When the well-heeled of the Americas and Europe embarked on their 18th- and 19th-century Grand Tours of Italy, the itinerary drew them towards the treasure-paneled galleries of Florence and Rome. With safety in crowds and a Baedeker to hand, much waited to be seen. Meanwhile, elsewhere, other earnest searching souls found themselves deliriously lost and utterly beguiled by the black romantic alleys and secretive waterways of Venice.

Venice. The impossible jewel. Founded in the 5th century by men hammering wooden piles deep into the soft clay of a marsh lagoon, protection against marauding tribes of Huns. Millions of oak and larch piles that slowly petrified into the stone foundations that let Venice be built.

What does anyone lost in this labyrinth of canals and tiny humped bridges know? That maps are useless. That overwhelming beauty lurks around every corner. And, for those who actually live in this scintillating city, marauded today by hordes of plodding tourists… knowing exactly where not to live is the signal of true Venetian citizenship.

Is Venice really somewhere to reside, not just imagine? For the ancient families still busy in their palazzos (or part of them, at least), the answer is........

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