1At dawn, before the first vaporetto churns the Grand Canal, Venice briefly belongs to no one but itself.
2It is in these quiet hours that residents run their errands, crossing bridges unbothered by the crowds that will follow.
3By mid-morning, however, the narrow lanes swell with visitors, and the city takes on the air of a stage set.
4That Venice is sinking has been said for centuries, yet the acqua alta now arrives with unsettling frequency.
5When the sirens sound, shopkeepers stack their goods high and fit steel barriers across their doorways without complaint.
6No sooner has the water risen than tourists begin photographing their reflections in the flooded squares.
7Locals, by contrast, pull on rubber boots and carry on, treating the flood as an inconvenient relative rather than a catastrophe.
8The mobile barriers at the lagoon's mouth have spared the city its worst tides, though at a cost that still divides opinion.
9Some fear the real threat is not the rising water but the exodus of Venetians priced out of their own city.
10Only by keeping the city inhabited, they argue, can Venice remain a living place rather than a beautiful relic.
11For the traveller who lingers past sunset, Venice offers a final lesson: fragility, borne gracefully, can be its own kind of strength.