Friday, October 28, 2022
Friday, October 7, 2022
Modern machines. Do they make life EZ?
You can’t win the battle against the machines. They just bide their time until you are completely dependent upon them then they execute a suicide mission inflicting great pain and misery on you, slave to their needs. Last week it was the Roomba. This week the dishwasher. Absolutely refusing to do their expected duties until they are thoroughly and lovingly massaged by people who charge more per hour than a heart surgeon. Next week, I assume, will be the refrigerator’s turn to suck several hundred dollars out of our budget. I feel betrayed—I have NEVER let them go without electricity. Twice a month they have been dusted or lovingly wiped down. I have no defense and have abandoned the skills needed to be happy without them. Now pardon me, I must go give the Maytag a loving pat…
Monday, March 7, 2022
Apparently, skinny-dipping is EZ.
So, I took my dog, Dak, for a walk last night right around 10pm in our 55+community. As I approached the pickleball court area I could hear music, loud talking, and laughter, male and female voices, coming from the direction of the community pool area. 'Strange,' I thought. The club closes at 8pm on Sunday and they'd usually ask people to be out of the pool by 7:30pm or so. Curious minds want to know.
So I walked around the courts toward the front of the club. I noted two cars in the parking lot, a white Honda Accord sedan and a dark-colored Nissan Altima. They were parked at the curb near the club and side-by-side. Still hearing the voices, I approached the fenced-in area of the pool near the exit door. Peering in through the mesh-screen fence, I could see light and movement in the area of the spa, but due to the angle, the distance, and the darkness couldn't really see anything else.
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| Photo by Nick Dunlap on Unsplash |
Then walking past the front of the club and around to the back , approaching the fenced pool area from the club lawn side (where the fence is a more normal picket fence without the mesh screen) I could see there was a group of six or eight young folks (late teens or early 20s, I judge) enjoying the hot tub. The only visible linens were piled on the pool deck outside the tub. Curious. No pool area exterior lights were on, and the pool itself had only minimal lighting. More light seemed to be from flashlights and the music seemed to be from a portable speaker. Returning to the parking area I snapped photos of the rear of the cars with the plates visible.
This morning I reported the 'sighting' to our club manager and let him know if there was any damage, I at least had the license plate. On inspection, there was no apparent damage. I made it clear to the manager that if anyone is skinny-dipping in the community pool after hours, it should at least be those of us that pay our HOA dues and not just kids out for a good time!
Saturday, January 8, 2022
Thursday, January 6, 2022
Politics still aren't EZ - Reflections on Kazakhstan and the U.S.
Jan 6, 2022 – One year later and one month since my last blog post.
I was listening to BBC today. They were reporting on political violence occurring in Kazakhstan. Crowds there were rioting and attacking government facilities. The BBC reports explained that the violence was due to the failure of the central government to address with fairness long-standing concerns of the citizens. The reporters were expressing shock and dismay that the government of Kazakhstan was referring to the rioting citizens as ‘terrorists,’ implying that there would not be political violence there if the central government was not failing. The prevailing sentiment seemed to be in favor of the rebellion and counter to the government, which, to be clear, is authoritarian and had called in Russian troops to shore up the establishment. Many residents of Kazakhstan interviewed on-air were expressing surprise and dismay that such events could happen there, in one of the main cities of their land.
The above report followed the BBC’s report on the events in Washington DC on this date a year ago, and President Biden’s remarks of earlier today. Likewise, BBC reported on shock and dismay that such could happen here, in the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave. Otherwise, the contrast in attitudes and reporting was stark. The BBC reporters had no problem with the U.S. Government referring to its rebelling citizens as ‘terrorists.’ The BBC reporters didn’t hint that perhaps the U.S. Government (minus Mr. Trump) should share any part of the blame—they covered, in depth, evidence that Mr. Trump should carry some of the blame (which I certainly agree with). But I must ask, could the differences in reporting be indicators that the media is biased? Could the entire Trump presidency and all its trappings be at least partially a result of our establishment's choosing to ignore the concerns of many? Or do we decide that nearly half of our country's people are simply evil or insane?
The horrific events in the U.S. a year ago were and remain very complicated.
