At about 1:30am our short visit to Croatia was at an end and more immigration officers boarded. Now if you happen to be an immigration officer, let me give you some advice. A good way to wake me up against my will at 1:30 in the morning is to gently prod me in the shoulder or arm. Turning on the compartment’s bright fluorescent lighting is not a good way.

Exit stamp from Croatia, entry stamp for Slovenia, and the lights went off.

At 5:30am, we left Slovenia and entered Italy, which I became aware of courtesy of yet another immigration officer turning the lights on in my compartment. The Fins had disembarked in the Slovenian capital at 3am, so I had the compartment to myself by this time. Exit stamp from the Slovenian, a passing glance from the Italian, and by 5:32 I was back in the land of nod.

Despite all this immigration rigmarole, and the fact that I decided to switch bunks after the Fins left, I slept remarkably well.

The train glided across the bridge to Venice station in the mid morning, with shimmering blue waters on both sides, and I got quite excited. On arrival, a tourist information place gave me a list of hostels, so armed with a local Telecom Italia phone card I claimed a phone booth and started dialling. On the second attempt I had a room, in the Northern part of town.

I walked to the hostel, using the rather primitive but free map I’d been given by tourist info. To my considerable surprise Laura was standing in the reception area of the hostel when I walked in. She’d gotten off the train one station too early (just before the bridge) and had waited for the next one. Meanwhile I’d been buying the phone card, queuing at tourist info and making calls. But she had pre-booked the same hostel where I eventually found a place, so she must have overtaken me when I was on the phone.

Anyway, she was now having major panic number two. One of the immigration officials that visited us during the night had asked to see her credit cards as a means of identification, and she was worried that he might sneak off to the nearest BMW showroom and put in an order. I went for a wander while she tried to contact her bank and cancel the cards. Twenty minutes later I returned to find she hadn’t got the phone card to work yet. I supplied mine, which did work, and went wandering again.

Venice is an extremely odd place. Apart from the obvious lack of cars and abundance of canals, there is a strange vibe to the place. It’s conspicuously touristy, with every other building either a pizzeria or a souvenir shop, but it gives the impression that it has always been this way. Nothing seems too out of place or overly ostentatious.

I walked across the grand canal opposite the station and slowly worked my way to Saint Marks Square. Just navigating around is quite a challenge in orienteering – roads that appear to go in the right direction will suddenly stop on the bank of a canal, and if you don’t fancy swimming, you’ll need to find one with a bridge.

Venice has hundreds of canals, and even more bridges. The ‘roads’ on the map don’t need to accommodate cars, so some are mere alleyways, narrow enough to make walking two abreast impractical. They weave through the city like a maze, winding around buildings and over canals. Round every corner there is yet another church, public square or intricately-constructed bridge, so it took my an hour or so to make my way to St Marks Square, crossing the grand canal twice. It was swarming with tourists and pigeons, each fighting for space. I only stopped to take a few pictures before delving back into the more private back corridors of Venice.

At 3pm I was allowed into the room. This hostel was one of those annoying places that have a lockout, ie a period during the day when everyone must be out of the building. In fact it coupled this with a curfew, ie. a period during the night when everyone must be inside the building. Still, it was clean and reasonably cheap, so come three o’clock I was straight in the shower, having not washed since the previous morning.

Laura had sorted herself out by then, so we left the hostel and walked back to the station, where we caught a bus-boat (I think they’re called Vaporetos) to St Marks Square. We’d hoped it would go through the town but actually went round the other way, round the outside of Venice. From Piazza St. Marco we walked around for a while, dodging through the back streets and getting generally lost. At one point we got to a canal and couldn’t decide which canal it was. I’d left the navigating to Laura for the last fifteen minutes or so, and wasn’t actually sure even what part of the town we were in, but as it turned out her navigational skills were spot on. A local directed us to the bridge at the station, which turned out to be about 100 metres away, and we found somewhere to eat dinner.