Alley Oop

There's an iron-grilled bridge (ponte, if you must) to my left and a brick one to my right. Somewhere upstairs in a crooked apartment, someone is playing the violin. Down the calle, a gondolieri reads and whistles. Over there, an alley. And there, another. And there. Also there. There are more alleys and nooks and crannies, for you to get lost and a-mazed in, all at once. Blind alleys. Blind sides.

Gondola with the wind.

Not really, actually, if you look carefully. In a voyeuristic way, as you navigate the drive-you-batshit complex of lanes and cobblestoned streaks that make up Venice, you're probably getting lost because you're not looking forward. You're stealing glances and peeks into the cul-de-sacs that emanate on your left and right because as you well know, on any road trip the best scenery comes from the side-view mirrors, not the boring straight lane ahead. See what I mean:

Rear window.

Airing some (dirty) laundry.

So, finding your way around should be rather apparent now - who cares if it's the left, right or wrong turn. By the way, it wasn't a violin playing from an upstairs apartment. It was an accordion wheezing from across the bridge. I just hadn't crossed it yet.