Memories of Burano

The corona virus is spreading throughout the world like a wildfire. My thoughts goes to all the affected countries in these troubled times. The nation being worst hit in Europe at the moment is Italy. It will likely be a no-go zone for a long time, so I think back on the many good times I’ve had there.

I visited Venice a few years back. Just beyond the tourist vortex, there are less-known islands in the north part of the lagoon. After a quick boat ride from the city, I roamed across the San Michele Cemetery. The entire island is a graveyard, where I found the tombs of Stravinsky and Doppler.

A canal in Murano.

Another boat took me to the island of Murano, where I had a nice espresso with tiramisu on a green patio. As Venice once grew, it had to be carefully planned unlike many cities on the mainland. Murano became the center of glass-making in the 13th century, since the smelting ovens were too dangerous to keep in the narrow wooden buildings of central Venice.

Burano – a dream in color.

But the real gem of the archipelago turned out to be Burano, the island of silk. The narrow streets are lined with brightly colored houses. It feels like someone spilled once a bucket of Pantone swatches onto a sleepy fishing village and just walked away.

Legend says they were painted that way so returning fishermen could recognize their homes through the thick Venetian fog. I prefer to believe they just got bored one day and decided to outdo each other, until the entire island looked like a candy shop having a psychotic break.

Hanging by the canal in Burano.

I sat down by a fountain in a plaza, shadowed by the leaning bell tower of San Martino Vescovo. Munched on a bag of the local delight called bussolà, a donut-shaped butter cookie. Sweet memories in a dark time.