A Very Venetian Winter Tale

'Twas a week before Christmas, and all through Venice,
Every surface was covered with fluffy white menace.

The lights had been hung through the calli with care,
In hopes Babbo Natale soon would be there.

The pigeons were nestled safe in their trees,
And it seemed today they were smarter than me,

'Cause clad in tennis shoes, my coat, and my cap,
I went to the city, planning a quick lap.

Last minute errands, not a strange matter,
But I soon found my plans would be shattered.

At San Zaccaria, when the vaporetto stopped,
I noticed the streets, all covered with slop.

I was excited by the new-fallen snow,
But through it all lagoon water flowed.

Still, I had my mission, it was quite clear,
And acqua alta never caused me fear.

Rather, a tourist I was glad to be,
And sometimes I stopped for pictures of me.

I went through San Marco, and no mistake,
The Piazza had turned to a wintry lake.

The horses were icy atop their church,
And on the columns, no seagulls would perch.

The lions shivered, or at least they would,
They would probably fly south, too, if they could.

On to the Rialto, I pressed ahead.
Other tourist traffic was all but dead.

On the bridge I met some nice English gents,
Took some more photos, and then on I went.

Crossed the bridge, to the other side of town,
And I nearly fell twice on the way down.

Next Strada Nuova, hunting Audreys store,
Piles of snow behind; ahead only more.

Several tense minutes after I went in,
I left with a bag and a glass penguin.

That, and a gondolier went in my pack,
And I thought it was time I should head back,

But my favorite mask store was on the way,
And it was convenient to go today.

One detour then another through the snow,
To Ferrovia I was forced to go.

Returning to San Marco was a chore
With the lagoon overlapping the shore.

Some boats went partway; others didn’t run.
But finally I got a seat on the one.

Back at the Rialto, I disembarked,
Thinking I’d beat the boat back to Saint Mark’s.

Alas, I was thwarted by the high tide.
Paths blocked by high water undid my stride.

Though I missed the twenty, not all was lost.
There was much good among the snow and frost.

Bright decorations, and much Christmas cheer,
Today I wish to be nowhere but here.

Covered in snow, the city’s quite different,
And today’s adventure was time well spent.

I’ll be home for Christmas another night,
But for now fair Venice is quite alright.

Portfolio - Tourism in Venice

The main part of my portfolio can be found as a pdf here. There was simply too much formatting involved to copy/paste everything into Blogger.

Here are a couple pictures of The Pursuit of Venice board game, as described in the final section of my paper.
Here is a silly poem I wrote, titled, simply, Tourists in Venice.

Worn down by the real world
Needing something new
They flock to fair Venice
And rent rooms with views

They set down their luggage
With hearts filled with glee
And heads filled with dreams
Of city and sea

Water laps against stone
Fat pigeons take wing
And on the canals
The gondoliers sing

With cameras in hand
Tourists take to the streets
Unaware they annoy
All the locals they meet

On the Bridge of Sighs
And Palace of the Doge
And on the Rialto
They each strike a pose

Though all tourist spaces
Are just a facade
Content with fantasy
They don’t think it odd

The myth is quite real
To those who believe
And the city itself
Is content to deceive

Peddling its grand views,
Culture, romance, and art
And tourist traps also
Play a large part

After they’ve seen all
Their guidebooks recommend
One thing left to do
Before the trip can end

The views they’ve collected
But for their story’s sake
They must load in their bags
All the gifts they can take

The shops give welcome
With signs in all tongues
From purses and wallets
Each euro will be wrung

Venice once commanded
An empire of commerce
Though it now crumbles
It can still coerce

Made in Italy,
Authentic, special price
Wares are advertised
Using every device

The gifts are chosen
Brought home to save face
To prove to the skeptics
They’ve been to the place

Where cars are uncommon
And boats are the norm
Where architecture
Exists in every form

Muse of great artists
Innovation’s friend
Where carnivale
Never seems to end

It inspired Byron
And faced Ruskin’s slaughter
And the tourists saw it
While it’s still above water

Finally, here are the slides from the PowerPoint played in the background during the reading of the poem. It should be accompanied by Loreena McKennit's La Serenissima. PowerPoint

Acqua Alta

Last week, I finally got a chance to witness acqua alta in all its glory. The Piazza San Marco was flooded, the streets were flooded, and people worked frantically to pump water out of their stores and homes.
There was even water inside the basilica.
Pigeons headed for high ground, but at least the seagulls seemed to be enjoying themselves.
I, meanwhile, clad in my comfy combat boots, braved the cold, salty lagoon water for a few pictures.
The tourists were having a heyday, but the Venetians are used to it. They just put on their rubber boots and it's life as usual.
It can be problematic, however, when the water is too high for the gondolas to fit under bridges.