At the top of the Campanile, San Giorgio Maggiore Island, Venice, you will find fresh air, fabulous views and a peaceful retreat from the sweaty throngs of the mainland below.

The tiny island of San Giorgio is just a short hop on the vaporetto (water bus) from San Marco. In the 10th century the marshy land was drained and the island given over to a Benedictine monastery which became one of the most wealthy and influential monasteries in the world until it was flattened by an earthquake in 1223.

No matter. After a quick rebuild, it was business as usual until the Republic of Venice was dissolved and the monks were kicked out.  It became a free port and the city’s artillery was later stored there. Now the monastery is back, together with an arts centre, open air theatre and a perpetual dribble of Venice-fatigued tourists in search of respite.

At the moment, one of the most striking things about the island is Marc Quinn’s Biennale installation of Alison Lapper,  the artist with no arms, 8 months pregnant. Gigantic, pink, inflated, the statue is very visible from the mainland. Against the elegant white facade of the church you could think the installation looks ridiculous, surreal, exciting, challenging, beautiful. One thing’s for sure, you’re bound to have some sort of strong reaction which is so often seems to be the intention behind conceptual art.

Conceptual art – can’t stand it.  So pausing only briefly to read the blurb next to the installation, I rounded the corner of the church and spaced out at intervals, along the water front, were huge, bronze shells, shining brilliantly in the sunshine. More of Marc Quinn’s handiwork.  If you like organic, sumptuous forms you’d better believe me when I tell you they were beautiful. Just … beautiful.

Naturally the instinct was to stroke the smooth, gleaming metal but this security guard (yes the one in the photo) informed me and several other people with twitchy hands that it was vietato. Forbidden. I suppose climbing inside one of the shells and leaping out naked, shouting, ‘Surprise!’ was out of the question then.

And so to the church. The classical facade is a brilliant white with the rustic red campanile providing a striking contrast behind it.  Several churches stood on the site before the one you see there today, which was begun in 1566, designed by Palladio and not completed until after his death. The campanile was added in the 1700s.

Inside, it was a mass of startling white arches and columns, all clean, functional lines. This gave it an austere feel but very pleasant all the same. Think calm, minimalist austere rather than cobwebs and cold showers sort of austere.

It’s also home to a fine collection of Tintoretto paintings but in my eagerness to go charging up to the top of the campanile (and having done absolutely no research whatsoever for this trip) I didn’t see them so am not in a position to pass comment. Sorry about that.

A smiling attendant sold me a ticket to the top of the campanile for 6 euros. From the top of the tower, the sweat-sodden mayhem of the Piazza di San Marco had shrunk to very pleasing, miniature proportions. Tiny people ant people swarmed back and forth over the humpback bridge and I felt smug watching them from such a lofty position with the cool breeze on my face.

In the mouths of the Guidecca and Grand Canals, vaporetti and ferry boats chugged steadily through the water while speed boats zipped around in all directions, their engines muffled by the breeze, it was compelling to watch and a more than a little hypnotic. The campanile of San Giorgio is a calming retreat from the chaos of San Marco and a very pleasant alternative to the campanile in the piazza if you’re the sort of person who can’t stand queuing or crowds.

And on that note, here’s one last shell: