Beyond Venice’s iconic canals lies its lesser-known mainland province—a sunlit world of Adriatic beaches, historic riverside towns, and countryside villas where Gigia holds court without the crowds. She’s strolled Jesolo’s endless beaches (leaving sandy paw prints near the waves), supervised Chioggia’s morning fish auctions (with a critic’s eye for the freshest catch), and claimed Caorle’s colorful fishermen’s quarter as her personal open-air gallery. Along the Brenta Riviera, Palladian villas double as her regal lounging spots, their manicured gardens far superior to any cramped Venetian alley.
From the pine-scented shores of Eraclea to Dolo’s ancient water mills, this is Venice’s relaxed alter ego—where cycling paths replace vaporetto queues, and every sunset over the lagoon tastes better with a side of fried seafood (and, for Gigia, a stolen shrimp or two). The province may lack Venice’s fame, but it more than makes up for it with space to reign—and far more sunbeams per square meter.
Caorle (VE)
Caorle (VE)
While the world flocks to Venice and the Amalfi Coast, those in the know find their way to Caorle—a fishing town bathed in Adriatic light, where the sea whispers its secrets. This is where northeastern Italians come to unwind, where the rhythm of life follows the tides, and where Gigia, standing at the weathered fishing pier on a still afternoon, finally made peace with the sea. From that day forward, she carried its calm with her—though this didn't stop her from crawling into every suspicious-looking crevice between the rocks like some sort of Mediterranean meerkat, convinced that the next damp hole might contain treasure, a lost civilization, or at the very least, an interesting crab. (She found mostly pebbles. And once, a startled seagull.)
Caorle’s magic lies in its effortless authenticity. The old town, a mosaic of peach and sky-blue houses, spills into narrow calli that lead to the ancient Cathedral of St. Stephen, its bell tower standing guard since the 11th century. Down at the harbour, fishermen mend nets as they’ve done for generations, while trattorias serve spaghetti alle vongole so fresh it tastes of salt and sunshine. The beaches—wide, golden, and blissfully uncrowded—invite lazy afternoons under striped umbrellas, interrupted only by the occasional gelato break (or Gigia’s latest rock-based excavation project).
What Caorle lacks in fame, it makes up for in soul. The Madonna dell’Angelo sanctuary, perched on jagged rocks where the waves lick the stones, watches over sunsets that set the sky ablaze. Along the waterfront, an open-air museum emerges where local artists have transformed ordinary boulders into whimsical sculptures—seagulls, mermaids, and dreamlike faces that gaze eternally at the tides, providing far more dignified company than Gigia’s questionable rock-hollow discoveries. By day, the town hums with market vendors and cyclists; by night, piazza conversations blend with the clink of Aperol spritz glasses. This is the Italy Italians cherish—unpretentious, vibrant, and deeply lived-in, with just the right number of mysterious holes to keep curious souls entertained.
Here, between the sea’s embrace and the art-scattered shore, Caorle reveals its quiet wonders to those who linger. And for Gigia, it became the place where the horizon no longer felt like an ending, but a beginning—though she still maintains that one of these days, those rocks will cough up something spectacular. (The seagull disagrees.)
Eat & Drink
Chioggia (VE)
Chioggia (VE)
Tucked at the southern edge of the Venetian Lagoon, Chioggia is a working-class beauty with canals like Venice, but with fewer gondolas and more fishing boats. It's a place where laundry flaps in the sea breeze above narrow alleys, and the scent of salt and seafood hangs in the air like a local dialect.
It was here, in this deceptively tranquil town, that a drama unfolded so intense it nearly gave me a heart attack—an episode you may have already read about in Part One of this book. Let’s just say Gigia was involved, and so was a canal. (She insists it was a calculated leap. I remain unconvinced.)
But Chioggia is also where we discovered one of our favourite culinary surprises: zuppa di cozze al gorgonzola—a bold, creamy seafood soup that sounded like a dare but turned out to be a dream. We found it in the Bacaro La Baia dei Porci we now return to faithfully, where Gigia is welcomed like a Hollywood star—complete with head turns, coos of admiration, and sometimes even a saucer of something special, unrequested but clearly deserved.
The town is also famed for its cicchetti—those irresistible Venetian-style small bites. It’s one of our favorite ways to eat: a feast of variety, perfectly suited for bar hopping, which Gigia thoroughly enjoys. Not so much for the snacks (though she’ll sample if offered), but because it satisfies her intellectual pursuit of people-watching and strategic lounging.
It also works for me—because on cicchetti days, I can count on her sleeping soundly through the night, too content (and exhausted) to request snacks at 3 a.m. the moment she senses me turning in bed.
Chioggia may not have Venice’s fame, but it has stories, flavor, and flair all its own—and for us, it's unforgettable in every way.
Dolo (VE)
Dolo (VE)
Tucked along the sleepy Brenta River, this unassuming town hides a delicious secret: it’s where Venetian nobility built their vacation villas… and where modern cats come to judge them. Dolo’s claim to fame? Bigoli in salsa – a pasta so packed with anchovy punch it could wake the dead (or at least clear a room of picky eaters). Between its historic water wheels and riverside trattorias, this is the kind of place where time moves at the pace of a drifting gondola.
