SUNDAY 8 AUGUST 2010
In a city erupted from the sea, whose largest walkways are crumbling canal bridges, the only place to stop and rest are areas of transition: stairways of stepping stones leading directly into the sea. The bells toll for all this Sunday morning, chiming a chorus with the gulls and dogs - the only animals I have seen on these islands who do not inhabit their murky green waters. This water reflects the bright Tuscan sun in sparkling kaleidoscopes on the faces of Venice's bleached buildings. Orange tiled roofs cap facades of cracked and crumbling plaster, exposed brick laced with thick green algae. Rooftops and windows weep pale streaks where rain water has gushed and washed away the once-vibrant paint. There is not a single skyline in which at least 3 churches can be found. The pigeons sound like squeaky dog toys. The city is infused with the scent of the sea. Judith, who enjoys seafood, likes it.
"The sea sparkles like a silver-weft ground." - Barbara
Back in Florence this afternoon. Moped motorists are crazy! Swerving in between and in front of cars.
Two thumbs up means "f*ck off."
Home sick today.
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