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Venice is a cinematic water-world, a shape-shifting universe, a mind-altering cosmos—so unlike the rest of Italy with its earthy, human quality. Restless currents of people flow down the narrow streets of Venice and flood across the open plazas, or campos, with the ceaseless motion of ocean waves, not with the calm, deliberate progress of people going about their business in, for instance, Vicenza, Milan, or Rome.

Light bounces off the water in the canals, sliding across the weathered walls of the old buildings like diaphanous paint. Gondolas graceful as black swans envelope awkward groups of tourists and transform them into creatures from another realm, traveling through narrow time tunnels and into the dazzling glamour of the Grand Canal.

Although the pigeon-saturated surface of the famous Piazza San Marco seems solid enough, the stone turns into liquid at the edge of the Molo San Marco and becomes the water of the lagoon, beckoning wickedly. Hop on a vaporetto, the majestically practical water buses that will take you for a very small fee to an island of fire, an island of the departed, an island fashioned of lace, an ancient arsenal, a church created with gratitude, and other wonders to ponder for a lifetime.

Murano, famous for its glass works, its furnaces and its workshops, glows in the imagination. Here the magic of fire merges with the power of the artisan's breath through a slender tube, turning a lump of molten matter into a prancing horse, a globe aswirl with color, a delicate flower. It is as though the very air and water of Venice has been captured in a tangible form, ready to be bubble-wrapped and carried away into the future.

Close to the island of Murano is San Michele, the cypress-studded cemetery island. Daily, a procession of Venetian ladies in somber dark dresses, bearing bouquets of chrysanthemums, disembark from the vaporetto. They spread out to tend their family monuments, to tidy up, to scrub the marble tablets, to sit quietly on green benches in the sun. The Orthodox section where the graves of a Russian composer and a ballet master, Greek shopkeepers and shipbuilders lie in untended plots is not far from the Evangelisti section where Protestant members of the Venetian community have their resting places: Anglican rectors, diplomats, a ship's cook, a poet and his wife, artists and everyday folk, most far from home.

A longer voyage away from Venezia travels in less than an hour to the island of Burano, a fishing village that has brightened up its image by painting its buildings in radiant colors and offering visitors a charming array of lacy souvenirs. Long ago, a kind patroness, thinking to provide the young girls of Burano a way to earn some extra money, opened a lace-making school. For a time it flourished, and some of the ladies of Burano still make lace, but most of the goods for sale now are imported. However, lace fanciers will find a stunning array of old lace and lace-lore on display in the former Scuola dei Merletti, now a museum.

Back in Venice itself, the temptation to persist in the waterborne state of mind can be indulged by crossing the Grand Canal for small change in a traghetto, or gondola ferry, or by taking a leisurely late afternoon cruise by vaporetto down the length of the Grand Canal to admire the panoramic view of beautiful palazzos that line the liquid "Main Street" of Venice.

A vaporetto ride will also take you through the heart of the Arsenale, where the famous fleet of swift ships that made Venice the master of the seas were built. The naval shipyard was at its height in the 16th century. Massive buildings—foundries, rope works, carpenters, shops, sail lofts--testify to a fierce will to dominate the seas, to seek new horizons, to break the bonds of land. The imagination comes alive here, conjuring up the shouts and curses of the workers, the flare of the forges, the smell of tar and pitch, the vivid colors of the sails and pennants, the solemn blessing of the fleet with the Doge and all his glittering retinue in attendance.

Built on pilings driven into the marshy ground, ingeniously engineered for defense and dedicated to political autonomy, the republic of Venice enjoyed both buoyant success and searing tragedy. Time and again plagues struck the city, carrying away whole sections of the population. Prayers were the only known remedy, and as each epidemic ran its course, those who survived acknowledged their thanks by building a new church. The most impressive is Santa Maria della Salute on the island of Dorsoduro. Approached across the Grand Canal from the Piazza San Marco, the imposing landmark shimmers in Baroque splendor, its curving forms an eloquent architectural expression of gratitude.

Each person's Venice is unique, reflecting inner visions like ancient silvered mirrors that have seen the faces of masked carnival revelers, pretty models, pox-ridden poverty, famous movie stars, swarthy Moors, fair Desdemonas, mid-western tourists, pious pilgrims, and wealthy playboys. Just be assured that Venetians in the new millennium, as always, appreciate and welcome visitors, especially those seeking escape, fantasy, diversion, and inspiration.

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