Page 101 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

it inclined one to believe that it was fortunate that the country was not in a
state of permanent warfare. Such is the luck of geography … but in a few years,
history and tribalism played their allotted destructive roles.

Come the morning, I was on the bridge as we entered Venice; indeed, it is by
far the best place from which to enjoy an arrival, for this is without doubt one
of the most splendid of port entrances. Created by geographical and defensive
needs, the city sits at the head of a lagoon on over 100 islands; its founding has
been agreed to have been in about 420 AD, its very existence probably resting
upon the desire of ancient inhabitants to flee to a safe place, protected by water, in
the face of marauders from the north. For long one of the world’s most important
cities, its twentieth-century decline in population has been dramatic, in large part
because of its one supreme surviving industry is tourism, which requires tour-
guides, boatmen and waiters, but few others. In 1963 it had largely recovered
economically from the war, and cruise vessels were starting to come regularly; the
future looked fairly secure … except that the city was also slowly sinking.

What also pleased me was that I had been charged with experiencing a tour,
and to this I devoted most of my day. And what a day it was! Naturally not all of
the sights could be visited, but the abundance of extravagant churches (though
one could easily become ‘over-churched’) and the vitality of the architecture made
me realise that the UK, though splendid, was impoverished for the baroque; we
went into St. Marks, and while there was no Gabrieli in which to wallow, it was
easy to imagine what the ear could have experienced, for there was at least an
organ playing (probably Vivaldi, a son of the city). And the lunch which was
provided, while certainly not very splendid, was at least a pasta, which at that
time I do not recall having ever had on one of the big ships; we enjoyed it in a sort
of subterranean grotto, cold, but by then, deliciously so. (Having since revisited
the city in 2016, it is easy to see how the problems arising from tourism in a city
designed for walking, or ‘boating’, are exacerbated as crowds get larger as more
tourists from all over the world can afford to visit. The painting of buildings,
however dishevelled they appear, seems to be forbidden, home repairs appear
impossible to have approved by the ‘building police’… and still it sinks.) My
written report, although I say it myself, was a masterpiece (I naturally wished to
enjoy this sort of job everywhere we went!).

The evening was distinctly doleful, virtually all of the passengers seemingly
having taken an evening gondola tour (not all tours, unfortunately, required
reports). This was of little moment, as it occurred to me that I might be burning
the candle at both ends, and early nights were becoming the more called-for. As
the next morning saw us still berthed in Venice, I delighted in some more sight-
seeing (and an espresso, which by now I was coming to appreciate!), as it became
apparent that the mate actually believed that, if not on watches, Sundays were
days of rest; I was beginning to like this enlightened, if gruff, man more with

100