Squawk Radio
Sunday, June 12, 2005
"I be back" Connie returns from the Great Beyond (beyond Minnesota)
Because the trip was so long and in the interest of keeping you guys entertained rather than put into a stupor, I’ll limit my comments to one per day per country.
VENICE.
Venice is bizarre. An M.C Escher meets Pieter Bruegel meets Prada. It’s a city of humping, slanting narrows, sudden archways dissolving into dark tunnels, brilliant highlighter strips of sapphire blue sky and green topaz canals. I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting to see a lurking dwarf in a red riding hood cape or at least, Donald Sutherland, but the only one lurking was me and it was the tiny stores selling Murano glass at not so tiny prices. I bought eight beads. I know. Diva.
AND DOGS. Everywhere, mutts trotting along with businesslike certitude through throngs of Venetians and far greater throngs of tourists. We surmised that all the dogs in Venice were males except for one saucy female who lived on the third floor of an abandoned palace and received her callers by appointment only.
We took the requisite gondola ride and it was magical. A completely different look at the city.
The only disappointment was the food which was mediocre (and anyone who knows me knows how I hate mediocre food!) but the setting made up for it. Except for Harry’s, where we tipped glass of Campari to the memory of Hemmingway and paid TWENTY BUCKS A GLASS for the privilege.
So, that was Venice and here’s my Venetian picture.
VENICE.
Venice is bizarre. An M.C Escher meets Pieter Bruegel meets Prada. It’s a city of humping, slanting narrows, sudden archways dissolving into dark tunnels, brilliant highlighter strips of sapphire blue sky and green topaz canals. I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting to see a lurking dwarf in a red riding hood cape or at least, Donald Sutherland, but the only one lurking was me and it was the tiny stores selling Murano glass at not so tiny prices. I bought eight beads. I know. Diva.
AND DOGS. Everywhere, mutts trotting along with businesslike certitude through throngs of Venetians and far greater throngs of tourists. We surmised that all the dogs in Venice were males except for one saucy female who lived on the third floor of an abandoned palace and received her callers by appointment only.
We took the requisite gondola ride and it was magical. A completely different look at the city.
The only disappointment was the food which was mediocre (and anyone who knows me knows how I hate mediocre food!) but the setting made up for it. Except for Harry’s, where we tipped glass of Campari to the memory of Hemmingway and paid TWENTY BUCKS A GLASS for the privilege.
So, that was Venice and here’s my Venetian picture.
Connie Brockway, 6:14 PM
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