Ah, Venice... Was amazing. Charming is perhaps a better word. Hours could be spent, and were, by me and Nadia, lazily wandering the labrynth of alleys and canals that is Venice. We only really hit one touristy spot: San Marco and its square. There was a Jackson Pollock exhibition there which was extremely interesting. Trippy, even. The part of my mind that secretly loves bad puns (I must get it from dad) also wants to say 'drippy.' Other than San Marco, really we just walked around. It was entirely pleasurable. sidenote: Opulent churches like that make me angry. San Marco was less so, because I was so buoyed by the experience of just being in Venice, but still. I consider them vast wastes of money. There are so many things out there that deserve the money that was spent on that church. There are millions of causes and always will be. I dislike the whole idea of building something opulent in order to somehow please/honor God. There's something very false-idol about it. I mean, in the end, don't you want your attention to be entirely on God when you're in Church? I think Luther may have been right: simplicity. No mediator. God is bigger than any statue you can make of or for him or any song you sing. He is the dust that rises from the first strike of the sculptor and the air that vibrates with the chorus. No amount of opulence can possibly impress God. Jesus was a carpenter. The man spent his days making wooden shelves and drinking cups. Simple. God is God becuase he is everything and everywhere, yet is simplicity itself. He just is. I'd rather be humble before God, not to mention honset as hell, not try to impress him with how much cash I'm willing to jettison on some phallus. But that's just me. Back to Venice. So we walked. A lot. All over the alce. Along all the coasts of the islands, through countless tiny alleys and small squares with their covered public wells and trattoria (sidewalk caf�, but we didn't know that). Countless Americans, too, by the way. More than in Australia. I found that surprising. Our first night we went to Trattoria del something. I want to say del Sempiore, but I don't know. To summarize, it was the best meal of my life. I had a fillet with whisky sauce (o mon dieu... Nadia made fun of me for my groans and stunned looks of pleasure) and vegetables, and a perfect lemon sorbet. It was all rounded with a bottle of Chianto Classico and after-dinner Grappa that we dared each other into. We went out after, mingled with some funny Italian people, and fell lazily asleep. Nad woke up earlier than I did. She did things. I have no clue. I heard her get up but I just went right back to sleep. We checked out and had breakfast, then left our bags with the Concierge. More walking. It was still entirely agreeable. We occasionally marvelled just at the fact that we were there, that the cold stones of the walls really existed. The place is bloody magical, it really is. Life was good in Venice. I should add, though, that the train rides there and back were less than pleasurable. We lucked out I guess, given that we didn't get robbed or in a fight. The worst thing that happened was that we got stuck with some French people who grumble in low Gallic tones the whole way, even in sleep. Other than that, it was a beautiful, amazing, memorable trip. I'm coming back. Pictures forthcoming...