I am stuck at electricity supply and snapping my impressions. Rats, which weren’t seen or heard by me, are running in the narrow streets somewhere beyond the window. And the tired tourists are returning to their hotels. It’s night. The town rests from the uproars. Déjà vu.
“By the way, is there any street art in Venice?” – I asked the seller of art books.
“I don’t think so. I don’t know any of it” – he answered flustered.
I am wandering on the canal-sides, narrow and the-darker-the-better yards, bridges, and squares. I am searching for modern contribution to the culture among ruins, mouldy brick walls, and tourist-oriented kitsch. I was here near this hotel in the morning. I should reach home easily cutting the corner. After twisting in the streets I appear exactly at the same position where I was 10 minutes ago. I feel deceived by this city. I find myself in a bewitched labyrinth. I start following the signs for tourists to the San Marco square. But there was time, when there was no such signs, and there was no such bazaar commerce, and no tourists with staring photo cameras. Venice was a mysterious city, wasn’t it?
Venice is a big village. The locals know each other and don’t avoid slanders and hearsays. Venetians usually complain about their hard lives, but they often buy things of well-known and expensive brands.
Regarding the non-locals, there are many immigrants from Ukraine. And also there are numerous tourists. Tourists usually come here from different countries in turns. This time there are plenty of Germans. Also I’ve heard many Russians in the air-port.
What can you do in this city? As you are closed in the labyrinth which you learn by heart some day anyway, you can either dive into public services or into individual self-expression. There are many artists. Each corner has an artist. And that even raises a question, what is Art and what is a cheap daub for some quick money. I visit Peggy Guggenheim museum. I like contemporary art. Anyway, later I find some high-quality works in the private galleries nearby as well.
I want some catastrophe. I want some flood. I want some experience which I hadn’t in the travel one and a half years before. And then it starts raining. It lasts all the night. The thunder echoes among houses waking me up to turn onto the other side. It continues at the day. It rains without a break. I get soaked. The umbrella is just a decoration. I wear borrowed shoes in the evening. Milda, Luca, their Beatrice in a perambulator, and I are going for some pizza jumping above the waves on the sidewalk.
On the way to the airport Luca suggests me to cut the corner getting through the canal by gondola. I see glittering water through the hole in the ground of gondola. We are swinging more than usual because of the waves and rowers angry on each other. Every person standing in the gondola is responsible for the general balance. We reach the other side successfully.
That’s the station. But there are no necessary buses. The asked policeman informs us about strike. Going to the airport by taxi would perhaps cost more than the ticket of the airplane. Fortunately, Luca has a car-rent card. Secretly we take Bingo aboard. I am driven to the airport. Thank you very much! Did I like the travel? Yes, I did.
Tags: leisure
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