the endless tourism machine. I loved visiting. I don’t need to stay.
Next Stop: Rome
After two days of canals, mazes, tourist traps, and fiction-fueled nostalgia, I packed up and caught the train to Rome — ready for ruins, bureaucracy, and the blazing Roman sun.