Burano bewitched me. That is a fact. From the moment I set foot on this colouful little island situated a few miles away from Venice, I was in love. After the splendor and decay of Venice, Burano had more of a village feel to it. The canals and waterways are wider here, the houses less tall. It was less crowded and with more open spaces. More importantly, we could feel the remnants of a breeze rolling off of the Adriatic and winding its way through its streets.
Without a doubt, comparisons are odious, and there is no way that the humble fishermen’s houses of Burano can ever compete with the grandeur of the palaces of Venice. But the simplicity of this place is palpable.
From the leaning tower of the church of San Martino, to the cheerful houses lining the canals, Burano seems to be a completely different world. The contrasting colours of the pretty houses and their reflections in the water of the canals are a photographer’s dream.
There’s something endearing about a place that paints its houses in such boisterous colours; something intrinsically appealing. I couldn’t get enough of Burano. I would gladly have walked its peaceful streets till sundown, enjoying the glimpses of homes that I got through the curtains that, in summer, doubled as doors; smiling at the unabashed lines of washing strung across sleepy courtyards and all the time wondering what it must feel like to live in the proximity of such a famous neighbour. Burano is in no way pretentious but I came away with the certainty that it has an innate charm all of its own.