Things to Do in Verona, Italy—My Top Picks

Verona. Just the name conjures up images. Maybe it’s Shakespeare, maybe it’s the faded grandeur you’ve seen in pictures. But then you think, what’s it like to be there? 

Beyond the famous balcony and the arena, what does a day in Verona look like? Where do you find the good food, the quiet moments, the things that make a place stick in your memory long after you’ve left? What are the ‘must’ things to do in Verona, Italy?

These are the questions, the ones that go beyond the usual. But don’t worry. We’ll get into the real heart of the city, finding the worthwhile and maybe even skipping the predictable. Let’s explore Verona.

Amazing Stuff to Do in Verona, Italy

Whether you’re short on time or not, there are some ‘absolute musts’ to do when visiting Verona. Here, I share my favorites in no particular order:

Verona Arena (Arena di Verona)

The Arena. Yes, the Romans were here. You can’t miss it; this hulking ellipse of faded pink and white limestone squats in the middle of everything. 

Built back when Tiberius was in charge—30 AD, give or take, long before any of us were a glimmer in anyone’s eye—it’s stuck around. It still gets used, which is something, I suppose. 

Thirty thousand people crammed in here, originally, for what? Bloodsport. It’s strangely well-preserved, one of the better examples, they say. During the day, you can wander the tiers and try to imagine the roar and the sand soaked red. 

I climbed to the top once to avoid the tour groups clogging the lower levels. The view over Piazza Bra is…there. You see the shape of things. The sheer, stubborn weight of history.

Don’t miss the summer opera.

Piazza Bra in Verona

It sprawls just beyond the Arena’s walls, a vast, sun-baked expanse. They say it’s the largest square in Verona, one of the biggest in Italy, and that’s probably true. It feels like it. Think of it as the city’s messy, beating heart. 

The air here is thick, a stew of idling Vespas and the endless murmur of tourists. You can’t really avoid it; it’s the place everyone ends up, sooner or later. Around the edges, a predictable ring of cafes has set up shop, their outdoor tables a constant negotiation for space. 

You can sit there, pay too much for a lukewarm Aperol spritz, and watch the parade. It’s a pleasant enough way to kill an hour, pretending you’re living la dolce vita while dodging the insistent gaze of the hawkers.

Besides the looming presence of the Arena, you’ll find the solid bulk of the city hall, the Gran Guardia Palace – buildings that speak of a certain civic pride, or at least a long history of bureaucracy.

In the center, there’s a patch of green, the Giardini Vittorio Emanuele II. Trees offer a brief respite from the glare, and there’s usually a fountain trickling away. You’ll see people slumped on benches, exhausted tourists mostly, maybe a local or two catching their breath. 

I’ve sat there myself, more than once, watching the pigeons strut and the light shift. It’s a stage, of sorts, where the human comedy unfolds, predictable and occasionally grim.

Piazza delle Erbe in Verona

They’ll tell you Piazza delle Erbe is the heart of Verona, and they wouldn’t be entirely wrong. This patch of ground has been a focal point for millennia, a Roman forum back in the days when empires were built on blood and bad decisions. 

Now, they call it Herb Square, though you’re more likely to find cheap trinkets than actual herbs these days. Every day, the market sets up, a brightly colored lure for the unsuspecting tourist. 

And, of course, there’s a permanent outdoor sprawl of stalls. Don’t come looking for ripe tomatoes or local cheese, though. It’s souvenirs now. Keychains, miniature arenas, the usual trinkets that will gather dust on shelves back home. A ghost of its former self, really.

The buildings around the square are undeniably beautiful. The Mazzanti Houses, their frescoes faded but still hinting at past glories. In the middle, a statue of the Madonna, hauled into place by the Romans themselves. It’s seen a lot, that statue. More than it probably wanted to.

You’ll be tempted to stop at one of the cafes here, the tables spilling out onto the cobblestones. An Aperol spritz, that bright orange cliché. Fine, if you need the sugar and the momentary sit-down. Just know you’re paying for the view, and not for culinary brilliance. 

There are far better places to eat in this city, places where the food hasn’t been calibrated for the tourist palate. We’ll get to those.

Piazza dei Signori in Verona

This space surfaced from the churn of the Middle Ages. Back then, it was all about power. The families who mattered built their grand houses around it, solid statements in stone. Political machinations played out here, deals struck and broken, probably a few quiet assassinations in the shadows. 

