The wind
seems perpetual, and as usual, I’ve picked the best time of the year to visit:
cold and rainy.
I like rain, but for touristic purposes in hasty journeys it’s
not as pleasant as it is with tea on a sofa on a Sunday afternoon.
High
expectations in the suitcase… I should have known better. Expectations are
highly priced these days.
The canals
are a near-endless maze and are content to confuse and disturb you.
Never mind,
after all there are women for sale in tacky shop windows and handily narcotics
on the way.
Flat
countries are always good for walking and for having the horizon as a clear
destination.
It always
puzzled me how some countries, even rich or bearing glorious pasts, weren’t
able to develop their own original, and complex cuisine. It is as if thousands
of years weren’t enough to measure your culture up to the kitchen. Not a total
fiasco, though. However, it is always reassuring to know that there is an
Italian Restaurant just around the corner.
There is no
shame in living by the glories of dead artists if you do it gracefully.
And we must
always give merit stars to a place which has a museum with real cats in it.
