the highlights of venice

“Venice has been painted and described many thousands of times, and of all the cities of the world is the easiest to visit without going there.” Henry James, Italian Hours (1909).

I was beginning to think Henry James had a point. Why go to Venice, when I felt I’d already visited in my imagination?

[cherries and pears, on one of the incredible capitals on the Palazzo Ducale]

Over the years, we have fully intended to go to Venice to celebrate quite a few significant birthdays and anniversaries, but every time one of these came close, we decided against it. Now, though, I wonder if all this was actually another manifestation of my antipathy to doing things to mark special occasions i.e. when you are expected to, although there were also definitely reservations about Venice itself. Again, the very fact that everyone says “oh, you must go” etc was enough to put me off, as did the thought of the crowds, the mass tourism, the prices, the images of narrow alleys, creepy films, dark corners, fog, masks and masques, and all the other clichés

But when a friend recommended an Airbnb in an area she knows (I’d had no idea where to stay) and sent me a long list of wonderful recommendations from where to have the best Campari spritz (spritzes are a big Venetian thing) to where to have coffee with a view of St Mark’s Square without paying a doge’s ransom, we booked a trip slightly out of season, but before the acqua alta. Finally, I’d get to see the place Proust’s narrator fantasises about, and whose plans to visit are equally prone to cancellation until he also eventually gets there.

Now, I’m not a fan of John Ruskin (whom Proust translated), so The Stones of Venice (1851-3) was never going to be my guide. But if he’d written, say, The Doorbells of Venice or The Street Signs of Venice or The Bakeries of Venice, I might have felt more kindly disposed towards him. Nor am I bothered enough by films set in Venice to use them as templates ; Summertime (1955) is too saccharine, Don’t Look Now is too scary, Death in Venice is too strange (for me), and Moonraker and Casino Royale too ridiculous. So in the end, we just went to see what it was like.

The verdict? It’s completely different to anywhere else I’ve been and is the ultimate 15-minute city. You can’t go far because of geography, absence of cars/bikes/scooters/skateboards, and because of all the walking down narrow alleys (calli), across wide squares (campi), along canals (canali), over many of the 391 bridges, getting lost, possibly never taking the same route twice. Everyone is staring at their phones and using Google maps to get around, but I’d wished I’d known about the classic A-Z of Venice book which is a work of art in itself, as are the street signs.

The signs or nizioleti (‘little sheets’) are actually painted directly onto white plaster panels buildings using stencils, and they are brilliant. I also love the yellow general direction signs with arrows (Rialto, Ferrovia, P Roma etc) for those who haven’t got the A-Z or Google - presumably you just blindly wander over and then start to panic. (Jake Tilson has created a great Nizioleto font based on these signs and it’s now in use at the airport water taxi terminal.)

The highlights? The Peggy Guggenheim Collection, in a fabulous C18 palazzo on the Grand Canal. She knew all the big shots in C20 art and bought paintings like there was no tomorrow, but I loved this silver bedhead (1946) made for her by Alexander Calder.

Imagine sitting up in bed with that behind you - it would be like having the most fabulous tiara ever.

And I liked the earrings Calder designed for her; they are like helicopter blades, and almost as big. She is most definitely my new style icon.

I’d also happily wear a Fortuny dress, if one happened to come my way. The Museo Fortuny is wonderful; housed in a magnificent late C15 palazzo, and the hub of all Fortuny’s multifarious activities (my jaw dropped when I saw the size of the studios - you’d get a few dozen artists in each today). He’s most famous for his pleated, sculptural silk dresses, such as the ‘Delphos’, which draped and shimmered beautifully. (Fortuny frocks appear frequently in Proust’s work, so I’d been wanting to see some irl.)

[Palazzo Pesaro, now Museo Fortuny]

[Casa Segrado, watercolour by Ruskin, 1853]

The windows of Venice are stunning. They are beautiful, elegant, playful, plain, exaggerated, pointy, decorative, Gothic, Romanesque, many with green shutters, lots with plants and flowers. Give Ruskin his due, he knew a good Venetian window when he saw one.

[view of the Grand Canal from the Rialto Bridge, looking east]

The Grand Canal was a surprise, I hadn’t realised how spectacular it really is. We crossed and recrossed it, walked along parts of it, saw it from a vaporetto, and it is never not amazing and like every painting, photograph, film you’ve seen, almost a CGI version of itself, too real to be true. (The vaporetti - waterbuses - are great and some even have poems on them, like Poems on the Underground,)

A total contrast and a real little gem is the Olivetti Showroom designed by the renowned architect Carlo Scarpa in the 1950s. It’s a masterpiece of elegant modernity, high quality materials, and attention to space and detail.

I particularly enjoyed the floors with specially made glass tiles in different colours for different areas; they are a contemporary interpretation of mosaics, not far from the famous ones in the neighbouring Basilia di San Marco. The portable Olivetti Lettera 22 typewriters also made me want to take a room in a pensione, have coffee and brioches sent up, and start writing meaningful poetry.

Another highlight was a sunny walk along the Fondamenta della Zattere, the long promenade (paved in 1516) looking across to Guidecca, where we saw a pensione (above), which is just what I had imagined when reading novels in which characters stay in one. Nearby, there is an old squero or boatyard (est. C17) and a nice ostaria opposite where you can eat cicchetti, drink bright red drinks, and watch the constant boat activity.

Ah, the boats. I love the fact that everything there is done by boat: ambulance, police, rubbish collection, DHL delivery (boat painted DHL colours), milk delivery, furniture removals, coffin transportation. The canal traffic is a production in itself, and it’s like being taken back a few centuries to the time when rivers were the main thoroughfares, and carts and trolleys were pushed and pulled through the streets.

Finally, the Venetians themselves are remarkably charming and good-humoured, considering their city is constantly inundated, if not by water, then by people.

Lowlights, or at least less thrilling aspects? There were, surprisingly, very few churches open to visitors. St Mark’s Square is ridiculously overcrowded, as is the Rialto Bridge (I kept looking for max. weight signs…). Murano is full of glass shops as you’d expect, but a lot of it is cheap imports. (The glass museum is wonderful, though, and I wouldn’t mind a few seriously chunky, bold vases and glasses by NasonMoretti.) Venice is now more a museum of itself than a living city in which nearly everything looks to or celebrates or marks the past. It’s inconvenient, lacking in green spaces, and impossible to get around if you have any sort of accessibility problem. But it’s Venice, and it’s unique and irreplaceable, and I don’t know what happens when it crumbles and there’s no money to restore again and again, and locals have left (the number of residents is decreasing, a cause for concern) and tourism it putting paid to a lot of what tourists go for.

I wouldn’t say to anyone, “oh, you have to go”, but I would say that if you do, it’s probably going to be worth it. Plus, you’ll be able to see the home turf of Commissario Brunetti - we made a detour to see Teatro La Fenice - who may just be one of the best guides to contemporary Venice.

Happy Sunday!