Few cities in the world showcase the intersections between art, culture, history and civilisation as evocatively as Venice. There’s so much to see here in Italy’s iconic floating city, and so little time in which to see it. Or is there? Steve Killick investigates.

When arriving in Venice for the first time, try to do so by water. On a water taxi from the international airport, the grand old lady of the Adriatic looks like a painting by Turner, blurred and indistinct until slowly the ancient bell towers form more permanent shapes, historic buildings gradually solidify and the domes of St. Mark’s Basilica can finally be seen. This is Venice in all its glory.

The great days of the island as a naval power, when it ruled lands all the way to Constantinople (now Istanbul), are long behind it, but the majesty of its architecture and its heritage remains for art lovers, historians and serious travelers to enjoy to the fullest.

In this city without roads, the only traffic to be encountered is along a labyrinth of canals and the most noise comes from the clang-clong of the ancient bells, the cries of gondoliers or the sound of young schoolchildren released from their studies and playing loudly in one of the many squares.

It can take half a lifetime to discover all that Venice has to offer and there are many quiet places where, even today, tourists are rarely seen. Despite fears of increasing high tides, crowds in peak times that threaten to overwhelm the city and any number of overpriced eateries around the railway station and St Mark’s, there is joy to be had in just a few small hours if you know where to go, and when.

Venice is at its best in spring and early fall. So let it be April, on a clear, crisp morning, with blue skies and the outline of the Alps in the northern distance. We have landed, as worthy visitors always did, on the Molo, or harbor, near the two great granite columns on top of which both of Venice’s patron saints sit.

To our left is St. Theodore of Amasea, standing with his crocodile. Eastern in origin, he was the city’s first patron saint until the remains of St. Mark were brought from Alexandria by opportunist traders in 828. Venetians, forever image conscious, thought Mark was altogether a more prestigious saint. We can see his symbol, a winged lion with its paw on an open book, at the top of the right-hand column. There were once three, some 900 years old, although one column was dropped into the lagoon and lies there still. Like much in Venice, they were stolen from the east.

We now have a choice. We can either join the throngs queueing for the Basilica of St. Mark or the Doge’s Palace, home to Venetian rulers for over 1,000 years, or, safe in the knowledge that both jewels will still be here on our next visit, we can continue our walk.

If the latter, we should pause to admire the grand square, the only “Piazza” in Venice—the other squares are called “Campo.” Time for refreshments? Alas, it’s too early for a cocktail at Harry’s Bar, which opened in 1931 and entertained talents as diverse as Charlie Chaplin, Orson Welles and Ernest Hemingway, so we opt instead for a coffee in Florians on the south side of St. Mark’s Square. Having settled our check at Florians, we reflect that we were drinking not only in one of Europe’s oldest cafés, dating back to 1720, and the first to entertain women, but also where Dickens, Byron, Stravinsky and even Casanova had supped before us.

If we look closely on the wall in the arcade we may just be able to spot a sign written in red saying “Piazza della Repubblica” put there after Napoleon’s invasion in 1797.

Napoleon also removed the four golden horses that stood on the facade of the Basilica and took them off to Paris. The ones you see now are replicas while the originals, which the Venetians themselves stole during the sack of Constantinople in 1204, now stand inside having been returned in 1815 following Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo.

We should cast our eyes up at the great bell tower, Venice’s tallest at 325ft, where traitors and wayward priests were once hung outside the high windows in cages and left to starve, and where we can see a gilded archangel Gabriel glinting in the sun. In 1452, the Holy Roman Emperor rode his horse up ramps all the way to the top to enjoy the view, although we can now get there by elevator.

Our route leads us away from the great tower and through the arch beneath the clock tower with the two moors on the top, who gently strike their bell every hour unless it happens to be Ascension week. Then we shall see every hour a procession consisting of an angel-herald and the three Magi encircling the Madonna in homage.

We are on our way to the Rialto and its eponymous bridge, but let’s look up on the wall just past the arch on the left and see the marble relief of Giustina Rossi who looked out of her window in 1310 as an uprising against the state was charging past. She accidentally knocked her flat iron off her window sill which landed on the head of the standard bearer. This was seen as such a dreadful omen that the protest fled in confusion and she got all the credit for it.

Now follow the crowds that take you up to Venice’s oldest bridge and one of only four crossing its main artery, the Grand Canal. There was much argument whether the Rialto bridge (so called because “rivo alto” is a high bank in Italian) would ever stay up when it was built by the aptly-named Antonio da Ponte, opening in 1591. On the right side of the bridge on the façade of the Palazzo dei Camerlenghi, where the financial magistrates sat, is the figure of a pained-looking woman sitting on a flaming cauldron at the top of a capital. According to legend, she wagered that she would set fire to her genitals if Antonio’s bridge did not collapse.

Almost as famous as the Rialto is the Bridge of Sighs, a smaller, limestone structure built by Antoni Contino, Da Ponte’s nephew, in 1602. Crossing the Rio di Palazzo, it connects the old prisons to the interrogation rooms in the Doge’s Palace, and reportedly provided convicts with their last view of Venice before their incarceration.

Walking down the steps of the Rialto we are now in the ancient economic heart of Venice where merchants from all over the world gathered to broker deals for silks, furs, precious spices, pepper, opium, perfumes and dyes. The first bank opened here and is now an excellent restaurant, Bancogiro—eminently worthy of our custom and with tables outside overlooking the Grand Canal.

The oldest church in Venice is here too, St. Giacomo, originally built in the 5th century. However, the one we see, with its permanently stopped clock, dates from the 11th century. And, provided we are not here on a Sunday, we should visit the fish market with its strange and unusual catches from the lagoon.

There are many excellent places to eat on the Rialto, although if you only fancy a snack the ancient bar, Do Mori, is the perfect spot with its huge selection of wines and tasty sandwiches, meat balls and other delicious morsels known to the Venetians as “cicchetti.” Venetians will be popping in and out, shaking hands, downing a glass of wine, laughing and arguing before bustling off about their business.

As time is limited, we must make one more, lengthy walk to pay our respects to one of Venice’s favorite sons. We head down the Ruga Vecchia onto Campo San Polo, where once bullfights were held; past the church tower with its relief of two lions, one fighting a huge serpent and the other playfully gnawing a severed head.

The church of Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari is our destination, the monumental 14th century Franciscan church of the city and home to two of Titian’s most memorable paintings. The Assumption is a colossal altarpiece immediately visible on entry and we should also take time to admire his superb tribute to the Pesaro family, Madonna of Ca’ Pesaro, with Titian’s wife the model for the Madonna and Leonardo, youngest of the Pesaro, boldly gazing out and following us around the vast interior.

Hours could be spent in the Frari, but while we are here we must see Giovanni Bellini’s gorgeous triptych in the sacristy, a stunning statue of St. John the Baptist by Donatello. Sculptor Antonio Canova’s tomb, originally planned for Titian, is also haunting.

And so our short tour is done and we head south towards the Accademia bridge that will lead us back to St. Mark’s Square. We have not even scratched the surface but hopefully we have seen enough to bring us back to this most sumptuous of cities. As Truman Capote said: “Venice is like eating a box of chocolate liqueurs in one go.” So we need to take things slowly and return often to gain most delight.