Venice is curiously different and restful — there are no automobiles, carriages, bicycles or trains on the streets — but there is a constant squeeze of people pushing through the tiny crooked byways so though they were going somewhere, but in reality can’t be going very far. Steamer trains fly through the Grand Canal and back and forth between the various island here-a-abouts. They dock at regular intervals, discharge their loads and take on new passengers.
It is really fun to ride on the municipal trams just to see how transportation is taken care of; but it is much more romantic to gondola about the more unfrequented channels in and about the city. The gondolier standing upon the back, going through his cycle of rowing cuts rather a striking picture. He is almost more interesting in motion, than is the scenery through which his gondola passes. As he goes through the small dark smelly canals with the building crowding in on both sides, he shouts ‘a hoy’ at every possible intersection, to avoid an accident with cross traffic.
Eve Drewelowe travel correspondence, April 21, 1929
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