Hotel Flora could be anywhere: in a small town by the sea, with all its brightness. Or in a rural village, wrapped in its bucolic surroundings. Even in a remote mountain corner, verdant and crystalline. Instead, the hotel rises at the centre of the city that everyone dreams of visiting sooner or later. Tucked away at the end of an alley, it stands mysteriously and invitingly, like a mirage, in a side street off Calle Larga 22 Marzo, part of the San Marco sestiere (term used in Venice to refer to its historic districts). Hotel Flora features forty rooms furnished with damask tapestries, Murano chandeliers and period furniture. Some overlook the internal courtyard, but not mine, which I booked last minute, during the Film Festival. Less spectacular, less sought-after, yet still perfect – “it smells of something good,” as my nonna would say. Gioele and Heiby welcome me graciously, like people who have nothing to prove. They are part of the Romanelli family, devoted to the art of Venetian hospitality since 1964. At breakfast, Stefano, another member of the team, goes about his work  with a thoughtful, poetic and discreet demeanour. I suspect he is like this in life as well, with anyone lucky enough to cross his path.

Venice awaits me, and as always, bewitches me. Yet, I take my time and linger in this ivy-coated interlude, as strong as an addiction urging me to stay. Flora will become my favourite ritual, in the heart of the most beautiful maze in the world.

Words Lucia Ciccioli. Photo courtesy Hotel Flora.