There's really only one way to arrive in Venice in style. Within minutes of landing at Marco Polo airport we were bouncing across the lagoon, the wind in our hair, the summer sun (and broad smiles) on our faces, in a sleek and beautiful boat. Varnished wood, polished brass, soft yellow leather seats. But we stood, to catch every glimpse of the approaching skyline.
Finding a chink in what appeared an impenetrable façade, our boatman turned in stealthily, as if to take the city by surprise, creeping slowly into Venice along a narrow, silent, sunless alley of still green water. Suddenly we emerged into broader water and burst into a scene so bright and intense and animated it was as if we'd been thrust onto the set of an epic film – scene painting by Canaletto, choreography by Busby Berkley. Just beyond the Rialto bridge we docked and our luggage was lifted up onto the pavement directly outside our hotel.
The Marconi was elegant, welcoming and relaxed. A tiny reception and lounge, directly off the fondamenta, were elaborately decorated and furnished, and adorned with original paintings. Our room on the first floor had beautifully plastered and painted walls, solid wooden furniture, a wooden bed-head hand-painted with garlands of flowers, and Murano glass light fittings. The floor, as throughout the hotel, was a marvellous terrazzo. Our room was at the rear of the building, and the view from our window, or lack of it, was the only disappointment - we looked directly onto a matrix of scaffolding tubes and planks. But it hardly mattered.
Breakfast at the Marconi was taken in a ground floor room at the back of the hotel, and the breakfast buffet offered an excellent selection of ham, cheese, scrambled eggs, spicy sausages, bread, pastries, cakes, yogurt, fruit, juices, tea and coffee to start the day. The room was pleasantly furnished but with strangely frosted orange windows, which cast a sunny glow into the room but obscured any view of the outside, other than occasional vague shapes moving nearby. One such vague shape became clearer as it moved towards us, just outside the window behind me, sat on the window ledge and then proceeded to remove its jeans and pull on a pair of shorts.
I think we had just experienced an Italian builder's bum.
Hotel Marconi, Riva del Vin, San Polo, 729 - 30125 Venezia (VE)
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