In Venice walking takes on a whole new meaning: the abruptness of the right turn, the obliqueness in the left, the straight on for a bit, the step up, the step down, and that always glance for the prospect of a view.
Water, suddenly interrupts; the cool, placid, rolling drunkenly in the canals green water, where on this November day there is somewhat more than necessary. So you climb aboard the passarelle to take a walk above the acqua alta.
But you have your wellingtons per fortuna, and are happy to stand in a flooded passage to eat that picniced lunch fresh from the supermercato. Alas, no seat, no bench to recline on anywhere, absent from public places, to ward off I vagabondi.
You stand or move, walk and turn, then at the lagoon’s edge: go back and back and back again - by another way.