Now? The buildings are still there, impressive enough, but neutered. Landmarks. Attractions. You’ll find the Palazzo della Raggione, a former palace – they all seem to be former palaces, don’t they? – dating back to the 1100s. And the Loggia del Capitanato, another one of those UNESCO-stamped sites, good for a photo, I suppose.

In the center, there’s Dante. Statue of him, anyway. Hence the other name, Piazza Dante. They say he found refuge here in Verona, that this square offered him some kind of solace, maybe even inspiration. 

I imagine him pacing here, a man in exile, the stones under his worn shoes the same ones you’re walking on now. Whether it truly offered him safety is another question. But he sure got his inspiration for his works here.

Torre dei Lamberti in Verona    

People actually love to climb the Torre dei Lamberti and you might, too. It offers a view. That’s the draw. 

The Lamberti family, back in the 12th century, had it built in that Romanesque style, all solid stone and ambition thrusting up. It’s the tallest thing around, 84 meters. You can haul yourself up the 368 steps. Feel the burn in your thighs, the slow creep of sweat. Or, there’s a lift.

The lift is encased in glass, so you get a look at the tower’s innards as you ascend. Stone and shadow, the echo of past efforts. Don’t think you’re off the hook with the elevator, though. There are still a few steps at the top. A final little climb to remind you that nothing truly worthwhile comes entirely easy.

Now, the booking. This is where things get interesting. You can’t just book it online, of course. That would be too simple. You have to email the ticket office. Send your request into the digital void and wait for them to respond with a confirmed time. So, plan ahead.

Or, you know, just show up and see if they let you in. Sometimes, things work out. Sometimes, they don’t. That’s the gamble.

Giusti Gardens in Verona

Now, this is the kind of place where the tour buses thin out and you can almost hear yourself think. 

I was there in the fall, even then, in the slow fade of autumn, there was a certain melancholic beauty to it. I imagine it’s a riot of green in spring, the kind of overwhelming fecundity that makes you slightly uneasy.

Sixteenth century. Renaissance. Meaning someone, generations ago, decided to impose order on chaos, to carve out a space of deliberate beauty. You wander through the tall cypress trees, their shadows long and cool. 

Fountains gurgle – a constant, watery murmur. Hedges clipped into precise shapes, mazes designed to momentarily lose yourself in. We spent a couple of hours there, a necessary remove from the relentless thrum of the city. It’s a curated peace, of course, but sometimes that’s exactly what’s required.

The Giusti family built it all, their wealth derived from the decidedly un-poetic business of wool-dyeing in Verona. They let you wander through part of the original family home, Apartment 900. Ghosts of domesticity, I suppose. 

Worth the time, I suppose, if you need reminding that even beauty requires tending, and that fortunes, even those built on brightly colored wool, eventually fade.

Basilica di Santa Anastasia in Verona

It’s the biggest church in Verona thrust up in the 13th century. Gothic, this place, they say. Important to the local Catholics, which, in Verona, is saying something. 

The interesting thing, to me, is the facade. They never finished it. Ran out of money? Lost interest? Some forgotten tragedy diverting funds? Whatever the reason, it stands there, a grand intention left frustratingly incomplete. 

Inside, though, they went all out. You crane your neck to take in the frescoes on the ceiling, the kind of elaborate decoration that feels both timeless and a little desperate, a reach for something beyond the earthly. Statues everywhere – saints with serene expressions, martyrs frozen in their agony. 

Then there’s the hunchback. Crouched, perpetually straining under the weight of the holy water basin. They say he represents the people, the faithful, bearing the burdens of the church. 

Or maybe it’s just a good story they tell the tourists. Either way, he’s there, a small, permanent reminder of the weight of belief, literal and metaphorical.

Basilica di San Zeno in Verona

They say Basilica di San Zeno goes back to the 5th century, though what you see now is mostly the result of rebuilding done between the 10th and 14th centuries. 

Romanesque, the style is. The exterior has that warm, aged stone look, the kind that absorbs sunlight and holds onto it. Inside, it’s grand. Opulent, even. Think about the centuries of prayers and the weight of faith that have settled into these stones. 

And the interior is…well, impressive. Look up. Always look up in these old churches. The wooden ceiling panels are intricate, each one a testament to someone’s long-ago skill, someone whose name is likely lost to time.

