From Africa To Russia

Take my shower in the morning, air-dry on the walk back. Take the boat into Venice again, walk around a bit, see the Arsenal (a military building of some sort, I believe naval – there are fellows in white caps and outfits milling about) and the public garden. It is hot and I am tired. I was going to head across to the other island to go to the beach but I don’t think I’ll make it. I stop for lunch, and with the cost I just about give up on the idea of saving money on this trip, at least in Venice. The beverages in particular, any ingestible liquid is three euros minimum (and usually a lot higher). I order a beer and a wine anyway. A group of three from New York sit down at the table next to me, a nice bunch, we chat for a while. It is nice just to talk with someone for a while who is not looking at you like you are a turd. One of the women is from the town next to mine where I live in New Jersey, small world. I ask the guy how his trip is going. “I’m sick of churches,” he says. Head on back to the boat, after having dallied too long at lunch and having to jog it in to make it in time. Take a nap, lounge around, no World Cup at three on the TV, sad for me. The Italian chapter, and thus the southern leg of the journey is drawing to a close, soon to head north. At night I go over and watch France tie Switzerland, and hang out with Luis, Manfred from Germany, Toby from Poland, an English guy and an Australian originally from Macedonia. Truly an international cast.

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