Venice was so wonderful it deserves a blog post all of its own. No cycling involved; just a short bus trip over the causeway onto Venice Island, then a whole day spent trooping around gawping at the wonder of the whole place, and not forgetting it is actually a living city-within-a-city too, and the locals must feel like they’re stage-actors there 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 also to upload the track of my wandering around 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 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, and our camp mates Peter and Ina (who went separately) had paid €15 for a coupon from the camp office that they were told was mandatory, but this includes for 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 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 and was very excited to find them. I think he must have been only about 12 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 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. That’s him, by the way, at the steps to the Ponte de la Grana in one of the pictures below.
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