Venice is so wonderful it deserves a blog post all of its own. There was no cycling involved today; just a short bus trip over the causeway onto Venice Island itself, and then a whole day spent trooping around gawping, and not forgetting that it is actually a living city-within-a-city too, and the locals must feel like they’re pets in a zoo for the amusement of us tourists.
Wednesday 14 September 2022. Venice |No cycling|
Well, that map is a bit of experimentation that almost worked. I wanted to geo-locate all 61 of the photos I took in Venice onto a map of Venice, and to upload the track of my wanderings onto the same map. But I only remembered to turn-on the camera’s geo-location feature towards the end of the day and so only got 6 photos onto the map. I also forgot to set my iPhone to ‘Map my Walk’. In future, having now delved a little deeper into the Google ecosystem and I can understand how it works, I hope to be able to automatically up-load to all the day’s iPhone snaps directly to ‘My Maps’. I’m getting there.
Christophe and I went across to the island early together at 08.00 am. It’s only a short (15-minute) bus ride, with a stop right outside our camping. It only costs €1.50 but I couldn’t figure out how to buy the ticket and so it was free for me. Christophe got given a free ticket by some tourists that were leaving a day early and didn’t need it, but our camp mates Peter and Ina went separately because they’d paid €15 each for a coupon from the camp office that they were told was mandatory; however, this included an unnecessary boat trip from the bus terminus down the Grand Canal to the Piazza San Marco.
It’s a real shame I failed to record the walk. We spent 6 hours wandering around getting lost and our meanderings would have looked rather interesting. It was also a bit of a shame I went with someone else too, because we both wanted to dawdle over different things.
Christophe seemed to have learned all about the places in Venice where the local communist party used to hang out in the 60s and 70s and was very excited to find them. He must have been only about 12 years old or so when the Berlin Wall came down (making him about 45 now) but seems to have a hankering for the old way of life under the Soviets as told to him by his parents. It was good to get a different perspective on this last night at our corroboree with Peter and Ina, who were very much of the capitalist West German persuasion. That’s him, by the way, at the steps to the Ponte de la Grana in the last picture below.
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