To Venice, where the sky is clear, the air is cool, and where things feel unexpectedly (and uncharacteristically) clean as if a nasty rainstorm just moved through. The weather is as pleasant as I suspect you ever get it here, though still muggy enough that we may have to ration the clean laundry. I marvel once again at what must be the world's longest running and perhaps most successful historical theme-park. Consider: except for the predation of tourists, Venice hasn't had a real reason for being since the Turks took Constantinople in 1453. Yet everything we remember about Venetian art -- Titian, Tintoretto, assorted Bellinis, Tiepolo--comes later. After that, a long party, and then the more or less desperate effort to flog tee-shirts and gondola rides and generally to stay above water. Must be a great place to be a ringworm.
A gondola is going by under our window: a guy in a striped shirt is belting out "Venezia." With a karaoke machine, too much.