An auburn sun glitters off the canals. Lamplighters fill the lanterns over the strada with oil. A boisterous laugh, an overturned jug in a pool of wine. A man bolts across a bridge wearing a devil’s mask. A woman reclines at the fore of a gondola, fanning herself in the humid night air. A scent of gunsmoke and basil. The sound of a harmonium. Lewd graffiti on a fresco above the heads of ruddy-faced, mustachioed paisan, idling away the night with cards and catcalls. A cloaked figure, moving in the shadows of the stuccoed walls. The glint of dying sunlight off a knife’s blade.

Belluna Serenissima! Its tastes and smells inflame the imagination, from the salt tang of the waterway-streets to the rich scent of the grilled polpo to the delicate bouquet of its finest wines. Skilled craftsmen of all trades display their wares by hand in stalls passed down family lines for centuries.  Great artists, scientists, and philosophers flock to its wealthy patrons. The al fresco public houses seem forever open. The ports teem with goods and visitors from all across the world. Belluna is also a city of contrasts. Its churches give succor to the devout while the palatial estate of its Doge erupts into the all-night revelry of the carnevale. Its Palazzo Ducale stands testament to the might of the city, even as its underprivileged wonder when their next meal will be.

A subalpine port city, Belluna lies at the foot of the mountain passes that travel beneath Monte Bianco to the northwest and the Piave Sea to the east. It is a city of canals, most of which bustle during the day with commerce and private travel. Many of the city’s roads are earthen, but much travel happens by canali and ponti, particularly near the trade district, where much of the city’s inbound commerce occurs. Many other waterways, though, meander through the city proper, creating a poetic spirit and giving Belluna its unique personality.

This, then, is a chronicle of those who would taste the fruits Belluna has to offer.