Venice is a madhouse, even in the off season, wall-to-wall tourists, packed into the alleys with end-to-end shops.
It’s like a giant shopping mall, busy like last-minute Christmas shopping, except with narrow hallways.
Ahh, but it’s Venice after all.
I arrive early in the morning to avoid the crowds, just after sunrise, and sit along the Grand Canal, Venice’s largest channel, connecting the lagoon and the San Marco basin.
It’s high tide and, despite the hour, there is traffic on the water, water taxis, long and sleek, larger boats used like buses through the city, smaller boats for transporting goods and merchandise, and gondolas, though I see only one on the water this early, with the rest parked in stalls separated by vertical poles.
Passing boats push waves up onto the algae-covered steps below me.
A seagull wanders close seeking a morsel.
By noon, the Grand Canal is like a highway, four lanes across where I sit, generally passing on the right.
It’s rush hour, standing room only on the boats, and thirty-metre queues to buy tickets.
Tourists lean in close behind me to take their photographs.
A thousand selfies are taken here in ten minutes.
The gondoliers are all busy, their parking stalls empty except to drop off and pick up customers, then poling them along the busy canal for their expensive half-hour tours – singing costing extra – wearing their striped shirts and funny hats.
A little boy on a water taxi waves to the crowd on shore, and I join others in waving back, happy myself to see the boy jump for joy.
The sun is high, striking the waves at just the right angles to create a sea of glittering diamonds.
Little children sit down beside me.
One boy tosses a biscuit to a seagull, and when the seagull takes it, the boy tries to kick him, but misses.
He is scolded by his mother, but she gives him another chance.
The boy tosses another biscuit to the seagull and when the seagull takes it hesitantly, the boy just watches, while his mother nods approval.