Then there’s the crypt. Dark, cool, shadowed. They keep the bones of Saint Zeno down there. Sure, that’s not what most people come for. The story goes that this is where Romeo and Juliet’s wedding supposedly took place. Shakespeare’s fiction clinging to these ancient stones. 

You can go down there, into the gloom, and imagine it. The whispers, the vows, the terrible, inevitable consequences that followed. It’s a bit of a trek to get to San Zeno, out of the main tourist drag. But if you have the time, it’s worth the effort, perhaps. 

Ponte Pietra in Verona

This one’s a stone bridge. It hauls itself across the Adige, offering the requisite views. The Cathedral juts up, solid. The Roman Theater sits on the bank, a reminder of earlier dramas, bloodier ones. But look down, at the churning rush of the river beneath your feet. That’s the constant.

This bridge. It’s old. The oldest in Verona. Romans, of course. They arrived, they built. Around 100 BC. Imagine the hands that laid these stones, the sweat, the grit. Some of the original is still there. You can see the difference, the way later stones were used to patch it back together. 

Floods took chunks of it, knocked it sideways. War is always hungry. It gnawed at this bridge too. I’ve stood on that bridge, felt the river’s pull, thought about all that’s been lost to its currents, both stone and flesh. The repairs are a kind of scar, a visible history of resilience and ruin.

Piazzale Castel San Pietro in Verona

If you want the postcard view of Verona, the one they all sell, this is where you have to go. Across the Adige, up on the hill. From up there, the rooftops spread out, a jumble of terracotta and time. You can pick out the Torre dei Lamberti, stabbing upwards. A pretty picture, if you like that sort of thing.

The “castle” up there isn’t some romantic relic. It’s an Austrian fortress, built in the 19th century. A show of force, really. They tried to make it blend in, give it that old-world feel. But beneath the surface, it’s just another monument to someone else’s ambition. 

You can’t go inside, just walk around the edges, contemplate the layers of conquest. There’s a restaurant up there, naturally. Capitalizing on the view. People flock to it for sunset, the sky bleeding over the ancient stones.

Getting up there. You can take the stairs. Two hundred and fifty, give or take. Your lungs will burn a little. A small price for the panorama. Or there’s the funicular. Less exertion, more of a tourist conveyance. 

Just be aware of the last run. Miss it, and you’re walking back down in the dark. And sometimes, the prettiest views are the ones you pay for with a bit of effort. Or the looming threat of a long walk down.

Roman Theater (Teatro romano) in Verona

This one was built in the first century BC. Think about that for a moment. Long before I was navigating my own small dramas, people sat on those stones, watching other kinds of tragedies unfold. 

Remarkably, it’s still a theater. They dug it out in the 19th century, pulled it back from being buried under the weight of newer lives. 

You can see the remnants of the original seating. Patches of ancient stone amongst the more recent additions. A kind of palimpsest of audiences. 

There’s a museum attached, crammed with bits and pieces they unearthed. Mosaics, chipped sculptures, the usual remnants. 

I wandered through it once, on a brutally hot afternoon, and felt the strange pull of all those lives lived and lost, the echoes faint but insistent beneath the weight of the centuries.

Take a Stroll Along Verona’s Walls in Verona

From Castel San Pietro, even from a distance, you can trace the ragged line of them – the city walls. They’ve accumulated over centuries, like rings on a petrified tree, each layer a testament to some long-dead ambition or fear. 

The Romans started it, the Comune followed, and then came the Scaliger family, those brutal pragmatists. The section snaking behind Castelvecchio is theirs, built to keep someone out, or perhaps to keep something in. Walls always have their purpose, until they don’t.

They suggest a walk, starting from Forte San Felice, tracing the old stones back towards the city’s core, all the way to the Giusti Gardens, if you have the stamina. 

We tried it once, early, before the sun baked the stones. The air was still cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and something vaguely metallic. We passed a few locals, lycra-clad and focused on their heart rates, oblivious to the fact that they were retracing the steps of forgotten soldiers and besieged citizens. 

There’s a certain irony in that, the way the relics of old conflicts become jogging trails for the comfortably numb. The walls themselves are indifferent, of course. They’ve seen empires rise and fall, and a few panting joggers are hardly going to register.

