I still wasn’t really able to get into Venice this time round – my second trip there – though my experience had become much more pleasant, as we stayed in a nice neighbourhood (Santa Croce / San Polo) and hung out with our BFF Ming, who had been kind enough to fly down from London to grace us with her presence for the weekend.
A visit to the fascinating Jewish Ghetto didn’t hurt either – a wedding was taking place at the Spanish synagogue (one of four-five synagogues there, not all of which are currently active). A placid oldish man stood outside the doorway with a basket on his arm, handing out skullcaps to the males who looked dressed for the occasion. The bride seemed to be fashionably late, and guests took their time to arrive, secure in this knowledge. A big crowd of Venetians and tourists alike had gathered around to await her arrival, which anticipation would ultimately render disappointing.
And so we left before we saw her, in order to take the slow vaporetto down the Rialto. Crowded as it was with tourists, I was jabbed in the ribs rather uncomfortably by an inconsiderate man, and alighted quite gratefully. As usual, tourists abounded in Piazza San Marco, though I had a fairly amusing encounter almost walking round the corner into a hurrying, statuesque Italian model of a man on a handphone, who would probably have brushed me off his lapels like a dead fly if I had so much as nudged past him.
What redeemed the Venetian experience was, for me, ultimately the jumping Ming, Cindy and I undertook. It happened quite spontaneously, when I was trying to get a picture of a doorway, and Cindy kept jumping across the frame. I said, “Let’s take a picture of you and Ming jumping then!” And what first resulted isn’t really fit to put on the internet… (mainly for Cindy’s sake) The following is a much improved version:
