On our second trip to Venice, we decided to go to the colorful island of Burano, a short 40 minutes vaporetto ride from the Fondamenta Nuove station to the north of the city. I thought Burano looked gorgeous on pictures, but I was wondering whether it was a ghost island, a place invaded by tourists where no authentic daily life remained.
Seeing Burano for the first time left me breathless: the colors were even brighter than pictures showed, the island looked smaller than I imagined, and the place radiated a surprising authenticity. Most people getting off the boat seemed to want to stick to the main canal streets. We veered off path, and soon we were alone, admiring the rainbow of houses unfurling along narrow alleys. We crossed old Italian ladies chatting in their houses’ entryways while hanging clothes to dry, kids playing soccer on tiny piazzas, cats lounging in the sun. We admired the generous flower boxes decorating almost every window and marveled at the mind-boggling number of photo opportunities that presented themselves at every turn.
Somewhere close to the northern shore, we saw the house pictured above and I just stood there in awe, imprinting every detail in my memory. I snapped a picture and then walked away, realizing I had just found my dream summer home in that lilac little house with blue shutters, a rainfall of purple flowers and a bushy green hat. Maybe one day I’ll get to go back and live there for a while to enjoy the stress-free sun-filled, colorful life I like to imagine the people of Burano are having.