Week 197: Lido, unaware

The flight back from Venice was delayed and delayed again. I finished the drive home at 3.30am. Got through that journey yelling along to the drive time playlist at the top of my lungs. That sort of set the tone for the working week. The last day in Venice was low-key. Not the culinary or artistic highs of the three days beforehand. Clouds sat still, I *just missed* each vaporetto. That kind of day. The Peggy Guggenheim was a miss, for me. Beautiful space, but art that shut me out. I have said a few times now, I forget I don’t like modern art. Postmodern and later I usually vibe with. I guess the litmus is ‘does it look dusty?’ I bugged out to the Lido, unaware quite how far I’d have to walk to get past the private beach. Still, nice to get my feet in the Adriatic. I regret not coming a bit earlier, with a hotel towel. Getting splashy. Tankers of some sort queued on the horizon, I assume going to Porto Marghera. I watched six cormorants hunting for fish in the near-still water.