I was determined that my first glimpse of Piazza S.Marco in almost thirty years should be a special one so I decided to visit at midnight - and I was not disappointed. The day trippers had mostly all gone home, other tourists were getting drunk in one of the city's many bars or were tucked up in bed ...one hopes, immersed in Jan Morris or Henry James (as I would have been).
It had been a long day. We flew from Vienna and on the way passed over Trieste where my Dad is buried.
The pilot announced the fly over in a matter-of-fact fashion and as if on cue, the clouds parted, the sun shone and from my window seat I could clearly see the city and its landmarks - Castello di Miramar, the ship yards, the huge petro chemical tanks at Aquilinia, the little, Venetian harbour at Muggia.
I was emotionally exhausted before we even landed.
Then suddenly we were there speaking another language.
The Campanile bell tower - the "Marangona" in dialect - rings out marking midnight as it has for hundreds of years. You are not the only one to hear - or have heard it. The city has made the hearts of many others leap, just it has yours.
But there I am on my own in the middle of Piazza S. Marco. I had the time to contemplate the Basilica, the Doges Palace, the old porticos that hug the square with their beautiful tableaux, the gondola lined water front.
Italy welcomed me back.
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