I’ve been plugging away at this post on and off for a while, in no small part due to breaking my own vow to myself that I would rein in how many photos I edited before posting. What can I say? Venice was a photographic smorgasbord, and I got excited. I decided to split this into two parts as well, as there’s just too many damn photos to expect anyone to process in one sitting. Frankly, there’s still probably too many damn photos, but I love them all, so bear with me.

After bidding farewell to the snowy slopes of Zermatt, we hopped a train over to the grand canals of Venice. Venice is truly a remarkable city. We’d visited once before, the first stop on our honeymoon, and it left an indelible mark on us. I’d always half-expected it to be kind of a shell of how it’s always portrayed, maybe a few canals kept up here and there to preserve its historical charm, but no; it really is a world free of cars, where walking the narrow streets or hopping a boat are the only ways to get from point A to point B. There’s nothing quite like it, and there is a sense of magic to it.

We’d always floated (no pun intended, for once) the idea of returning at some point, but kept it on the back burner for when it made sense to do so. Tempting as a return was I understand there are elements of Venice (the crowds, the heat, the smell) that can sour the experience, especially depending on the time of year.

Visiting during Carnevale had always been something we wanted to do, but the early parts of the year in which it takes place are odd times, often inconvenient for travel across the globe. With our current situation living in Rome though, it was a no-brainer. For those unfamiliar with Carnevale in Italy, a rundown can be found here, but in brief, it has the same basis as Mardi Gras in New Orleans: a celebration to indulge in various things before Lent.

Carnevale in Venice did not disappoint. While costumed and masked revelers were strewn throughout the city from the moment we arrived, our first big taste of it was the following morning. We headed to Piazza San Marco (St. Mark’s Square) around 9am to stake out a spot for the Volo dell’Angelo, or Flight of the Angel, where two elaborately dressed “angels” descend across the piazza slowly from Campanile di San Marco (a cathedral tower) onto the main stage.

The Volo dell’Angelo has seen quite a few iterations since the 16th century. Originally performed annually by an acrobat walking a tightrope, then replaced by a wooden dove after one of the acrobats fell, the practice went on hiatus for centuries after the fall of the Venetian Republic. Since its revival in 2001, the role of the angel has typically gone to a prominent Italian woman in the public eye, or more recently, the winner of a Venetian beauty pageant of sorts. In 2009 however, it was Coolio. Yes, that Coolio. I’m still not entirely clear why; I’ll just leave you with that.

After the angels did their thing, I stuck around Piazza San Marco to do some people-watching and photography. There were some wonderful costumes on display, though getting clear shots amid the crowds was a challenge. Afterward, we got a tasty lunch, and rested until it was time to catch a beautiful sunset from the Rialto Bridge, where we hitched a ride on a gondola for an evening cruise. We also snagged the obligatory souvenir masks, and had the most tender squid ever, cooked in a squid ink sauce.

The following morning, I woke up before dawn to try to photograph the sunrise in Piazza San Marco. I’d anticipated there would be some planned photoshoots of costumed revelers going on, but didn’t know precisely what to expect. Dozens of the most extravagantly costumed models were out posing in the golden light, and dozens upon dozens of photographers were out there to shooting them. My plans to shoot the sunrise lasted all of 5 minutes before the allure of Carnevale-goers, readily posing for whoever was willing to shoot, took precedent. It was a blast, and I regret nothing.

Coming up in part two: Our visit to the Venetian island of Burano, the answer to, “What Would Happen if Lisa Frank Was an Urban Planner?”