Venice for The Night Owls: a Friday-to-Monday weekend

The students' square at aperitivo hour, spritz from the bars on the north side and the whole neighbourhood out on the benches.

Cold platters of cured meats and cheese in a candlelit room with a long bar; the kitchen does not care what time you arrive.

The only jazz club in the city, a quartet most nights in a room the size of a living room; the set starts at nine and the bar stays open.

Lunch at the bar of a Cannaregio osteria the neighbourhood keeps for itself; fegato alla veneziana and a glass of the house red.

Opera in the house that burned twice and was rebuilt as it was; the cheap seats in the upper boxes see half the stage and all the room.

Live music, long tables and a crowd on the quay outside; the last ombra on the Misericordia before the walk home through empty calli.

A terrace over a Giudecca canal since 1920, and a long lunch of fish; the vaporetto back is five minutes and the afternoon is free.

Vivaldi played fast and well in a deconsecrated church by the Accademia bridge; the Four Seasons most nights, which is what you came for.

The oldest casino in the world, in the palace where Wagner died; a jacket, a passport, and a small stake at the roulette for the story.

The square to yourselves on the way home, the basilica's mosaics catching the first light and the pigeons not yet awake.

A pastry shop open since 1742, cornetti warm at seven and the coffee strong; the baker will have been up longer than you.

Cicchetti on the canal wall opposite the gondola yard, a last glass of wine with the bottle shop behind you, then the airport boat.