Stepping out of Venezia Santa Lucia station is like walking onto a stage set. The Grand Canal lies directly ahead, gondolas bobbing, vaporetti sliding past and a cacophony of noise and people. Venice doesn’t ease you in gently — it sweeps you up. And the best way to fall under its spell, we discovered, was to avoid the crowds and the tourist hot spots. Instead, especially as my husband is a chef, we choose to discover the more authentic parts of the city following the trail of some of the city’s bacari.
These little wine bars, scattered through the labyrinth of calli (narrow streets) and campos (squares), are where Venetians pause for an ombra (a small glass of wine) accompanied by cicchetti, those jewel-like snacks displayed along the counter. To spend a day wandering from one to the next is to taste Venice in its truest form.
We crossed the Ponte delle Guglie and slipped into Cannaregio, one of the city’s most lived-in quarters. A short walk brought us to Cantina Vecia Carbonera, tucked beside a canal. Inside was dark and cool, the bar was lined with platters of crostini: baccalà (salt cod) whipped to a creamy cloud, anchovies draped over soft cheese, slivers of prosciutto folded with precision. We ordered two small white wines and a roll filled with rare beef and mustard to share. This all came to just 6 euro and we knew we had a fun day ahead.
The term ombra means shade and comes from a centuries-old tradition in Piazza San Marco. Wine sellers used to set up their stalls at the base of the Campanile (the tall bell tower beside the basilica). To keep their wine cool in the days before refrigeration, they would constantly move their barrels and jugs around the square to remain in the shadow (ombra) of the tower as the sun shifted during the day.
Locals began to say they were going “to drink in the shadow” (andare a bere all’ombra). Over time, the expression shortened simply to ombra — and the word stuck, becoming synonymous with a modest glass of wine.
Our next stop, Ca d’oro Alla Vendova was heaving with locals on their morning break. The house speciality is the humble polpetta — crisp, golden meatballs served on greaseproof paper. They’re best eaten standing shoulder to shoulder at the bar, washed down with un’ombra di rosso – red wine this time .
The walk along Strada Nova is a sensory jolt: shopfronts overflowing with glass trinkets, grocers selling pyramids of peaches, children weaving between slow-moving tourists. We ducked into Osteria Al Promessi-Sposi where the cicchetti were more inventive, sardines marinated with onions and pine nuts, balanced with a touch of sweetness.
By now, the lanes funnelled us toward the Rialto Bridge. Crowds jostled for photographs, but step just a little further and the mood shifts. The Rialto Market still hums with life in the mornings: fishmongers clattering ice, traders shouting prices, shoppers filling canvas bags with artichokes and clams. Just behind it hides Cantina Do Mori, a wood-panelled bacaro with copper pots dangling from the beams. Founded in the 15th century, it feels unchanged for centuries; Casanova himself is rumoured to have drunk here.
Nearby, Bacaro al Ravano offered a quick ombra, while Ostaria dai Zemei, run by twin brothers, brimmed with conviviality. These two spots capture the Rialto spirit — loud, sociable, and endlessly tempting.
Leaving the Rialto behind, the crowds began to thin. We crossed into San Polo, a neighbourhood where washing lines stretched across courtyards and the sound of children echoed in the campos. Down a narrow lane we found Aea Canevassa, a more contemplative bar, its shelves stacked with bottles. Here we lingered over a refreshing Aperol Spritz, enjoying marinated anchovies while watching the ebb and flow of Venetian life.
The longest stretch of the walk took us across the Accademia Bridge, where the view stopped me in my tracks: the dome of Santa Maria della Salute framed against the golden sweep of the Grand Canal. Just beyond lay Cantina del Vino gia Schiavi, perched beside a quiet canal in Dorsoduro. Students and locals crowded its counter, balancing plates of cicchetti: creamy gorgonzola with walnuts, prawns with courgette, tuna with artichoke. It was noisy, chaotic and utterly glorious.
A bacaro crawl isn’t just about food and drink — it’s about moving at Venice’s pace, slipping between tourist hotspots and neighbourhood corners, glass in hand, discovering the city mouthful by mouthful. And by the end of the day, we felt we’d tasted not just its wine and cicchetti, but its very soul.
Sounds absolutely delicious and lovely! Congratulations and best wishes to you both!
An old uni friend (we met in 1976) and I are doing a train holiday in Italy in May, Rome, Florence, Milan and Venice so I've noted down the bar names. Should be like a re run of the uni pub crawls we did nearly 50 years ago.