Current reporting forgets that Democrats have called conservatives “deplorable, despicable” and “backward” for years, all the while investing no apparent effort into listening to concerns counter to their own agenda. For decades, many of the liberal elite have demonstrated a ‘better than you’ attitude without showing any attempt to understand others’ positions. On (taxpayer-supported) college campuses, they have demonstrated that the Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution applies only to liberal speech. Could our establishment be at least partially to blame for not listening to the concerns of citizens? That seemed to be the case for the Kazahkstan establishment, according to the reporters.
It seems to me that the liberal half of our political body has treated half of our citizens as an abusive spouse treats their partner, setting that partner up to be easily seduced by a lover who will listen and not call them derogatory names.
BBC did report that Democrats distrusted the 2016 election to pretty much the same degree (61%*) as Republicans distrusted the 2020 election (62% initially increasing to 68% today*). What has caused the increase in Republican distrust over the past year? It is easy to blame the increase in distrust to the BIG LIE and social media spread of related conspiracies. While probably a valid point, I believe there is more to it. On January 6, 2021, Mr. Trump was nominally in charge but as a lame-duck president was not able to propose changes that may have improved the security of future elections or our democratic republic’s institutions--even had he wanted to, which I don't believe he did. The situation is complicated by our republic form of government, with 50 different state laws and elections to make up the whole. The federal government doesn't have the authority to fix everything.
Mr. Biden’s administration has pursued prosecution of those who participated materially in the violence against the Capitol a year ago with no compunction shown in using the 'terrorist' label. But the charges against those prosecuted have been trespassing, not insurrection. Is there not proof of insurrection? We have not seen the current administration successfully implement anything to address improving our election security. Have they proposed significant improvements to the overall fairness of our institutions? Perhaps H.R.1, the For the People Act, was intended to do that, but it was not crafted in a form that could be passed in a 50-50 split Senate. Maybe something like including a universal voter ID (with assistance, funding, and assurances to make the ID available to all) as an offering to conservatives would have tilted the balance in favor of an improved voting rights bill. I don’t know if that would have been enough to attract the needed Republican Senators’ votes. When Texas passed a voter-ID law (never fully implemented) I volunteered to work with a local organization to help the elderly, poor, disadvantaged, or handicapped get proper and acceptable IDs. In the 90 days the organization was actively and very publicly seeking to provide that help within Bexar County, Texas (with a population of over two million, 17% of whom are living in poverty), we got zero calls for help. No one identified a single eligible voter that did not have a valid government ID. I did hear of one person in Austin that qualified for help in getting an ID they didn't have, but they refused assistance. It seems most liberals were interested only in defeating the voter ID law and not in helping any ID-less disadvantaged citizens (if any exist) comply with the rule. (Are they afraid of that voting rule? And if so, why? Other countries that liberals present as model societies, such as Finland and Germany, require voter ID.) Changes in U.S. state laws regarding federal elections are piecemeal and seem counterproductive and in some cases harmful and regressive rather than helpful.
On a freeway overpass, as I drove under, a small crowd waved U.S. and Don’t Tread on Me flags and displayed signs that said, “ANTIFA + FBI = Jan 6.” I do not believe ANTIFA had any significant involvement in the events in DC of January 6th. I have seen no proof of ANTIFA involvement. I have seen reports that seem to indicate that the FBI leadership made conscious decisions to fail to act on intelligence that could have allowed Capitol authorities to be better prepared for January 6th. If that is true, was it done to increase the chance of the success of the attack on the House, or was it done to allow the attack to become worse than it would otherwise have been, thus hardening attitudes toward those who participated in the attack on the House?
So, this is what we’ve come to. Kazakhstan and the U.S. Compare and contrast.
*As reported by BBC on NPR.
Monday, December 6, 2021
How Dare They? An EZ saga of a table by the window aboard the Deliziosa.
All I wanted was a quiet cup of herbal tea and a sweet croissant while gazing out over the ocean. But they stole my table. How rude! I felt cheated, disrespected, and a little angry.
I was tired. I love travel and I love Glenda, my wife. But traveling can be tiring and traveling with another, regardless of how compatible you are, can be more so. In our case, advancing age and my beloved’s failing vision and fading memory add more weight to the tiring equation. She can no longer see well enough to read directing signs and her short-term memory has no room for such details as cabin number and location. She can’t read menus or labels. As you can guess, that means that I accompany her any time we are out. We had enjoyed our morning of being out and about on this, our third day at sea, but now she wanted an afternoon nap. Even though tired, I don’t usually nap, but her napping means she gets the rest she needs. I get a few minutes on my own without feeling guilty.
