Homeward Bound…
The alarm went off at 2am, a sound no one ever enjoys, but particularly unwelcome on the final morning of a trip. The night before, I’d arranged a private water taxi for a 3.30am pick-up, mindful that my flight was due to depart at 6.20am. I’d quickly learned that reaching Venice Marco Polo Airport in the small hours offers rather limited choices.
There was a train, but the last one left around midnight, and the thought of spending the night asleep or rather not asleep, at the airport held absolutely no appeal. After more than forty years of hard labour, I consider myself fully entitled to avoid such indignities wherever possible. My daughter Lauren and her partner Jack once tried something similar after a Bruce Springsteen concert in Belfast, opting to head straight to the airport and bed down there for the night before their flight. “Never again,” she told me, and I was inclined to believe her.
The hotel concierge suggested the water bus, which does run later than the train, but for much the same reason, I didn’t fancy arriving hours before check-in opened. That left me with one realistic option: a private water taxi. A twenty-minute journey from San Marco Pier, followed by a ten to fifteen minute walk to departures. Efficient, if not exactly economical.
Having never booked, or travelled in a private water taxi before, I’ll admit to a few nerves. Would it turn up? Would it find the right pier? Or worse still, would I find the wrong pier and watch my taxi disappear into the darkness while my flight departed without me? Given how close the hotel was to San Marco, I decided a rehearsal was in order.
San Marco Basin is a hive of activity during the day, with countless piers serving water buses, hotels, deliveries and private craft. Finding the correct one wasn’t immediately obvious. A short walk towards Harry’s Bar revealed a discreet sign marked Water Taxis. Lesson learned; always check these things in daylight, it saves a lot of stress when night falls.
Crossing St Mark’s Square at 3am was an experience in itself. A place normally heaving with tourists was completely silent and deserted. Right on time, the water taxi appeared, and moments later I was aboard, gliding away from the pier.
Even in the darkness, the journey through the narrow canals was gentle and unhurried, the city still asleep around me. Once we reached open water, however, that calm vanished, the boat surged forward and fairly flew across the lagoon. What would take around an hour and forty minutes by water bus took just twenty minutes by taxi.
By 4am I was safely at the airport, walking towards departures and ready for the journey home. Venice, fading behind me in the dark, had one last quiet moment to offer, and it was a rather memorable one.