The water started gurgling into Saint Mark’s Square around 8pm on Tuesday, November 12. By 10:50pm, the tide had swelled to an astounding 72 inches—just two inches shy of the record that turned the square into a swimming pool in 1966.
The high water mark from the 1966 flood on St. Mark’s Campanile
At the exact moment Venice was drowning, Sean and I were 400 miles away, boarding a bus in Budapest that would eventually take us right into the disaster zone. And we had no idea.
Venice is no stranger to flooding. The streets fill with water 100 times a year, on average. It’s filthy, corrosive, and a sure sign that the city’s in peril, but it’s also a fact of life. Venetians don their wellies, business owners put steel flood gates in front of their doors, tourist kiosks sell shoe covers, and everyone trudges on. It’s so commonplace that there’s even a name for it: acqua alta (high water).
A typical flood gate
The city has a warning system that sounds before particularly high tides: One tone means the tide could reach 43 inches. Four tones means it could get as high as 55 inches. But there is no tone for what happened this past Tuesday.
November is the beginning of acqua alta season, and we knew we might have to deal with it when we added Venice to our itinerary. Hyper-diligent Sean had been checking the acqua alta forecast religiously in the days leading up to our trip. On Monday he’d even triumphantly declared that acqua alta would start to taper off just before we arrived, and wouldn’t happen again until after we’d left.
The water right where it should be
But acqua alta is tough to predict more than a few hours out. We went to sleep on that bus thinking our unfathomably good luck on this trip would continue. We didn’t realize we were wrong until we’d crossed into Italy on Wednesday morning.
St. Mark’s Square during acqua alta
“Have you seen the news reports?” Sean asked after the sun had come up. “It’s flooding in Venice. The second-worst flood of all time.” We arrived around 10am to pouring rain and knee-high water. We couldn’t check into our guesthouse until noon, so without rain boots and laden with luggage, we opted to take refuge in the train station until the water receded a little. (Pro tip: If you’re ever in Venice during acqua alta, bum shoe covers off people who are leaving the city. Otherwise they cost 10€ per person.)
At 11:45am, we decided to go for it. As we squeezed past locals and other tourists on the raised wooden walkways the city had put up, we gaped at what we saw: geysers erupting from pumps stationed in hotel lobbies, bistro chairs floating down the street, boats crammed into alleyways.
This boat washed ashore during the flood
Smaller streets didn’t have walkways, so we waded through rivers that went up past our ankles. At some point my left shoe cover sprung a leak; my only pair of socks was slowly soaked.
Never have I been more grateful for my convertible roller bag
Our host was leaning out the fourth floor window of the guesthouse when we arrived. “Buongiorno!” she shouted, waving us in. Her mother was standing on the ground floor, sweeping water out the door. She smiled wearily at us and shook her head. It was crazy, we all agreed.
The rest of the day was like a scene from a disaster movie. The water had almost completely receded by 1pm, but it left a huge mess in its wake. Shop owners gathered up piles of ruined merchandise and tossed soggy carpets onto the sidewalk; restaurateurs scrubbed grey film from their tables, chairs, and windows; banks posted hand-scribbled signs on their doors: “Chiuso a causa dell'acqua alta” (“Closed due to high water”). Venetians seemed to be in a state of shock, mindlessly trying to sort through the chaos. Stoic, silent, dumbfounded. If you’ve ever experienced a natural disaster—a blizzard in New England, a tornado in Texas—you know this routine.
Water receding after the flood
We had a hard time finding food on Wednesday night. Grocery stores were roped off and in disarray. Many restaurants were closed, and those that were open were only accepting cash. We had used up the last of our euros in Greece, and we went to four ATMs before we found one that was working.
Things seemed to be getting back to normal on Thursday. The sun was shining, gelaterias were open, and gondoliers were serenading their passengers. If you’d come to Venice just for the day, you would’ve sworn the flood never happened.
St. Mark’s Campanile from the Grand Canal
But that was a veneer. Every third shop was still shuttered. When we finally found an open grocery store, the check-out line stretched nearly to the back. Saint Mark’s Basilica and the Doge’s Palace—two of Venice’s most iconic destinations—were closed for days, as were the (allegedly) lively cafés that line the square.
The Doge’s Palace was closed throughout our stay
When we arrived at Antica Osteria Ardenghi, the tiny restaurant we’d reserved for Sean’s birthday, the owner was quick to warn us that the menu was limited, and he wasn’t accepting cards because the internet was still down. “Water up to here,” he repeated, pointing at a spot on the door about three feet from the ground. (We stayed, and not only was the restaurant immaculate after just 36 hours, the food was absolutely outstanding. Truffle pasta that made us want to lick the plate. Gnocchi lighter and softer than anywhere else in the world.)
Antica Osteria Ardenghi—does this place look like it was recently under water?
On Friday morning, we were awoken twice by the whine of the acqua alta sirens. Four tones—the max. The forecast predicted a 63-inch tide, and a whole lot of rain. We were trapped in the guesthouse with our hosts until the afternoon. Water was literally lapping at the front door. But this time when we mentioned how crazy it was, the mother only chuckled. “Venice in November,” she shrugged, “tomorrow I buy boots up to here,” pointing at her thighs.
The watery courtyard of our guesthouse
Tuesday’s flood was nearly unprecedented, but everything that came after it was a typical Venetian experience. (Albeit a scary one, and also terribly expensive and inconvenient. I’m not sure how the locals tolerate the constant need to clean up, or the regular reminders that their city is sinking.) It might not have been ideal for us, but it was authentic. And it’s a testament to Venice that, even when it’s in soaking wet shambles, it’s still completely and utterly enchanting.
One of Venice’s tucked away canals
We didn’t let the rain and high tides ruin our visit—we rode a vaporetto down the Grand Canal, strolled across iconic bridges, and had plenty of opportunities to get lost in Venice’s back lanes, which is the best thing to do in this city.
But we’ll need to come back eventually to experience everything that was closed this time. And we’re really looking forward to it.
Salute Basilica on the Grand Canal
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