I’m in Venice for the film festival that just ended and, as an American humorist once wired his paper: ‘Streets full of water, stop. Send funds, stop.’ What is there to say about Venice that hasn’t already been said or written by better men or women — Thomas Mann and Jan Morris to mention just two? Yes, Venice evokes higher thoughts, but not this time. I was thinking of Byron as I chugged past the Palazzo Mocenigo where he lived, when I spotted a gondola with five Chinese women on board, all fiercely concentrating on their mobiles. ‘Stop that and look at the buildings, girls,’ I yelled at them. They completely ignored me and continued texting, or whatever they do nowadays, even on a gondola in the midst of Venetian splendour.
Venice is now a microcosm of what the world will be like, say, 100 years from now: full of Chinese and Indians walking around ancient monuments with vacuous expressions, totally removed from their surroundings.
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