Venice's "must sees" are familiar, impressive ... and cleaner than they used to be

You know it's been a while since you've been someplace when they manage to build a whole new airport in your absence. It's a bit disconcerting.

I always liked arriving at Venice's tiny, old world airport where you walked straight out of the terminal and onto a boat dock. But no worries. Venice, I assured Piers, was the most unchanging of all European cities. The one almost untouched by chain restaurants, where all the stores were local and all the sites hadn't evolved much since Ruskin wrote his guide. Then I cleared the sparkling new immigration area and saw the big poster for the Hard Rock Cafe. Was I about to be proven wrong? Had Venice sold out?

Mostly not, although there are a few more touches of modernity here. In addition to the Hard Rock, there are two McDonalds. But on the whole, this is still a place into which the modern world has barely barged (you'll find almost no free wi fi; I haven't been that out of touch in years), and where you're going to be paying attention to the same things your grandparents did. The biggest difference these days: things are a lot cleaner.

Everything around the hub of St. Mark's square is in the middle of a major restoration campaign. It's a bit disappointing for the first time visitor, as many of the elegant facades along the sides of the square are under scaffolding and the base of the bell tower is a construction site hidden behind fences. It's definitely not a Canaletto view at the moment. But work is finished on both St. Mark's cathedral and the clock tower to the left, producing a shocking transformation. The church was always a bit overwhelming and garish in its decorative profusion, but you didn't get much color. Mosaics and sculptural detail rose out of a dull gray stone. Now you can see that all the flat surfaces are different color marbles, from the palest pastels to deep reds and greens. There's no symmetry at all, of course. Every column is a different shade. One expanse of wall might feature 10 different marbles. It's impressive, lush, beautiful and a bit ugly all at once.

Much more restrained is the clock tower, an amazing piece of 15th century engineering. It's gorgeous golden dials, pointers and symbols on a bright blue ground show you not only the date and time, but moon phase, what symbol of the zodiac you're under and all sorts of arcane astrological details. Up top, two larger-than-life metal shepherds swing mallets against a big bell to ring the hour. This is all set within, or upon, an elegant construction of white stone that's now dazzling in its cleanliness.

White is not a colour you see much once you get inside the famous church next door. Gold dominates, and those early Christian mosaics, fresh from restoration, are sparkling like a pile of newly cleaned jewelry. There are so many things to look at in St. Mark's, it's hard to know where to start, and nearly impossible to rest your eye on just one thing. The ancient mosaic floor is justifiably famous. Every inch of wall space is crammed with mosaics, monuments or sculpture. There are side chapels, rooms of relics, a treasury, opulent hanging lanterns, highly decorated domes and, of course, hundreds of milling tourists. Frankly, it's a place you can't stay for too long without being completely overwhelmed. I find it wise here to concentrate on a handful of details each visit, as it would take years to actually take it all in. Piers was pushed over the edge by the little room filled with more than 100 reliquaries. (According to The Rough Guide, it's rarely open. So we should consider ourselves lucky.) Toes, locks of hair, bone fragments, bits of the true cross, the stone that martyred some saint. It was all too reminiscent of the worst excesses of the pre-Reformation church. Protestantism rose in him and we decided it was time to check out more secular delights.

The logical next step is the Doge's palace. St. Mark's was, after all, simply the Doge's private chapel for much of its history, rather than the official cathedral. Which should immediately clue you in that you're unlikely to find humility or simplicity in the man's house, either. The palace is interesting in that it's both the home of an elected official and the seat of government. For most of history the Doge didn't actually have much power. He was a figurehead and the brand ambassador for one of the world's most impressive trading empires. Everything about the place is built to impress: the Doge's quarters to awe visiting ambassadors, the huge assembly halls to remind the younger governmental members of their place, the smaller rooms of justice to make citizens quake and bow in awe of the all powerful committees of state. You wander through so many rooms here that, like the church, your eyes start to dull. But it's a rich feast. Magnificent carved or plastered ceilings, some in dark wood, some painted, some gilded. Some all three. There are many impressive paintings, most of them exceedingly large propaganda pieces designed to promote Venetian power or capture its glorious moments of history.

