About 4 hours up the road from Zagreb sits Venice, Italy. I have never been to Italy. How hard can it be to hitch a ride to this popular destination, leaving most of my stuff behind? I packed my guitar, three-T-shirts, an undisclosed amount of underwear, a pair of jeans, a camera and some hair straighteners. Just the essentials then. My plan? Italy for a week. Literally two days in Venice, Florence, Rome and then out. Tick the box. What could possibly go wrong?
So I soon found myself in Venice. With so many places begin called “the Venice of the (delete as appropriate) North/South/East/West”, it was nice to be in the actual Venice. Apparently the best time to visit, the city seemed no less overrun with your obligatory Asian/American/Cockney wanker. This in turn has prompted a phenomenon known as the “selfie stick.” And they’re everywhere. Almost as bad as people taking photographs using tablets and iPads, suddenly the world is populated by brain-dead tourists shuffling along with a smart phone attached to an extending metal pole. Skynet is online. It’s a matter of time before we’ve all become a six million dollar man/woman. The rise of the machines. New and improved selfie legs which are like your legs only telescopic with built-in GPS. And trust has clearly gone from humanity when we no longer request a passer-by to aid with a photo of you and your loved one, because they’ve robbed you blind while you’re making a coochy-coo face. Selfie sticks are the result. You’ve only yourselves to blame.
“SELFIE! SELFIE! SELFIE!” is the battle cry of the purveyors of such abominations, as they swarm you in their hundreds plying their wares. You can shove it up your arse mate. They’d try to sell you one if you had no arms.
I rose at 5 am to get some of the shots you see below, because I have a loathing for people in my pictures, unless I’m trying to take pictures of people. Walking around the city with not a soul in sight and you’re in another world, until around dawn when 20 folk littered the waterfront with tripods to capture that Venetian dawn postcard picture. What really gets my goat though, is that nobody actually spends any time taking in what they’re looking at:
1. Raise picture making device.
2. Take picture.
3. Walk away.
Got that one in the bag, stick it up on Flickr and show everyone back home what you saw. But you didn’t see it. You collected a photograph of it. I wonder if half the time people can actually remember where they’ve been.
Vying for position along with annoying tourists and peddlers of tat, are the lovers. And they’re everywhere too. Of course Venice has something of a reputation for being one of the most romantic cities in the world, and believe me when you wander its beautiful streets and maze of waterways, you can understand why. The architecture is jaw dropping, food is sensational and the art sumptuous. But doesn’t anyone have an original idea? Bringing my future ex-girlfriend here would be about as romantic as curling a shit into my own hand. How is it personal? You’re sharing it with another gazillion, love-struck mutton-heads kissing on the same bridge. Restaurants are a-wash with candle-lit dinners and doe-eyed disillusioned optimists. Gondolas glide through the canals, lovers in transit, in spite of it denting you eighty, (yes 80) euros for one hour, then a further twenty euros per twenty minutes. Money can’t buy you love said the most overrated band in the world, but Venice is trying it’s best. Dish out that cash while you can, she’s going to cheat on you in three weeks with Mike from accounts. Maybe if you’d done something unique you wouldn’t be throwing yourself to a watery grave with a gram of smack in your blood stream. How about dinner at the top of the Eiffel tower?
All joking aside, being single and alone can be pretty rough, especially at this time of year. I guess it all depends what you’re looking for and when. But being single and alone in Venice at Christmas? Well that just takes the biscuit. But hand on heart dear readers – it’s just jealousy talking. Sometimes I look at friends and family with the 2.4 kids, car, picket fence and Fido the family camel, with social media awash with baby pictures, and I think “I want that.” And then maybe they look at me and my lifestyle and they think “I want that.” The water’s always less smelly on the other side of the canal.
Please enjoy the photographs; they really can’t do this city justice. I’m away to buy a selfie stick.
Selfie in Venice
About 4 hours up the road from Zagreb sits Venice, Italy. I have never been to Italy. How hard can it be to hitch a ride to this popular destination, leaving most of my stuff behind? I packed my guitar, three-T-shirts, an undisclosed amount of underwear, a pair of jeans, a camera and some hair straighteners. Just the essentials then. My plan? Italy for a week. Literally two days in Venice, Florence, Rome and then out. Tick the box. What could possibly go wrong?
So I soon found myself in Venice. With so many places begin called “the Venice of the (delete as appropriate) North/South/East/West”, it was nice to be in the actual Venice. Apparently the best time to visit, the city seemed no less overrun with your obligatory Asian/American/Cockney wanker. This in turn has prompted a phenomenon known as the “selfie stick.” And they’re everywhere. Almost as bad as people taking photographs using tablets and iPads, suddenly the world is populated by brain-dead tourists shuffling along with a smart phone attached to an extending metal pole. Skynet is online. It’s a matter of time before we’ve all become a six million dollar man/woman. The rise of the machines. New and improved selfie legs which are like your legs only telescopic with built-in GPS. And trust has clearly gone from humanity when we no longer request a passer-by to aid with a photo of you and your loved one, because they’ve robbed you blind while you’re making a coochy-coo face. Selfie sticks are the result. You’ve only yourselves to blame.
“SELFIE! SELFIE! SELFIE!” is the battle cry of the purveyors of such abominations, as they swarm you in their hundreds plying their wares. You can shove it up your arse mate. They’d try to sell you one if you had no arms.
I rose at 5 am to get some of the shots you see below, because I have a loathing for people in my pictures, unless I’m trying to take pictures of people. Walking around the city with not a soul in sight and you’re in another world, until around dawn when 20 folk littered the waterfront with tripods to capture that Venetian dawn postcard picture. What really gets my goat though, is that nobody actually spends any time taking in what they’re looking at:
1. Raise picture making device.
2. Take picture.
3. Walk away.
Got that one in the bag, stick it up on Flickr and show everyone back home what you saw. But you didn’t see it. You collected a photograph of it. I wonder if half the time people can actually remember where they’ve been.
Vying for position along with annoying tourists and peddlers of tat, are the lovers. And they’re everywhere too. Of course Venice has something of a reputation for being one of the most romantic cities in the world, and believe me when you wander its beautiful streets and maze of waterways, you can understand why. The architecture is jaw dropping, food is sensational and the art sumptuous. But doesn’t anyone have an original idea? Bringing my future ex-girlfriend here would be about as romantic as curling a shit into my own hand. How is it personal? You’re sharing it with another gazillion, love-struck mutton-heads kissing on the same bridge. Restaurants are a-wash with candle-lit dinners and doe-eyed disillusioned optimists. Gondolas glide through the canals, lovers in transit, in spite of it denting you eighty, (yes 80) euros for one hour, then a further twenty euros per twenty minutes. Money can’t buy you love said the most overrated band in the world, but Venice is trying it’s best. Dish out that cash while you can, she’s going to cheat on you in three weeks with Mike from accounts. Maybe if you’d done something unique you wouldn’t be throwing yourself to a watery grave with a gram of smack in your blood stream. How about dinner at the top of the Eiffel tower?
All joking aside, being single and alone can be pretty rough, especially at this time of year. I guess it all depends what you’re looking for and when. But being single and alone in Venice at Christmas? Well that just takes the biscuit. But hand on heart dear readers – it’s just jealousy talking. Sometimes I look at friends and family with the 2.4 kids, car, picket fence and Fido the family camel, with social media awash with baby pictures, and I think “I want that.” And then maybe they look at me and my lifestyle and they think “I want that.” The water’s always less smelly on the other side of the canal.
Please enjoy the photographs; they really can’t do this city justice. I’m away to buy a selfie stick.