In Venzia did the goods
of the pious theft
get stored in better quarters.
stolen by exiles of his kind
from a land that was the home.
When I consider the confluence of historical events that culminated in my becoming a gondolier I am overwhelmed and am forced to consider that that same could be so for everyone on earth; each in their own unique condition. Yet still I am compelled to admit that I feel a certain sence of superiority in that my occupation is shared by so few, as a percentage of the world population. I also see that beyond death and taxes there is love and love will alway be.
Each evening as I row, be it in wind, rain, or shine there is a satifaction that comes with competantly manuvering a 37 foot, one ton vessel with a single oar. It is a skill aquired over time and I often remark that it took me a year to figure out that I didn't know what I was doing. The oar stroke is simple yet I could write a book about what happens in that forward and back motion. Most of the passengers little note the style but experienced boaters are dumfounded at the ease with which we manuever and the fact that there is no motor.
When I travel to my Mecca, Venice, I am dumfounded by the scale of influence this tiny city exerted in the mediteranian. I am humbled by the artifice of those who lived in such uncertain and less secure times. I am instucted by the statues of men with a book in one hand and a sword in the other, the "Warrior philosophers", forebearers of our "scholar athletes".
There are some moonless nights when the wind dies and you can see the stars reflected in the still lagoon and the gigantic homes are mirrored in the slowly rolling waters. Late at night the stillness urges the couples to talk in low whispers lest they break the magic of the silence. More later. Beppe