An owner with a poodle walks by the bar. The dog stops and doesn't want to move further. "No andiamo en bar", the owner says to the dog.
Venice is a very cheerful city. Everything seems to be cheering: the gondolas, the water, the houses, the people. Even the seagulls are cawing with laughter.
"Das Italienisch ist ganz schon schlapp hier", I hear a German tourists complain. (the Italian is quite limp here.)
Venice is the city of pigeons. "Don't feed the pigeons" a sign says on San Marco. It threatens with a big fine if you do. Have you ever asked yourself why you never see baby pigeons? The ornithologist Frank Steinheimer explained this to me: the parents feed their chicks with a rich milk that they keep somewhere in pockets around their mouth and the baby pigeons grow so fast that you never see them small.
Next to me a woman talks on the phone. Her Italian is like a babbling brook, speaking very fast and continuously. The poodle is immaculately coiffured with beautiful fluffy ears. Behind us the gondolas pass by on the canal. The woman calls her poodle "Café".
Next to me on a terrace on Campo S.S. Filippo E. Giacomo an Australian elderly couple is drinking wine. They look suspiciously at my Spritz and ask if it's any good. The woman decides to order one but finds it tastes like medicine. They tell me about their one-month trip. They had to get up every day at 6am in Turkey because of their tour guide. Then their cruise ship, which was supposed to give them some rest, got cancelled in Greece because of an accident. He lost his phone and they both got the flu in Milan. They find Venice horribly touristy compared to fifteen years ago and have decided that in general, travelling is terribly exhausting. It's the last time they are going to travel outside Australia. The husband ends up drinking the Spritz.
On my way out of the hotel I tell the receptionist that the internet is not working. He's sweating and says the internet is the least of his worries at the moment.