Perfect timing. It was afternoon tea time. I’ll take my notebook and write a bit about the trip as I watch the Adriatic slip by beneath us.
Our ship, the Costa Deliziosa, offered an afternoon tea. Along with a variety of beverages, it included pastries and small finger sandwiches. I guess it’s not acceptable for their guests to experience any hunger between the sumptuous luncheon and decadent dinner they provide. Afternoon tea was offered in the buffet dining room located aft on the 9th deck, three decks above our stateroom.
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| Aft Deck Costa Deliziosa in Port. Photo by author. |
The Deliziosa is a beautiful ship of the Panamax class—the largest ships that can pass through the locks in the Panama Canal. She sails at 93,000 tons, 965 feet long and 106 feet wide. She has 11 decks and carries a crew of near 1,000. Just mature enough for the blush of newness to be worn away and replaced by a patina of familiar comfort, she can accommodate nearly 2,300 passengers in luxury suites, premium balcony mini-suites, window staterooms, and mid-deck economy cabins. Her offerings include casino, theater, shopping, lounges, discotheque, pools, spas, and gymnasium as well as dining, outdoor recreation, sunning, and promenade areas. Government restrictions due to COVID-19 meant our seven-day voyage from Trieste Italy to Greece and back provided passage for only about 1,400 passengers, leaving the ship’s facilities uncrowded. This provided some additional level of luxury. For instance, there was rarely a wait for an elevator. Buffet lines were short.
The elevator ride from our 6th deck mini-suite to the 9th deck took moments. I strolled the carpeted hallway to the buffet dining area at the back of the ship.
A young and attractive uniformed hostess greeted me, “Good day, sir. Are you joining us for afternoon tea?”
I nodded.
“Welcome. Please let me verify your Costa identity card, and I will check your temperature.”
Holding the small touchless infrared fever thermometer near my forehead, she said, “Very good, sir. Normal. Where would you like to sit?”
“May I please have a window seat?”
“Certainly, sir.”
She escorted me to a window table, starboard near the middle of the dining area. As we approached the table, I noted there were no other unoccupied window tables.
“Will this be OK?” she asked.
“Certainly. Thank you,” I said, smiling.
Perfect, I thought. I was already feeling better looking forward to a few quiet moments at the table by the window aboard the Deliziosa.
Glad I arrived when I did, I left my notebook and pen on the table and went to the buffet line where I selected some hot herbal tea and a sweet roll.
Upon my return, I found my table occupied by three women I didn’t know, and my notebook casually moved to an inboard, non-window table. They were deep in conversation. One of the women was probably close to my age, slight with a full head of white hair. The others were younger, perhaps in their forties. One, Rafaelian with long blonde hair, the other darker complected, her brown hair worn in a short cap style, slighter in build. No. I didn’t know these women. I stopped and stared in disbelief. They had taken my table. Well, it was a prime spot. Looking around I verified no other window tables available. I sighed and went to retrieve my notebook. I guess I can sit somewhere else. But on top of tired, now I’m feeling pissed. I wanted that table!
As I retrieved my notebook from the adjacent but less desirable table, I turned toward the women, hoisting my colorful notebook for all to see, and said loudly, disgust dripping from my voice, “Really!” As they gazed agog, heads swiveled my way at the loud interruption, their conversation on mute, I slapped the notebook onto my tray and stomped away to a table out of sight of these thieving women. How dare they? Why can’t I have what I want?
As I settled in at my second-class table, the taste of the hibiscus tea was unexpectedly bitter. The croissant dry. I wondered why. These foods had been truly delightful yesterday. As I pondered the situation, it occurred to me I had been churlish. My taste buds were telling me I had no need of complaint. So what if I’m not at a window table? Big deal. I’m on a luxury voyage and in complete comfort. I have a treat of pastry and tea and some quiet time. The deep blue sea is still visible out the slightly distant windows.
I must have blushed a bit from deserved shame at my reaction to a trivial and non-personal slight. Those women did not deserve the wrath I directed at them. They may not even have been guilty of moving my notebook. It could have been the action of a busser or steward, anyone, leaving an unoccupied table for them to find. My feelings were muddled. I had so recently felt righteous indignation. Now I felt contrite embarrassment.
Stewing in my state of confusion, I opened my notebook, reviewing the last couple of pages with the thought of penning a few words to settle me and assuage my feelings. As I glanced down the lines a shadow fell over the pages. The older of the three women from the stolen table had approached.
