Well, I made it! After a very teary goodbye at the Departures gate, I met up with my companion for Venice, M, and we made our way to the boarding area, in preparation for spending 26 hours in a tin can.

The flights went smoothly, apart from a small passport incident at Bangkok airport at 3.00am. Let’s just say M and his passport are inseparable nowadays.

The Italian stereotypes started once we hit the Venetian tarmac. We endured enjoyed a leisurely two-hour ride from the airport to our vaporetto stop, and then another forty minutes deciphering the Airbnb’s description of how to access our apartment, before finally settling in at around 5.00pm.

After mutually agreeing that a small nap was in order as to recover from the aforementioned tin-can ordeal, we both set alarms for 7.00pm, so that we could adjust quickly to Italian time, and enjoy a quick dinner.

Despite our best-laid plans, M slept till 8.30pm, and then quickly dressed and tried to rouse me by knocking on my door and calling my name. I am apparently a heavy sleeper, as I have absolutely no recollection of this whatsoever.

After three separate attempts, he gave up, and went back to bed.

Much to my chagrin, I awoke the next morning at 7.00am, and, somewhat apologetically, went in search of breakfast on this rather stunning winter’s day.

Over the next three days, we each racked up 60kms of walking, as we scoured the city for SIMs, travel cards and permanent accommodation – – a somewhat difficult task as the city is full of artists working towards this year’s Biennale, and students finishing off their academic year.

Unfortunately, the stereotype of the disinterested Italian worker is very much brought to life in the Venetian lagoon – – a stereotype which seems to be concentrated in the real-estate agency.

Two-hour lunches and haphazard approaches to returning emails aside, as the end of my first fortnight approaches, I have finally found my permanent residence. If anyone needs an extra kidney, let me know – I may need to let one go in order to pay for rent.

The international community here is lovely – I met so many wonderful people at the university-hosted welcome drinks, just casually held in a converted marble palazzo off the Grand Canal. Just, you know, your everyday, run-of-the-mill, garden-variety palazzo.

Last weekend, we had some heavy rainfall, which, in most major cities, is not really a problem.

In Venice, however, things begin to get a little sodden.

Suddenly, every street vendor is selling gumboots and plastic shoe-covers, and wooden walkways emerge from nowhere.

The fog begins to creep in, and Venice is suddenly enshrouded and lathed with all forms of water. Which would be wondrously mystical, if your feet weren’t so bloody wet.

Though the snow on the mountains has yet to make an appearance on the island.

With Carnevale just around the corner, the city is beginning to bustle and groan with tourists, which makes getting anywhere on time…well, worse than usual.

This hindrance is compensated for by the vast array of striking masks and sweet delicacies that pop-up around every corner.

Everywhere you go these doughy delights are being enjoyed by the locals – – whether they’re filled with cream, nutella or ricotta.

But, alas, when Carnevale is over, these beauties will disappear, until next year’s festivities.

In the meantime, M and I are slowly sorting out our new lives — adjusting to the Italian style of life where everything takes that little bit longer, and where the buses are aquatic.

With views like these, I don’t think it’ll take us very long!