I tiptoed past the end of the wooden bed. It was almost pitch black in the room and outside rain was drumming against the windows, while the wind rattled the shutters against the wall. As I stepped towards the door the wooden floorboards creaked like a screeching cat – there was nothing I could do…

Last week we said goodbye to our catamaran home in Venice and headed north to ‘Prosecco land’ for a few nights. It was a chance to sleep in normal beds and stretch our legs on land at last.

We spent the first two nights basking in the luxury of Borghetto San Biagio where we enjoyed the warmest welcome from Lucia, who told us she could, “make magic happen” by upgrading us to the top suite of rooms. It was a little bit of heaven in Italy and we spent a day relaxing in some welcome sunshine by the pool. It was just what we needed before we headed west into the foothills of the Dolomites to the ancient town of Asolo.

Wandering through the castle grounds, with its panoramic views across the region, we could see vines growing on every available bit of land. Surely it was time to taste some Prosecco?

Passing through the famed Prosecco town of Valdobbiadene, we avoided Lidl, and drove on up into the hills and valleys lined with vineyards in search of our next BnB. We would be staying on a family vineyard, we didn’t know quite what to expect.

The Italian style stone house was awash with creepers and geraniums and each window was framed with shutters. Outside on the terrace there were a range of rustic tables and chairs and Pierre, the owner soon emerged with a bottle of Prosecco in his hand and a big smile.

For the next hour or two we asked all the questions you’d ever want to know about the production of Prosecco and growing grapes. It was also fascinating hearing how Pierre had met his wife Victoria, how they had been at school together and eventually married and then taken on part of the family vineyard. 

Once the bottle was empty, Victoria showed us up to our room on the second floor of the house, via a winding wooden stair case that became more ancient and uneven as it went up. The room was quaint with a painted wooden bed and an old chest of drawers, however, the ‘private’ bathroom was outside on the landing, up a set of slatted steps to a sliding door that opened into a very small bathroom. There was a step down from the bedroom also. It looked a little like an obstacle course… negotiating this at night might be a challenge, I thought.

And it was! Much later, after we’d feasted on meat cooked over a spit in a very local restaurant in the nearby village, where Victoria had booked us a table, we headed to bed.

When I woke in the middle of the night, I’d felt my way around the bedroom furniture and creaking boards, and opened the door onto the pitch black landing. I managed to misjusdge where the steps to the bathroom were and fell up them, making more noise, and trying to stifle a yell. I reached up to slide the bathroom door open, with yet more creaks. At least there was a light in the bathroom. Now the whole house must be awake.

When I got back to the bedroom, feeling my way along the walls, there were sighs and huffs from the other side of the bed. I made a mental note to beware of rooms listed with “private bathrooms” in future, it doesn’t mean ensuite and may even involve an ‘expedition’ to the toilet in the middle of the night!

The next BnB was another surprise, in a good way. We had planned a convenient overnight stay close to the airport before we caught our flight. That afternoon we were met by the owner and chef, Dario, who welcomed us with glasses of Prosecco again. He had booked us a table in the restaurant he had set up less than a year ago, which was below our room. As we chatted outside and sipped the refreshing bubbly, he talked about working in England where he had trained at Claridge’s in London and as a lead chef at Cecconi’s Italian restaurant in Mayfair. We were already impressed.

Our last meal of the trip was a sumptuous treat of asparagus with melted cheese and the most delicately cooked steak with vegetables, we even tried his fried Polenta. Dario informed us, “everything tastes wonderful when you fry it!” It was a delight to soak up the atmosphere of a highly cherished local eatery, Trattoria Boschetti, set up by this young entrepreneur.

Dario told us he had named the restaurant after his grandfather’s Trattoria, which his late father had then taken over after him. Now the Boschetti name lives on through this new restaurant with such heart and only a 10 minute drive from Venice airport. It turned out to be an unexpected yet beautiful end to our Mediterranean adventure and the bathroom was actually ensuite!