Venerable Venice.

• Author: Rothenberg, Sheila

Though slowly sinking into the Adriatic, Italy's city of canals still remains a historic, cultural, and artistic mecca.

COLE PORTER kicked off "Kiss Me Kate" with the rousing number, "We Open in Venice." Taking a cue from this Broadway immortal, we decided to launch our tour of Europe via the fabled Orient-Express from this ancient island-city. Our intent was to experience a leisurely, luxurious way of traveling that is all but extinct in these hectic days of jetting to far-flung corners of the globe.

Of all major European cities, Venice perhaps maintains the closest resemblance to its storied past, with much of its architecture hundreds of years old, but still in use. Aptly christened the Pearl of the Adriatic, this magnificent city, sprawling across 117 linked islands, was founded in the fifth century by refugees fleeing invasions of barbarian hordes. By the 15th century, it was Italy's most powerful maritime republic. Despite repeated clashes with the Ottoman Empire for domination of the Adriatic, the Venetian doges and their navies held fast against the fierce Turks.

For hundreds of years the center of European diplomacy and commerce, Venice drew traders, soldiers, and statesmen. Behind them, lured by its temperate climate, eager to see the light and sights portrayed by the leading artists of the times and vividly described by writers from Lord Byron to Henry James to Thomas Mann to Ernest Hemingway, travelers poured into the city. Today, Venice is a tourist mecca, thanks to its rich historic, cultural, and artistic heritage.

Because of its geographic uniqueness, clinging precariously to relatively small chunks of land constantly under siege from the encroaching sea, Venice is like no other metropolis. Visitors quickly become aware that there are just two ways to get about--an assortment of water-going vehicles or walking. The automobile is as nonexistent in the last decade of the 20th century as it was when the city was founded. Without cars, trucks, and buses forcing the tempo, life is slow-paced, and tourists soon come to appreciate that there is no impetus to race from place to place when a casual stroll will accomplish the same purpose. Should you decide to pause for an aperitif en route, there's no need to feel guilty. After all, the attractions have been there for hundreds of years and an hour or so will make no difference.

The heart of Venice is the Piazza San Marco (St. Mark's Square), the entrance to which is marked by a pair of granite columns brought from Constantinople. Topping one is a winged lion, the symbol of St. Mark; the city's original patron saint, Theodore, crowns the other. Standing between them and gazing the length of the piazza, we were awed by its size--the equivalent of two football fields laid back-to-back.

Flanking the square are two outdoor cafes--Florian's, a meeting place for Venetians over many centuries, and, on the opposite side, the relative newcomer, Quadri, dating back only to the 1700s. Each has an orchestra, including pianists at baby grand pianos, to attract customers, but, because of the size of the piazza, the music does not conflict. Rows of folding chairs and miniscule tables allow you to rest your feet, read the paper, consult a guidebook or map, enjoy the music, and indulge in the most Venetian of activities--people-watching. One can linger for hours over a cup of cappuccino or espresso, but we selected a richer delight--the formidable glace concoctions with which the two cafes strive to outdo each other. Confronted with a gondola bearing three flavors of ice cream, bananas, nuts, syrup, whipped cream, cookies, and a paper flag, we didn't know whether to eat it or just sit and admire the artistry. Gluttony easily won over aesthetics, and we dug in enthusiastically. We were pleasantly surprised to discover that there was no need to jump up the moment we were finished. The waiters never rush you, so just sit back and watch the light as it crosses the square and plays with the pink and gold colors of the surrounding buildings.

Sooner or later, it becomes time to explore the piazza and give others the opportunity to watch you. As we stood in the center of the square, we couldn't decide whether it felt more like the setting for a Cecil B. DeMille version of the Tower of Babel or Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds." All around us were tourists chattering away in French, German, Dutch, Japanese, Spanish, English, Arabic, and even Italian. Underfoot, circling overhead, or swooping down in phalanxes after scattered bread crumbs or birdseed, thousands of pigeons competed for sovereignty, exploding upwards in panicky flight every quarter-hour as the bells of the square rang out.

Dominating the scene are St. Mark's Basilica and the Doges' Palace, Venice's most magnificent treasures. St. Mark's, originally a small church built to house the remains of its namesake, stolen from Alexandria in the ninth century by Venetian mercenaries, ultimately grew to become the royal Chapel of the Doges. Construction of the new edifice took 400 years, from the 11th to the 15th century, and embodied Greek, Byzantine, Romanesque, and Gothic styles. The inside of the church recounts the life of Venice's patron saint in a series of hand-set mosaics, covering the floor, walls, and ceiling, while the altar over St. Mark's tomb lies under a green marble canopy supported by six 13th-century statues. Much of the marble floor has been worn down over the years by countless footsteps of worshippers and other visitors, requiring that some areas be roped off from the public as restoration efforts try to counter the ravages of time. The front doors are adorned with precious and semi-precious gems, carefully inset by hand to depict awe-inspiring religious scenes.

The central of five arches that frame the facade of the open gallery running across the Basilicals exterior contains full-sized copies of the famed Hellenistic bronze horses, looted from the Hippodrome in Constantinople in 1204 during the Crusades. The four original statues are housed on the second floor of the church, shielded from environmental harm. So realistic are these surging steeds that one almost can hear their snorts as their rippling muscles propel them in spirited flight. Dwarfed by these mighty creatures, dazzled by...