Afternoon alley, a Chinese restaurant tucked away. We opted for that quintessence of Italian foods, pizza, instead.
The Venetian equivalent of a taxi rank. Gondolas, parked and shoaling in the narrow waterway of Rio San Moisè.
Venetian carnival masks outside a store on Canal Grande.
Something about the texture of everything, the layering and complexity of surface, makes Venice seem outside of time. A city like a book, leather cover distressed and dirty, worn by many hands; antique, like the smell of old paper. Views down alleys are ended by disjointed buildings, crammed in, as though a lasso had been thrown around the city and pulled tight. Occasionally though, the view at the end of a lane is the open ocean.
Walking into Venice is like entering a maze where every corner you turn reveals something unexpected and intriguing. Wandering with no set path, off the main walkways and into crooked lanes, getting lost is inevitable and fun! There are no cars, so the noises are those of the water, boats and people, filtered and muted by the narrow passageways. The sounds act as guideposts through what is a patchwork of decay and restoration.
It's hard to take photos which aren't cliché, but the charm of Venice is overpowering. Because the population is almost entirely transient and tourist, the atmosphere is one of childlike discovery; everyone is seeing the city for the first time.