A mammoth undertaking

It took a while to decide what I should do for Christmas this year. I knew that, whatever I did, I was likely to find it difficult, but I also wanted to mark it in some appropriate way. In the end it was my Gran who spurred me into action – she sent me a cheque with the instruction that I should spend it on something enjoyable for myself, that I could look forward to. So I decided that I would go away to Venice, just for a few days over Christmas itself.

Chris and I had been to Venice together, and loved it. I’d also been there years ago with my sister, and had “done” the city pretty thoroughly then. So that meant that if I was feeling miserable and not up to going out exploring, it wouldn’t matter as I wouldn’t feel that I was missing anything. On the other hand, there is always plenty to see in Venice, so if I was up to pottering about I certainly wouldn’t be bored. I picked on a holiday that offered four nights in Venice, based on a river boat moored on the lagoon. There was no single supplement, which was great as that is such a rip-off, and there would be plenty of other English-speaking people on the trip.  It was full board, so I didn’t have to worry about finding food, and I didn’t have to eat on my own (which I hate doing on holiday).

I did have some qualms after I booked it, wondering whether I was being over-ambitious for my first Christmas alone. But in fact, I enjoyed it far more than I feared I would. I did indeed spend a fair amount of time just winding-down in my cabin with a book, but I also “did” St Mark’s Basilica, the Doges Palace, and the classic vaporetto ride up and down the Grand Canal. I also went to a Baroque concert in an old church on Christmas Day – Vivaldi the Four Seasons, Pachelbel’s Canon and a Bach double violin concerto. Christopher would have absolutely loved it, especially the Bach.

The weather was dreadful – it rained heavily the entire five days I was there, and there was acqua alta too, which meant that there was heavy flooding in St Mark’s and wellie-boots were essential. But there was one dry half hour on 23rd December when the sun came out. I went up onto the sun-deck, and scattered some of Christopher’s ashes into the Venetian lagoon in the sunshine, on the anniversary of the day we were told the cancer was incurable. Somehow that seemed highly fitting.