>condoms and dead jelly fish
>that’s how a turkish-canadian described istanbul to me yesterday. nothing seems to come close.
the pigeons in venice’s piazza san marco rule all. they eat seeds directly out of your hand, and snap at you when you close your fist. they own the rafters and primp and preen their feathers in areas cordonned off to humans. they fly like ravenous lions when choppers zoom overhead, and shit on the basilica san marco (which is an honest critic of religion, wouldn’t you agree?)
they tried to cover up my legs and shoulders as i walked into the basilica. i will only say this once:
the human body is not offensive.
the female body is not dirty.
my legs and shoulders show no disrespect to whatever god you believe created them in Her image.
in the crowded 13th century basilica, i told italian shame-mongerers to fuck off as loud as i could. religion and tourism are unneccessary evils.
walking through the secluded streets that border the grand canale, you can hear the delicious clack of silver cutlery on fine dishes from the millions of trattorias, pizzerias, and cafés. the water devours your soul. the sun steals your vigour, but you replace it with wine grapes and cool breezes.
i leave for Nice tomorrow, and 3 more weeks of wonderment are waiting to bless me with clumsy steps and kodak moments.
toronto seems a thousand years ago . . . although my thoughts, when spending hours looking outside a blurred train window, have often returned to a certain egyptian-torontonian that i gave nothing but poor timing.