I closed my eyes and absorbed the darkness, letting everything around me come alive. I had roamed the streets for hours, taking it all in: the smell of melted mozzarella on the world’s finest pizzas; the ghostly decadence of the city’s oldest buildings; a loud melody, Chopin perhaps, can be heard through an open window; the dazzling chaos of roses, daffodils and poppies sitting on sills, stealing each other’s colours; and the repetitive navy-and-white striped men, proudly parading visitors down Venice’s shimmering canals. As I reached San Marco, Venice’s personal hotbed of human stench and anarchic clatter, the sweltering summer air was hard to take in. The waves of flickering cameras and the howling chatter of the crowd engulfed the piazza. Revolted, I wriggled away from the daunting humanness. I moved away from the crowds seeking silence. The chatter faded away, as did the Sun and the unbearable trail of heat it left behind[...]
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"The world is a book and those who don't travel read only the first page." Archives
April 2015
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