Where to Eat in Verona 

Verona spills over with places to eat. We spent a month wading through it all, a necessary sacrifice. Some places, predictably, were better than others. Here’s a curated list, for what it’s worth:

 Cafes in Verona

• Pasticceria Flego – Picture-perfect little spot, the kind where they arrange the pastries just so. The stuffed brioche is sweet, undeniably, and will satisfy the craving for something cloying. The coffee is serviceable.
• Dolciaria Cantonucci Verona – If your idea of joy involves eggs and processed meats before noon, this place caters to that. Plenty of sugary things too, for those who haven’t had enough sweetness in their lives.
• Café Carducci – A slightly worn, classic feel. They offer the usual breakfast fare – omelets that taste like omelets, brioche that is essentially bread with sugar. The cheese and charcuterie boards are decent enough, if you’re feeling peckish and uninspired.
• Caffe Borsari – They take their coffee seriously here, fussing over the grind and the foam. The cappuccino is, indeed, well-made. If that matters to you.

Quick Eats in Verona

• La Bottega della Gina XXL – Tortellini, assembled before your eyes. You choose your fillings, they dump it in a bowl. Efficient, if not particularly soulful. Go for the mixed option if decision fatigue has already set in.
• La Figaccia – Focaccia sandwiches, generously filled. Good for a quick, greasy fix. Be prepared for a food coma afterwards.
• Dal Grano – Square slices of pizza, touted as the best. They’re alright, for what they are – dense, filling, and vaguely tomato-y. Convenient for eating on the go.
• PanzeRé – Panzerotteria – Fried dough pockets, stuffed with things. The tomato and mozzarella version is acceptable, especially late at night when your standards have plummeted.

Restaurants in Verona

• Caffè Monte Baldo – Osteria con cucina – A standard Italian offering. Small plates, the kind you see everywhere. They serve the local specialties, for those compelled by regional cuisine.
• Trattoria alla Colonna – Meat. That’s their focus. The fried veal cutlets are substantial, if you’re after that sort of thing. Not for the faint of heart, or those with cholesterol concerns.
• Locanda di Castelvecchio – More meat. A cart of boiled meats, paraded around the room. Choose your protein. They also have pasta, if you need some carbohydrates to offset the impending meat sweats. Vegetarians, steer clear.
• Trattoria al Pompiere – Reliable, apparently. The menu is standard, but competently executed. The wine list is extensive, and the staff know their grapes. You probably won’t be disappointed. Unless you’re expecting transcendence.

Where to Stay in Verona

Finding a place to sleep in Verona shouldn’t be a blood sport. Here are a few options, depending on your tolerance for extravagance or discomfort:

• Luxury: Vista Palazzo – Five stars, which means they’ll charge you accordingly. Expect sleek, modern rooms – sterile, some might say – and a rooftop view. Spa and gym, the usual trappings for those who believe pampering can erase the day’s disappointments.
• Boutique: Hotel Accademia – Conveniently located in the old town, meaning you’ll be right in the thick of the tourist crush. A gym, for those who feel the need to punish themselves even on vacation. Breakfast included, which might save you from a truly dreadful cafe experience.
• Budget: Casa Esvael – They call it charming. It’s a bed and breakfast, a five-minute walk from the center, which could feel like an eternity on blistered feet. Rustic Italian, which translates to potentially creaky and drafty. Manage your expectations.

When Is the Best Time to Visit Verona?

Well, most people say, summertime is a “nice” time to visit Verona. But summer also means the human tide is at its peak, a sweaty, jostling mass clogging the piazzas. So, perhaps, you’ll want to aim for the shoulder seasons. 

Spring and autumn. The air thins, the light sharpens, and the hordes recede, leaving behind a faint residue of their passing.

• Spring & Autumn: Mid-60s Fahrenheit, minimal rain. Acceptable conditions for the viewing of old stones.
• September: The sweet spot. High 70s, still warm enough to feel alive, but the school holidays are over. The relief is palpable. The city exhales.
• Christmas: They trot out the Christmas markets then, those predictable displays of twinkling lights and overpriced trinkets. Mulled wine, meant to numb the chill and the cynicism. The city, all lit up, can almost look festive, if you squint and ignore the commercialism.

Thoughts

So, Verona. It’s a city that asks you to look, to really look, past the selfie sticks and the snack stands. 

I’ve walked its worn stones, felt the sun on those ancient walls, and yeah, there’s a certain pull. A weight of history, maybe. Or just the lingering echo of all the stories it’s collected. 

Go see it. Make your own judgment. You might even find something worthwhile amidst the crowds.