Before I could speak, she said, “We took your table. We are so sorry. Let us trade places and you can have the window table.”
“Oh!” I said apologetically, looking up from my inferior position. “Thank you, but no. I’m the one who should be sorry and must apologize. I should not have overreacted the way I did. It’s really nothing. Please enjoy your teatime. I’m fine here.”
“But we moved your notebook. We should have realized it meant the table was occupied but instead we just assumed someone had left it behind. Please come take the table you wanted.”
“That’s very kind of you. I do appreciate it. But I feel bad I acted the way I did. I’m fine, now, really.”
On that note, she nodded then walked away. I returned to my notebook. Before I could settle my feelings enough to concentrate on the written words, three shadows fell across my table.
“No,” spoke the blonde woman forcefully. “You are not going to sit here by yourself while we enjoy your window table. You take that table, and we’ll move over here. We insist.”
“That’s right, you tell him, Victoria,” said the dark-haired table thief. Turning to me she said, “We can’t enjoy the view knowing we took it from you.”
“No. No! I’m fine.” I insisted. “Really. It’s not a problem and I shouldn’t have been so upset. It’s just I was already feeling frustrated and tired, but that should not excuse my behavior. It was wrong.”
There was a slight pause.
“All right,” said blonde Victoria. “Then at least come and join us at the window table so that we don’t have to feel guilty all afternoon. You really don’t want to be responsible for ruining our entire afternoon by allowing us to wallow in our guilt, do you? Kristi, Norma, do you agree?”
“Oh, yes!” Exclaimed the older lady now identified as Norma.
“Positively,” said younger dark-haired Kristi. “It’s a win-win. You’ll be at a window table. We can feel we’ve done our penance. Oh, wait. I didn’t mean that sharing a table with you would be, somehow, penance, an unpleasant task…”
With that, I had to laugh. “Ok, ok,” I said, waving my hand in defeat. “I will be honored to join you at your table, and besides, now I feel obligated! By the way, now I know your names, you should know mine. I am Dan.”
And so, with that, I gathered up my tea and croissant and my notebook and moved to what was now their table. After such a painful introduction, the conversation flowed surprisingly well, thanks to the ice-breaking laugh Kristi conjured. All had a story to tell. Victoria and Kristi were sisters, traveling to gain some normality after the loss of their mother. Norma a new friend of theirs met onboard the Deliziosa. And all were booked on the same 7-day post-cruise tour of Italy Glenda and I would be enjoying after completing the cruise—booked through the same travel agency. I quickly realized I was glad they had insisted on extending, and my accepting, the invitation to join them. Without this chance to smooth over the ruffled feelings, meeting up repeatedly during the 7-days in Italy in our small tour group may have been awkward indeed after my childish behavior.
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| My moveable notebook. Photo by author. |
Kristi and Victoria spoke of their struggles during their mother’s last months, of their homes in cold climes and their children (left behind with spouses), of the pleasure of the sun-drenched Adriatic and the luxury of the ship.
I told them a little about Glenda and myself. Upon mention of our home in Mesa, Norma exclaimed, “Oh! I’m almost your neighbor. I live in Gold Canyon just up the 60 from Mesa.”
“That is close,” I commented. “How did you wind up on the Deliziosa and booked on the tour with us?”
“Well, that’s a story. I never travel. I never have. This is a first for me, and I wouldn’t be here now if my friends hadn’t talked me into it.”
“So,” I said, with a smirk, “You have other friends on the cruise, too. I can hardly wait to meet them. Should I leave my notebook in other places?”
Laughing, Norma said, “No. They didn’t make it to Italy. That’s the story I mentioned.”
“Well, do tell,” I said. “How did they not make it?”
“Before I tell that story,” Norma said, “tell me how you feel about the travel agency we all booked with. Are you satisfied?”
Looking from face to face and seeing the same critical look in six eyes, I replied, “Not really. The company is good at putting together a vacation package and then marketing it. Their ads and offers were attention-getting and made this all seem wonderful. When we first called, they were the personification of polite professionalism. While we were considering the purchase, they assigned a company representative by name and gave us their direct number. They always answered on the first ring and had all the right answers. But then they got our money. Big change in service after that. The direct number never got answered but went directly to voice mail that promised a call back in ’24 to 48 business hours.’ Note, that’s three to six calendar days! A long time to wait for answers.”
