Flying over Venice, coming into land at Marco Polo airport, you can’t help but be struck by how small this precious and precarious archipelago is. For a city that maybe looms larger than any other in the global imagination, it really is tiny. Scale is a running theme in Venice. From the grandiloquence of its historic trading status, and the wealth and beauty that it birthed, to the looming cruise ships, disgorging their hordes to fill the tiny streets, backing-up for photos like confused ants.
Biennales and festivals butt into each other, as do the boats of their starrier guests. Any trip to Venice comes with rumours of which celebrity, oligarch, prince or political leader also happens to be in town. Such is the scale of Venice that it’s not impossible you might rub shoulders with Oprah or someone will show you their film of her climbing into a water taxi like anybody else. For all of its magic, a city built on water has a certain levelling quality when it comes to logistics, too. On boats, everyone bangs their heads; in summer, everyone sweats.
