I
find myself lost in a sea of crowds. In an attempt to re-surface I
barge through the herds of tourists clicking on their kodak, slurping
on their quickly melting gelato, bargaining for a "My____(insert
relation) went to Italy and all I got was this lousy t-shirt", t-shirt
and shuffling along owwing and ahhing and all that is Venice. I am
drowning. And I am drowning in the narrow, winding labyrinth that is
Venice.
San Marcos square was like finding a pocket of air amidst all the drowning. That is if you discount the pigeons.
San
Marcos Square was a hive of activity. Perfect people watching. There we
stood, giant gelati in hand looking out at the pigeons and people and
taking in the grandeur of this Italian square.
We
race around, watch a glass blowing display, admire the beauty of the
church, dash across the bridge of sighs and get lost in the ancient
prison (which once housed Casanova) and of course make our way to the
gondola rank.
We
climb in a velvet lined gondola and my friend, Seth and I take the
throne and we feel like prom Queen and King. Our gondlier, underneath
his striped scooped necked top and tailored pants sports a whole host
of trashy tatts, including a tired pitbull a faded rose and an even
more faded name of a girl once loved. I am suprised he doesn't have
LOVE /HATE across his knuckles. His hair is slicked back in an
something Greenpeace would cite capable of killing marine life. He
doesn't have much to say. But he does know how to use that paddle.
We
glide along the venetian waterways, under small arched bridges and
through dark shadows cast by faded buildings. We sail through rays of
sunshine which warm our backs rested against velvet thrones.