Assessing my audience’s reaction to what was becoming a rant, I noted knowing nods, so I continued. “And then, they didn’t ever call back. You couldn’t get an answer to a question to save your life, by phone or email. One week before we were to leave, they sent us the wrong trip itinerary that didn’t align with our air travel at all. It almost gave me a heart attack! We had booked our air travel separately from their tour offering. I was frantic trying to get ahold of someone. It wasn’t until late in the day that we got another email apologizing for sending out an incorrect itinerary and promising the correct one shortly. Which we never did get.”
“We got the wrong one, too.” Said Victoria.
“Yep,” Kristi said. “And we couldn’t get anyone to answer the phone. So we drove to their offices and pounded on the locked door until we were let in.”
“Drove to their offices?” I asked.
“Yes. Their offices are in downtown Salt Lake City, and we live nearby.” Victoria replied. “Once inside, they agreed they had made a mistake. Like you, though, we never did get a correct itinerary.”
“Well, we’ve shared that experience,” I sighed. “We flew from Phoenix to Milan not knowing if anyone in Italy knew we were coming or if anyone would meet us, or what. I wasn’t overly worried, as I knew the sailing port and date for the Deliziosa, and I had all the documents for the cruise. I’ve traveled internationally a fair bit. We had passports, cash, and credit cards. One way or another, we were going to be OK. And, when we got to Milan a guide did meet us and all was in order, so good!”
Knowing eyes and agreeing nods all around the table by the window aboard the Deliziosa.
“But at least,” sighed Norma, “You had your experience and knowledge and the comfort from that. I had none of that.”
“Right,” I said. “I got carried away with my story. You said you haven’t traveled much. Your traveling companions didn’t make it to Italy? But you are here safe. Tell us what happened.”
“Kristi, Victoria, you both know this story. Do you mind if I tell it again for Dan?”
Kristi and Victoria both murmured ascents. Norma continued, “My friends, sisters like Victoria and Kristi, convinced me to come on this trip with them. It’ll be fun, they said. We’ll do it together, they said. Fly to Italy, cruise the Adriatic, then tour Italy before returning home. So, we booked it with that agency out of Salt Lake City. Yeah. Mistake. We experienced the same lack of service. Then, disaster. Our air routing was American Airlines from Sky Harbor in Phoenix to LAX and from there non-stop to Rome on Alitalia Airlines. We all got to LAX. When we checked in with Alitalia, the agent discovered the travel agency had misspelled the girls’ names, so their Alitalia tickets didn’t match their passports. They weren’t allowed to board.”
“What? No!” I exclaimed. “What did they do?”
“Well, I’ve heard from them, and they did get home safely, but they may be some time trying to get the travel agency to set things right financially for them. I closed my eyes, held my breath and boarded the plane alone. And here I am! Like you, I was relieved when the company guide met me at Leonardo Da Vinci airport in Rome. And I’m thankful for people like Kristi and Victoria for adopting this green traveler.”
“Wow!” I said. “Horrible for your friends. And brave of you. It seems we’re all involved in a magnificent adventure. It may not be normal to toast with herbal tea, but,” I said as I hoisted my cup, “here’s to new experiences. May we be bold and blessed by guardian angels.”
“Here, here!” Was answered by all around the table by the window as ceramic cups clinked together.
We parted this meeting as friends and enjoyed congenial company together over the remainder of the cruise and the following tour. Glenda was quickly accepted into the circle and my new friends took her under their wing, improving the trip for both of us.
I am so glad Norma, Victoria, and Kristi stole my table by the window aboard the Deliziosa.
Friday, November 19, 2021
How a Mere Gondola Ride Redeemed Venice for Two Weary Travelers
I was sorry our gondola ride on the canals of Venice had come to an end. For many reasons, some of which may not seem obvious.
The gondola ride, unlike other parts of the journey, was everything I could have hoped for.
• The boat: Beautiful, flat-bottomed, made of various types of beautiful (and beautifully finished) wood, highly decorated with the traditional “Dolfin” at the bow and the standing platform at the stern for the gondolier.
• The colors: Black lacquer and gloss white with gold trim.
• The gondolier: Strong and capable.
• His attire: Traditional, with straw boater hat and navy woolen jacket over a white sailor’s shirt.
• His voice: Booming and full as he executed traditional, soaring operatic pieces.
• The cost: Fifteen Euros each. This seemed reasonable considering the Euro and U.S. Dollar were within twenty percent of equity at the time of our visit to Venice.
