We're here in the famous square, where I am
attracting a bit of attention and Paul is guarding me. I haven't been pinched since Paul holds my hand every second (not that I'm complaining). There are a bunch of people looking over my shoulder, string quartets (at least four) each trying to play louder than each other, and a Hitchcockian amount of pigeons — they're everywhere. Venice is beautiful and expensive, but it doesn't have the charm of Florence, we both think. We take boats to go
everywhere — or wander down very narrow and
crooked, but charming, streets. And everywhere
you look is the beautiful Murano glass.
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