All too often I hear of lovey-dovey long weekends to Venice...

“Such and such has booked a hotel in Venice next weekend – isn’t he romantic.”

Well, no actually; Mr. such-and-such scores a lowly ‘zilch’ on the originality front. Venice is the most painstakingly obvious place to take a partner in love/crime.

I’m getting rather hysterical about this now, but the effort required to book a getaway to Venice is more minimal than the latest underground techno East London’s finest hangouts have to offer; simply click on lastminute.com (probably in your favourites) and you’re virtually boarding the plane.

No sooner had I finished ranting when it was pointed out to me that, yes, four years ago, I was one of said people to frequent Venice romantically. Under pressure to come up with a witticism of some such or risk being dubbed a hypocrite, I part-conceded defeat but then continued my tirade.

Ok, Venice was nice, but no nicer than the word ‘nice’ suggests. The drawing room of Europe that is St. Marco Square, senza dubbio, was the most enchanting place I’ve been to since Disneyland aged eight, but aside from that, it’s full of lastminute.com tourists (already established as a pet hate of mine). Plus the amount of pigeon poo around left gelati a sorry second and the omnipresent waft of sewage just didn’t really float my… gondola.

And the final straw: Anywhere abroad that has English written above the native tongue on restaurant menus just upsets me. Luckily, everything wrong with Venice, Vicenza made up for in abundance.

Only 40 minutes away via train, my sole knowledge of Vicenza was that its football team dwindles in mid-table mediocrity season after season. That’s it. Courtesy of Mr. LP (Lonely Planet FTWTNTA*), though, my better-looking other half was much more clued up: "Vicenza, the birthplace of Andrea Palladio". If architecture is your thing, then apparently he is pretty high on your ‘Would like to be…him’ list. * for those who tend not to abbreviate.

So, what’s so magnifico about this place? It oozes culture with its trendy Italian mannerisms… which means what exactly? This should explain things…

Leaving the hotel at midday, we returned 12 hours later comfortably full, a teeny bit tipsy, clutching a few fancy bags and sporting tans. Elaborating slightly; armed with a map, we hired one of those doubled-seated bike things (the name of which escapes me) and cycled out of town to Palladio’s party house, la Rotonda.

Set in the idyllic Venetian countryside and surrounded by a natural amphitheatre of hills, it was regal-like. Ditching the bike thing, the Teatro Olimpico was next on the list of things to see…Again, this Palladio chap really excelled himself. I by no means claim to be an architectural guru, so all I’ll say is you’d be all the wiser for seeing this for real – don’t just ‘Google images’ it.

After a well deserved platter of antipasti from one of the many cafés this amiable town boasts, we couldn’t help but nosy around the boutique shops and outlet stores. If my memory serves me well, we found a great little shoe shop – just another string to Vicenza’s bow, and as all knowledgeable men are aware, the key to a woman’s heart. Ahem.

With an affinity for Vicenza set in stone, we shared a bottle of Prosecco in a chic little bar called Il Borsa with the sun setting against the backdrop of the Basilica in Piazza dei Signori - a moment to savor. We sat listening to the locals natter away in their chic attire, cigarillos in hand. And in true Italian style, they embraced us, demanding we sample their favourite tipple: Campari and tonic. I thought it tasted like peanuts; the girlfriend loved it. Regardless of the taste, the gesture spoke volumes.

Slightly thwarted by the Campari/Prosecco combo we bid our Vicenzian friends ciao and found a quaint little restaurant to tie up a lovely day. Due to the above drinks combo, I can only remember where the restaurant was – on contrada san Marcello – not its name. All things totally Italian, the waitress saw it as an adventure to get out a dictionary (a 1999 Collins edition I spied) to help explain what the specials were.

Ordering dinner had never been so fun. Immersed in regional culture, enjoying food and wine the way they liked to prepare it – that’s what I loved about being in Vicenza. I’m sure many of you have had similar experiences, but this one has stuck with me.

So there – in a nutshell, that’s why I heart Vicenza and not Venezia.

By Mike Christensen/Moli