Navigating Venice - Finding The Piazza San Marco
A maze of narrow streets and passageways, often perplexing to navigate. The streets of Venice, not unlike the confusing tunnels, seen in the imagination, of Alice In Wonderland. At one point I felt that if I stood still and stretched out my arms I would have been able to touch the walls of buildings on each side. The hustle and bustle of tourists prevented me from doing just that. A myriad of shops lined the 
byways. Souvenirs, relics, knick-knacks, mementos all available for a price in one place or another. Moving at a pace rather slowly at times, due to the volume of people attempting to share the confined space we finally emerged at the Piazza San Marco. Pigeons, swooping, children running and scattering them underfoot. The brave sought pigeons to perch on extended arms or fingertips. Large lines of tourist groups filled the square tagging behind a guide who frequently held an umbrella high overhead for t
hem to follow in the crowded piazza. Musicians dressed as for a recital and spirited from somewhere played for diners. I saw two couples embrace and dance spontaneously. Moved by the setting and oblivious to onlookers they shared a moment in time. Stephen and I sat at a cafe where a gentleman dressed in a white dinner jacket took our lunch and wine order. He returned promptly with Brunello for Stephen and 
vino rosso for me. In hindsight we wished that we had ordered champagne. A drink of celebration, for we celebrated our surroundings, the people, the music and being apart of it all. Remarkable architecture, facades and buildings towered to extravagant heights, silently watching and observing.
A maze of narrow streets and passageways, often perplexing to navigate. The streets of Venice, not unlike the confusing tunnels, seen in the imagination, of Alice In Wonderland. At one point I felt that if I stood still and stretched out my arms I would have been able to touch the walls of buildings on each side. The hustle and bustle of tourists prevented me from doing just that. A myriad of shops lined the 
byways. Souvenirs, relics, knick-knacks, mementos all available for a price in one place or another. Moving at a pace rather slowly at times, due to the volume of people attempting to share the confined space we finally emerged at the Piazza San Marco. Pigeons, swooping, children running and scattering them underfoot. The brave sought pigeons to perch on extended arms or fingertips. Large lines of tourist groups filled the square tagging behind a guide who frequently held an umbrella high overhead for t
hem to follow in the crowded piazza. Musicians dressed as for a recital and spirited from somewhere played for diners. I saw two couples embrace and dance spontaneously. Moved by the setting and oblivious to onlookers they shared a moment in time. Stephen and I sat at a cafe where a gentleman dressed in a white dinner jacket took our lunch and wine order. He returned promptly with Brunello for Stephen and 
vino rosso for me. In hindsight we wished that we had ordered champagne. A drink of celebration, for we celebrated our surroundings, the people, the music and being apart of it all. Remarkable architecture, facades and buildings towered to extravagant heights, silently watching and observing.
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