The most jaw dropping room is probably the sala del maggior consiglio, one of the largest rooms I think I've ever been in. It was built to hold a meeting of every man entitled, by his family's entry in the official "golden book", to the ruling classes. By the mid 16th century this was around 2500. Tintoretto's amazing Paradiso is the largest thing in a room of massive paintings; it features 500 individuals all painted in detail. My favourite room, however, is the salla della scudo, a long reception room decorated with frescoed maps of all the places in the world with which Venice did business. (They're later copies of the 15th century originals.) It's a fascinating world perspective from the time of Marco Polo. There's a passable armory; not nearly as good as the one at the Tower of London, but useful for re-capturing the attention of boys whose attention has started to flag from too much art appreciation. At the end of the tour you'll wander through the dungeons, which provide quite a grim contrast and would have sent a shudder down our spines even had they not been cold and damp enough to make us feel we were trapped in a refrigerator's fruit and veg drawer.

Next on the iconic, must see list is the Rialto Bridge. It's a truly awe-inspiring piece of architecture, with a gracious, sweeping arch below and an arcade of shops above rising to a peak dominated by a triumphal arch. Unfortunately the view is marred a bit by the fact that it's the shop backs that face toward the canal, and these are often coated with graffiti. The most elegant views of the bridge are either from a distance, or from the bridge itself. Up top, the store fronts glitter with glass baubles, jewelry and silks (we found great deals on men's ties and cravats), parting at the bridge's summit to offer you rest in sophisticated loggias on each side with some of the best views of the Grand Canal.

After St. Marks, the palace and the Rialto, the island of Murano comes on most people's top sites lists. In addition to being canny traders, the Venetians held a monopoly on the manufacture of the world's most sophisticated glass for almost two centuries. All the glass blowers were kept in splendid incarceration on Murano. A miniature Venice with lovely houses, stately canals and gracious churches, the workmen and their families lived far more prosperous lives that the typical craftsmen of the era. The catch was that they couldn't leave the island. If they did, legend had it, the government would send an assassin after them to protect Venice's coveted trade secrets. Today the monopoly is gone, there are far fewer glass blowers and any of them are free to leave. They're more likely to be producing baubles for tourists, chandeliers for hotels and restaurants or art glass for rich collectors rather than glassware for the tables of Europe's monarchs and aristos. The work, however, is just as beautiful.

One of the best places to see the continuity is the glass museum, which has displays of glass from Roman times all the way up to modern art pieces of today. Don't miss the impressive Barovier wedding cup in deepest cobalt blue, painted with scenes of courtly life in the Renaissance, and the 18th century glass table decorations that allowed you to build an entire formal Italian garden down the centre of your banquet.

Most of Murano is, unsurprisingly, glass shops. The moment you come off the vaporetto you'll be greeted by touts luring you to their demonstrations. Try to avoid these, as they are usually assemblages of work of marginal quality but generous mark ups, fronted by glass blowers of only basic skill. I highly recommend Franco Schiavon's gallery at Fondamenta dei Vetrai 15. They have their own workshop in back, which they'll happily take you into and explain the process while the craftsmen work. Downstairs there's the usual selection of glassware, jewelry, lampshades and chandeliers, but of a higher quality than most. Upstairs their gallery veers towards the collector, with displays of some truly ravishing pieces and gold gilt glasses fit for royal tables. Were I a rich woman, I could have spent a lot of money here.

And speaking of shopping, one of the places here that always gets a repeat visit from me is Paolo Olbi's tiny book binding and paper shop. He's been hand crafting books and desk items from decorated leather and marbelised Florentine papers for almost 50 years, still producing every item himself while his sister works the shop. Over the years I've bought exquisite notebooks for myself and watercolour portfolios for my mother. This trip we invested in the photo album and guest book for our wedding, each made from luscious white leather tooled in floral patterns. You'll probably pass his shop on the calle della mandola on the way to the Accademia Bridge.

Familiar yet still surprising, these top sites are worth repeat visits. The wonder of Venice, however, is that there's so much to explore beyond the familiar. And once you get off the beaten track, it's amazing how few tourists you'll find around you. Next entry I'll explore those new discoveries.