Gigia, ever the discerning critic, approved of Dolo’s waterfront promenade – though her review of local cuisine was scathing (“Fish paste on noodles? Darling, I’ve licked cleaner plates”). She spent hours studying the creaking water wheels with the focus of a physicist (or a cat calculating if the splash zone was worth it). Meanwhile, the Brenta’s shimmering surface proved an excellent mirror for admiring her whiskers.
Others
Eraclea (VE)
Eraclea (VE)
While nearby Jesolo pulses with neon lights and crowded beaches, Eraclea remains northeastern Italy’s best-kept secret—a sanctuary where the Adriatic still whispers rather than shouts. Here, locals trade beachfront discos for something far more precious: space to breathe. Parking spots wait patiently even in afternoon’s golden hours. Pine-shaded paths lead effortlessly to untrodden stretches of sand. And Gigia, ever the curious explorer, finds endless wonder tracing the labyrinth of tidal cracks and hollows left by the receding waves.
The magic of Eraclea reveals itself in quiet moments. The Pineta di Eraclea, a fragrant pine forest hugging the coast, offers dappled shade where families picnic on crisp porchetta sandwiches. Unlike its bustling neighbor, the beach here welcomes spontaneous visits—no strategic dawn arrivals required. The Laguna del Mort, a shimmering inland waterway, mirrors the sky so perfectly that wading herons seem to walk on clouds.
What Eraclea lacks in glamour, it returns tenfold in authenticity. Elderly men play cards at Bar Centrale as children chase gelato drips down their wrists. Cyclists glide along the Argine Vecchio embankment at sunset, their wheels kicking up the sweet dust of pine needles. The sea, warm and gentle, carries the salt-kissed laughter of those who’ve discovered the art of slowing down.
For Gigia, these woods and waters became a living map of tranquility. She learned to read the tide’s handwritten notes in the sand, to find solace in the pine canopy’s sighing chorus. While others fought for beach towels in Jesolo, she claimed something far greater: the freedom to arrive as she pleased, and the certainty that Eraclea would always have space—both on its shores, and in its unhurried rhythm.
Eat & Drinks
Others
Jesolo (VE)
Jesolo (VE)
This fifteen-kilometer stretch of Adriatic charm has been reinventing itself since Roman galleys first docked at Equilium – though admittedly, their gelato options were severely limited. Today's Jesolo is the ultimate split personality: by night, she's a disco diva in sequins, serving towering gelato sundaes that defy gravity (and good judgment); by dawn, she's a wise old fisherman spinning yarns over espresso, the salty breeze carrying whispers of the day's catch.
We've cracked the code to morning magic – those special dog-friendly beach zones where pups splash with the enthusiasm of toddlers at a soda fountain. Their joy is so contagious that even Gigia, our leash-trained feline dignitary, has somehow negotiated honorary dog status (though her contract clearly states: "All swimming optional, snacks mandatory"). Locals do double-takes over their cappuccinos. "Ma è un... cane-gatto?" they marvel, as she picks her way along the boardwalk like a celebrity avoiding paparazzi (to be fair, sand is the original influencer's nightmare).
Her daily sovereignty follows an unwavering rhythm: each morning begins with a dignified inspection from her backpack command centre, surveying both her human staff and the canine peasantry with detached interest. When the sun reaches its "dangerously sunny" hours (approximately 11:03 AM by her internal sundial), she retreats for a strategic siesta in the shadows, conserving energy like a tiny, furry solar panel. But come golden hour—when the light transforms everything into that perfect Instagram-gold hue—she makes her grand reappearance, stretching with the theatrical flair of a diva taking center stage. The day ends with a sundowner at the beach bar, where the clink of ice cubes harmonizes with the Adriatic's lullaby, and Gigia's regal patience is rewarded with abundant treats—because even the most discerning feline knows that paradise isn't complete without a side of snacks.
While she'll never understand why dogs lose their minds over floating sticks ("It's just wet wood, people!"), even Gigia must admit – as she surveys her kingdom from atop her sunbed throne – there's something magical about a place that looks the other way when a cat crashes the dog beach party. After all, in Jesolo, the rules are more like... suggestions.
Stra (VE)
Stra (VE)
Villa Pisani is undoubtedly more famous than Stra, the quaint town where it’s nestled. Gigia, ever the refined feline, gazed at its grandeur through the intricate cast-iron fence, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she imagined roaming its lavish halls. The gardens, even from a distance, were a masterpiece of symmetry and color, a verdant dream that seemed to beckon her inside. If only the Villa’s museum could bend the rules for a cat like Gigia, who, let’s face it, might appreciate the art and history more deeply than some humans. After all, she’s a true aficionado of beauty—whether it’s a Baroque fresco or a sun-dappled patch of lawn.
Straddlers (VE)
Let’s be honest—Not every charming spot in the province trading on the famous name of Venice has the privilege of a celebrated “parent” town. So, we’ve placed them in this somewhat ambiguous category. But don’t be fooled. While these places might lack a towering reputation, they offer something far more authentic: simplicity, soul, and a refreshing absence of pretense.
The real beauty? Thanks to their more “off-the-beaten-path” locations, you’re likely to enjoy a genuinely Italian experience—complete with down-to-earth prices.
And who do we have to thank? Gigia, of course. Her boundless curiosity and tireless paws often lead her human to unexpected corners, unearthing gems that might otherwise remain hidden.
