Of Cannaregio would be your local social club. To us, the absence of specific landmarks that might make them worthy of special attention makes them more meaningful. My husband and I each find a favourite: His has a particularly atmospheric café where the Venetians, as is their custom, stand up at the bar rather than pay double to sit down. Mine is delineated by slim passages of water, and has a magnificent pale-grey stone epicentre that is, surprisingly, empty. It proudly bears the absence of everything that a square usually comprises.
Without the hordes of map-wielding tourists, Cannaregio’s tight-squeeze alleyways lack the bottleneck claustrophobia of those near St. Mark’s and the Rialto. One alleyway opens into a bustling thoroughfare where nuns round up a group of noisy children outside a church. Another ends at an unexpectedly scenic corner where, in the sunshine, a lone student looks up from a book, lost in quiet contemplation.
