Sometimes I feel unworthy of living in Venice. I don’t pay enough attention to details, especially now the numbers are slowing down. Walking back to the hotel with my headphones on, I feel guilty for not listening to bursts of opera or cutlery exchanging hands. Spotify is a generic experience. Play, pause and repeat over and over again.
Collectively, we are going through the first phase of hyper acceleration. An unprecedented boom of global fertility has ensured everyone wants the same picture of the Grand Canal. Likewise, I’m just a temporary EU migrant passing through the loveliest city in the world. It was an opportunity I couldn’t let pass.
Everyday I see newly married couples snuggle in beautifully crafted gondolas and it’s very much a case of play, pause and repeat. Same posed smile, loving tilt of the head and furrowed brow. I’ve witnessed a thousand honeymoons upload their story underneath a bridge. Seen through a tiny prism of light, it’s a unique private moment, one shared with loved ones and liked by long distance friends.
Only I see the same love story every single day.
Away from the watery parade, I remove my headphones, the plastic grooves gnashing onto my collar bone I enter a chaste world of silence and reflection.
Despite being ardently secular in my politics, I took comfort in this celestial refuge. Photography is banned in Venetian churches and the circus of life takes a deferential pause. With my rucksack weighing on my back, I sat in silence amongst elaborately carved tombs and dead wooden benches.
It’s one of the few places in Venice where you can share a private moment, a world without flashing cameras and streamed playlists. Outside the craziness goes on oblivious, and I have to get back to my hotel; shower, get changed and go online again. My smartphone might vibrate with loving messages.
I guess there is something about human nature that turns everything into a routine.