Even the berries in Venice are romantic. Romance wasn't in the grand canal that sweeps through the middle of the city, full of the bustle of ships and luxurious palaces, but rather in the tiny alleyways. The small canals crisscross the city and lead to wonderful bridges. That must have been it for me, the linking bridges holding old sunken pilings together. I only had two days in the city but with the remarkable absence of cars, the winding narrow walkways felt quite comfortable. Even if I was lost several times.
Watching the gondoliers with their gondolas was better than any single ride with just one. Only a few were under 35 years old. They could all be 13 though, making stupid jokes between each other, barking and singing happily from their posts on the back of the boats. I found their physiques to be quite peculiar. They all shared a shape of a very strong trapezoid in the torso, broad very wide shoulders and strong arms, but then nearly always an unabashed beer belly.
There is of course the Cathedral, and the palaces of so many rich merchants to admire, but the little bits of Venice in the corners were truly worth admiring. While walking around with my new travel friend Marsh we found a council home for stray cats in front of a church. They were all a bit wild, laying calmly until approached, then hissing and spitting.
But thanks to Marsh talking me into going, the real art show we saw was the Venice Biennale. Happening every two years, each participating country is given the time and space to exhibit their greatest new artist or artistic team. Marsh and I are standing inside the Japanese Pavilion in the middle of teleco-soup by Tabaimo. This piece was one of my favorites. Great Britain had a remarkable exhibit as well, a full scale installation within their pavilion of a crumbling abandoned house. There was no centerpiece, but the feeling of queerness crept slowly behind as we crouched under low ceilings and stumbled through a maze filled with other visitors.
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