Some years ago, we travelled to Venice in the depths of winter because my stepdaughter Emma was having a major exhibition of her jewellery in the city. What follows is the newspaper article I wrote at the time…

The Silent City. That’s what I call Venice now that I’ve been there in the back end of February. As a countryman, the thing I dislike most about any urban environment is the general, all-pervading, mind-numbing, noise. I have never been to a city that doesn’t shake with the roar of traffic. Or rather, I hadn’t until I went to Venice last week. 

At this time of year Venice is one big watery, lapping, twinkling, void of quiet. Sure, you hear the engines of the water-taxis and floating buses beetling about on the Grand Canal, but step a few metres into the myriad alleys and back-streets and all you’ll hear is the sound of human voices. Often extremely animated voices, but then, that’s the Italian way.

The sparkling jewel in Europe’s Crown is just about empty. I stood in St Mark’s Square as the multitudinous bells tolled the midnight hour and, with one exception, I was the only person in the ornate rectangle which is usually awash with tourists. 

The exception by the way, was a be-robed and masked figure called Marco who had, for a few hours, been entertaining my partner, her daughter, and me. But once we got to St Mark’s he insisted on regaling us with his own versions of various Michael Jackson songs. My companions left and I would have taken to my heels only the paving stones of the square were covered in one big sheet of ice.

Marco’s attire may seem odd, but wearing a robe and mask put him in the majority. Arriving in Venice is a sensation at any time, but when you are confronted by hordes in costume it is like stepping onto another planet. We arrived during the last night of the city’s two week midwinter carnival. 

People from all over Italy descend on the sinking island to party beneath those weird, sometimes attractive, sometimes spooky masks, but when it’s all over they leave, and Venice gets to enjoy a brief breather before the tourist season begins at Easter.

The Venetians might lose even that short window of peace and quiet soon. That’s because journalists like me are flying there on EasyJet and waxing lyrical about the wonders of the place out of season. 

A quick trip to Venice just became an easy option for those of us living in the West Country thanks to easyJet, which has a daily lunchtime service from Bristol International Airport. Painless internet booking, a quick drive to the airport, a scenic flight over the snowbound Alps, a pleasant boat ride from Marco Polo Airport into the heart of Venice and we were on my stepdaughter’s doorstep four and a half hours after leaving our own on Exmoor..

That’s cheaper than taking the train to London. EasyJet’s prices vary from flight to flight – sometimes it’s cheaper than that, and sometimes it can be more expensive. If you can go sometime around mid-week, the costs tend to be lower. My stepdaughter whizzed back earlier this week to pick up a few things and a one-way ticket cost a ludicrous £1.50.

And so, to Venice itself. I won’t rattle out loads of facts about the architecture, the great works of art, the painted church ceilings and Harry’s Bar, because it’s all been written about too many times before. But I will jump up and down with enthusiasm because, like millions before me, I fell in love with Venice. 

Of course, I did it the hard way. Basically my trip to Italy’s ancient mercantile capital turned into a walking holiday. I reckon we walked more than 25 miles in two-and-a-half days. Although the island upon which Venice is sinking is only three miles long, it is riddled with alleys and streets (not to mention canals), and if you unravelled the entire lot and placed them end to end, the single route would stretch for hundreds of miles.

Hardly a single inch of it is unattractive, so the will to see what’s around the next corner becomes overwhelming, no matter how tired you are.