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| Gondolas in Venice. Photo by author. |
Ride or no ride, I wanted a rest.
Our ride began after 6:30 in the evening on October 24th. It was dark, damp, breezy, and cool. The boarding process was. After paying our fee (cash only!) we were escorted down four steep (and slippery-looking) steps to the edge of the canal’s water. After the gondolier positioned his craft, we were handed across the gap and over the gunnel with one, rather large, step down to the deck, the gondola rocking through the process. I felt a real sense of apprehension about the dark and likely cold waters under the boat. Once aboard, we were directed to our cushioned seats. We managed sitting without falling into or out of the boat, we were settled but still out of breath, and the ride began. We were pleasantly surprised there was no stale canal rotten-egg odor. Rather we noted a slightly sweet, salt-water smell. Our gondolier explained the canals in Venice are not stagnant but are flushed with tidewater from the sea twice each day by natural action and the canal water levels were managed by a series of ingenious dams and weirs.
With strong and steady exertion, the gondolier pushed his steed away from the landing and into the middle of the murky canal, the dark space only slightly wider than two of the shiny craft, stone and brick buildings on either side. We soon passed under a bridge and into a more open area. Here, the moonlight penetrated better, and we were relieved from the oppressive darkness of the earlier narrow stretch of canal. With greater light, we could appreciate the beauty of the buildings and the narrow walks along each side. As the gondolier, deep in his rendition of a barcarolle song, pushed us on with the boat’s rémo (pushing pole) we glided peacefully past the historical sights of Venice: palaces, churches, museums, and hotels.
Our gondolier, Enrico, told us it takes four years of training and apprenticeship, followed by a difficult exam, to qualify for a gondolier’s license. Venice limits the licensed gondoliers to a maximum of 400. In olden days, licenses were passed from father to son, but that is no longer allowed, and each must stand for exam on his (or her) own. Yes, there are female gondoliers. The gondola itself is a true work of art. Each new one costs about 50,000 Euros. Enrico said he loved his job and especially loved singing for beautiful women from around the world. Glenda averted her eyes. Was that a slight blush in her cheek?
Soon, the walkways opened a bit, accommodating café seating. Diners, mostly couples, were enjoying a meal or a drink under the moonlight as we slid past and entered the Grand Canal. Some waved to us as we glided past. Within moments, a noisy powered police boat sped past us running under siren and leaving a wake that rocked our gondola. Without cars, the old part of the city depends on fast speedboats to get police, fire, and other emergency services where they are needed. The next vessel was a stately funeral barge, returning from its day’s work transporting the dead to Isola di San Michele, the island that is Venice’s largest cemetery. The barge, painted a brilliant blue, was also powered, but running at a much more sedate speed, creating no visible wake. Powered vessels are not uncommon on the Grand Canal, Venice’s watery main street, as the commerce of the city must go on, even for departed souls. Unlike the gondola, powered vessels always run with lights at night.
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| Rialto Bridge. Photo by author. |
We soon passed under the Constitution Bridge, Rialto Bridge, the Ponte dell’ Accademia, and finally the covered Bridge of Sighs over the part of the canal system called the Rio di Palazzo. Each bridge is unique and presents its personality expressed in architecture, size, construction materials, and color. Our gondolier explained the story of the Bridge of Sighs: It was the last part of Venice you would see if you were being shipped off to prison or otherwise banished from the beautiful city.
Too soon, it seemed, we had slipped across the glassy canals and had returned to the landing. Still, after the peace and beauty of the ride, I was refreshed, almost feeling like I was awakening from a dream. I was sorry the ride had come to its end. One reason was that I feared the fast-walking torture would recommence.
As stragglers, we had been among the last to board a gondola and among the last returning to the landing. We soon learned our group had gathered in a convenient gelateria and enjoyed the typical sweet, icy treat while awaiting the last of the group’s return. But sorry, not enough time left now for gelato. We must be on our way. A real visit to St. Mark’s would have to wait until tomorrow. At leaste the return trek wasn’t so hurried. As the noisy and smoky water taxi pulled away from the waterfront, I felt a wave of nostalgia for the sound of the gondolier’s singing voice and the sweet-salty smell of the canal.
I’d go back to Venice.
Without the comforting gondola ride, I’m not sure that I would say that.
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| Sunset over a restful ride. Photo by author. |
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