Basilica di Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari (Basilica of Glorious St. Mary of the Friars), Venice (must see)

The Friars' Basilica, usually shortened by locals to just the “Frari,” sits a little away from the main tourist flow—and that already tells you something about Venice. The city’s second most important church, after St. Mark’s Basilica, is not on the main stage, but quietly holding its ground in a lived-in neighborhood. It doesn’t shout for attention, and it’s rarely swarmed. That restraint is misleading, because once inside, the Frari delivers one of the strongest artistic punches in the city.

The church was founded by the Franciscans in the late 13th century, and size was clearly not a concern. This is one of the largest churches in Venice, crowned by a brick bell tower that rises higher than all but St. Mark’s. Architecturally, it remains one of the few Venetian churches to keep a Gothic look—simple, sober, and almost blunt on the outside. A kind of vast brick container... What’s inside, however, is anything but restrained.

Indeed, the Frari is one of the best places in Venice to understand why Titian mattered. His Assumption of the Virgin dominates the high altar, and it still feels radical: dramatic movement, bold color, and a vertical energy that pulls your eyes upward. Nearby hangs the Madonna di Ca’ Pesaro, another break from tradition, with the Virgin shifted off center, and the composition tilted in a way that once caused raised eyebrows. Add works by Bellini and Vivarini, and you start to see how Venetian painting evolved within these walls.

And art here is not limited to just paintings, either. Donatello’s wooden Saint John the Baptist stands with unsettling intensity. A finely carved 15th-century choir fills the space with quiet craftsmanship. Then there are the tombs—many of them extravagant, some deliberately unsettling. On one side of the nave lies Titian himself, who died of plague in 1576 and was granted a church burial when others were not. Opposite, the marble pyramid mausoleum of sculptor Antonio Canova contrasts sharply with the theatrical monument to Doge Giovanni Pesaro, held up by massive sculpted figures and filled with symbols of decay and power.

If you want to catch the details, a small guide or leaflet helps. And yes—make sure to cover your shoulders here, because even masterpieces have dress codes...