Channeling our inner George and Amal Clooney, my wife and I glide over Venice's lagoon in a sleek private water taxi. As we pass the mouth of the Grand Canal, the domes of the resplendent Basilica in the pigeon-filled, cafe-lined San Marco Piazza come into view. The crowd is thick mid-morning on the Riva Degli Schiavoni, the floating city's main waterfront promenade. However, we avoid the throng by slipping into the Rio del Vin and under the stone Ponte del Vin with its ornate balustrade.