It was growing late as we bumped our bags across the piazza and pushed through the intricately carved wood door. The Venice Biennale had lured us to Italy’s canal-laced city once again. Making our way in the July heat, we felt excited. It was our second time renting the apartment. Two years before, it had been perfect. 

Spacious and clean, the short-term rental was a Vaporetto stop from the lively Piazza San Marco and steps from Venice’s cool, cavernous Arsenale, a key venue for the international art exhibition. It was about to take me to an unexpected and transformational place, teaching me to embrace the hairpin turns a trip can take.

The Remnants of a Tragedy

The acrid odor hit us as we crossed the building’s threshold. Climbing the staircase, I saw that the unit next to our rental had no walls; blackened studs seemed to be holding up the ceiling, with jagged sheetrock hunks hanging down. The reeking interior was soggy and trampled. 

“What happened to the people?” my daughter whispered.

On our previous visit, we’d fallen hard for the neighborhood’s “living like locals” feel and had interacted with Venetians in the building’s hallways. Looking at the remnants of the dwelling, I knew the fire had viciously consumed the home of a resident—maybe even one I’d talked to. The scene gave me a terrible feeling. If it hadn’t taken a life, it had devastated one.

Climbing the stairs, I saw that the unit next to our rental apartment had no walls; the acrid smell of smoke hit us hard.

We entered our flat, and I gulped in the cleaner air. The chandelier dangles still twinkled above the dining table, and the white bathroom tiles gleamed. But the pungent smell of incinerated wire casings and kitchen cabinets permeated everything. Our comfortable spot felt sad and inhospitable, even dangerous.

I locked eyes with my husband as our frightened daughter demanded that we leave, now. My partner is a visual artist; he makes stark, knowing photographic images. I’m a journalist and our family’s trip wrangler—it’s my job to whip travel challenges into submission. We don’t need it pretty. We’d embraced funky décor or ignored a gasping fridge and gotten on with our fun before. This wasn’t like that. I had no idea what to do.

When Bad Vacations Happen to Good People

Growing up, I’d learned that—despite Love Boat storylines to the contrary—no cruise director would appear to ensure our enjoyment. To my father, “Four Seasons” meant not a luxe hotel but going places off-peak (usually in Ohio, where he and my mother grew up) when other people weren’t there. If a bat was circling the cottage, Mom grabbed the broom and chased it out. When diarrhea struck at Disney World, we had Pepto, and Dad made us laugh.

Now, when disappointments overshadow the effort to make happy memories, it feels like a cheat and so stressful, especially when I’m the one who planned the mess. Vacations don’t come every week—and what about the cash that’s been shelled out? I live for a bizarro holiday, but a wrecked one? Calgon, take me away! I ran a bath and got my daughter to sleep. I couldn’t find a positive spin to put on the downer outside our door that night. But I’d give it time.

Disasters have taught me well and sometimes brought whole new facets to my adventures.

Disheartening trip snafus have a way of creeping up. I’d experienced my share like the cruise ship busboy pulling me into a broom closet for an unwanted kiss (I fought him off with my sharpest elbow) or the eye infection that had me wearing glasses at the clubs on the Greek island of Mykonos. But disasters have also taught me well and sometimes brought whole new facets to my adventures. I stop the ruthless fates in their tracks by finding bright spots.

Finding the Silver Linings When Travel Goes Wrong 

I’m not alone in this practice. “I don’t think of setbacks as necessarily a bad thing,” says my friend’s sister, Joy. She is a paraplegic living in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, who relies on a wheelchair for mobility. What Joy can’t summon in leg power, she makes up for in mental muscle and determination. “And, if need be, I will bring forth attention when I am being treated inhumanely,” she says. This can apply to life in general and conquering travel troubles in particular.

“I don’t think of setbacks as necessarily a bad thing,” says one woman who’s learned how to persevere when travel troubles occur.

Joy tells the story of a snowstorm shutting down an airport in Quebec. She’d just landed and was expecting to catch a connection to New Brunswick. After she’d waited an hour or more for her wheelchair to be pushed off the plane, airport restaurants and shops were closed. As an agent pushed her wheelchair toward guest services, she heard an employee at the desk announce that there were no hotel rooms to be had. 

Joy, a single mom, was traveling alone with her then young son to visit family. “The employee there saw me and said, ‘My shift is over,’” she recalls. Joy wasn’t having it.

“I need facilities for my disability,” Joy shouted boldly. “I needed to lie down,” she explains, noting that prolonged sitting can lead to injury.

Another more resourceful airline representative showed her to an accessible washroom and found an empty office on the concourse. Joy was able to transfer herself to a small sofa so she and her son could sleep there that night.

“It was a horrible experience,” she says of the uncomfortable night. But silver-lining time: It was one with a good takeaway. A world traveler, Joy now knows her rights as a disabled passenger, advocates for herself, and teaches others to do the same. Plus, she never forgets to pack snacks (in case she’s stranded), and she also gained a sort of empathy for some folks who act defensively in difficult moments.

“Sometimes they don’t know how to help,” Joy says. While this was probably not a favorite travel memory, it was one with an important lesson that raised her resourcefulness.

Pivoting and Finding Our Groove

That night in Venice, I understood that sticking around wasn’t going to help anyone. I researched new options and emailed our host. He insisted the building was safe, but I in turn insisted on a refund. The next morning, we hustled past the cruel diorama—it set off my carcinogen alarms and gave my kid house-fire fears for years.

We bumped our bags down the steps and moved to a new place across the main canal. Was it what we had planned on? No. But it ultimately did open up new discoveries and experiences for us.

Was it the trip we had planned on? No. But it did open up new discoveries and experiences for us in Venice.

Near San Toma, we discovered a restaurant with the best tagliatelle. The Vaporetto ride to the Biennale showed us public sculptures and historic palazzos we might have missed. We took in the bright sculptures and multimedia spectacles we’d come to Venice for. The sad twist of fate, that apartment fire, had us gaining a whole new viewpoint on Venice.

When things go wrong, I try to shake off my indignation, remember who else might be hurting, and practice gratitude. Then, I revel in the street life or wonderful meal I no doubt enjoyed the night (or morning!) before. I try to avoid anger at dashed plans. We travel to see and experience things we otherwise wouldn’t. Sometimes, all the arrangements we’ve made go awry. Everything changes, and growth can hurt. But I’m a big believer in salvaging some joy nevertheless.

And anyway, there’s always that crazy story about what you’ve just experienced. In the case of our Venice trip, I’ve been telling it at parties for years to dozens of amazed listeners. That’s not nothing!