My family travelled to Italy when I was 16, and it was there that I fully formed the fantasy that drove my search for a university, a fantasy that never quite materialized. We spent several days in Venice on that trip and, nearly twenty years later, I was excited to return with my partner for his first visit.

We were rather more strategic with our planning of Venice than with the rest of our summer travels, which was to our benefit. We made as much use of the Venezia Unica city tourist website as possible, thus saving time and money, as well as guaranteeing a parking spot in a very convenient garage. We had a few changes of clothes in backpacks and easily managed to pick up gelato for the walk from the car to our blissfully air-conditioned hotel.

After a shower and changing into appropriate clothing, we walked the four minutes through twisting alleyways to reach Basilica San Marco, where we had timed tickets and could skip the line. I was pleased to see that everyone had followed the dress code, which isn’t always the case in places with posted dress codes. I hadn’t been inside on my first trip to Venice; according to a story my dad tells, the family voted in favour of gelato instead. I don’t remember that, but it sounds right.

This time, my partner and I made multiple rounds of the Basilica interior, stunned by the plethora of gold, the intricate mosaic covering every surface of the floor, the saints celebrated on the walls. We tried to match the Latin names to what we knew in German and English, often coming up rather short. I have always been fascinated with the lengths to which people go to honour that which they wish to honour.

After changing clothes again (Venice, much like living in Singapore, required breaks in air conditioning and yet another shower before pursuing the next activity), we headed to the meeting point for our walking tour, always my favourite way to see a city. The tour took us through all six of Venice’s districts with a focus on the northern part where the locals live. As the tour guide explained, her job was to take us to places we wouldn’t find on our own. She told us about the history of Venice and about Venetian culture today, which we really enjoyed. I had taken a course on the history of Venice in university and I was surprised at both what I remembered and what I had forgotten.

We walked over to the Rialto Bridge that evening and took in the view of the Grand Canal . . .

. . . and returned in the morning to visit the Rialto Market, a favourite activity whenever possible. Tourist kitsch aside, the primary ware was seafood, which should come as no surprise.

From there, we made our way leisurely through little alleys and side streets until we reached Piazza San Marco.

We walked along the water to confirm vaporetto (water bus) times for the transport passes we had purchased in advance . . .

. . . before returning to Piazza San Marco for our timed entry to the Doge’s Palace, again avoiding the long line.

Much like Basilica San Marco, the Doge’s Palace is grand. The wealth that the former Republic of Venice had enjoyed, and the power that came with it, was awesome in the original sense of the word. The gold, the art, and the sheer size spoke volumes.

Afterwards, ready to escape the crowds for a while, we took a vaporetto for the 45-minute trip over to Burano, one of the neighbouring islands. Being on the water gave us some relief from the heat, but I would not recommend July as the time to visit Venice.

Burano is tiny, whimsical, and famous for lace-making, evidence of which could be seen in nearly all shops. What we were there to see, however, were the brightly-coloured houses that practically glowed against the blue of the sea and sky. We walked around, patronized a local café, and took photo after photo of this storybook come to life.

Upon returning to Venice and after some much-needed time to cool off, we braved the heat and humidity one last time to enjoy our final evening. Since Venice was designed to be seen from the water, our tour guide had said, many of the oldest building façades seen from the street side were actually the back. A gondola ride gave us a perspective of the city as it was meant to be seen. The sun was beginning to set and the city glowed.

As we rode, we asked the gondolier questions about how one gets into the business (sons are taught by fathers), how a route is chosen (the routes are what they are and do not change), and who owns the gondola (the family). The gondoliers called to each other in Venetian, the language of Venice that our Italian tour guide told us she had learned to understand since moving to Venice years ago but could not speak. Venice is Italy, but mostly, Venice is Venice.

A friend wrote to us that we were in the city of love, though we were pretty sure that designation belonged to Paris. At any rate, we held hands as we watched the sun set over the bridges.

Since we had day passes for the vaporetto, we hopped on board once again to ride nearly the whole length of the Grand Canal, a cruise for the price of a bus ride. It was dark when we disembarked this time.

There is definitely something magical about Venice, something that lends itself well to the mysteries in novels and stories I loved as a kid. The cemetery is an island of its own; the city glows when it grows dark with the lights reflecting on the water; the language is half a secret; mailing addresses function differently here in order to function at all; there are so many twists and turns that we followed a map every time we tried to get anywhere, consistently unable to orient ourselves.

The following morning, we made our way slowly back to the car, managing to cross yet another piazza where we hadn’t been before. We loved our time in Venice but were ready to get away from throngs of people and back into nature. Next stop: Slovenia.