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Eve Drewelowe travel correspondence, 1928-1929
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canals in picturesque fashion and make charming backgrounds for the "gondoliers" to play against. Venice is curiously different and restful - there are no automobiles, carriages bicycles or trains on the streets - but there is a constant squeeze of people pushing through the tiny crooked byways so though they were going somewhere, but in reality can't be going very far. Steamer trains fly through the Grand Canal and back and forth between the various island here-a-abouts. They dock at regular intervals, discharge their loads and take on new passengers. It is really fun to ride on the municipal trams just to see how transportation is taken care of; but it is much more romantic to gondola about the more unfrequented channels in and about the city. The gondolier standing upon the back, going through his cycle of rowing cuts rather a striking picture. He is almost more interesting in motion, than is the scenery through which his gondola passes. As he goes through the small dark smelly canals with the building crowding in on both sides, he shouts "a hoy" at every possible intersection, to avoid an accident with cross traffic. Venice is really rather fascinating. At night snatches of song are wafted upon the air - happy young souls sing and serenade in an abandoned care-free way. Young Caruso's in the [feed?] perhaps - so it sounds very frequently at all hours of the night. We witnessed both a wedding and a funeral yesterday and both were interesting. The funeral barge was fastoned to the municipal steamer and brought to the church. The prow was decked in a skull and cross-bones, the barge draped in black and gold and banked with flowers. The mourners, friends and excess flowers were taken on the steamer-tram and all floated away to the cemetary, a small island some distance away. The Venetian women wear heavy black woolen shawls with long fringes. The air is damp and penetrating and I suppose the woolen shawls are the most protection against such a climate. They are drab in color to be sure, but better than no individuality at all. The nurse-maids are picturesque in their pleated plaid skirts, white apron, white hose and white wrapped headdresses. They quite resemble the peasantry that you have read about. I like Venice better than any of the other Italian cities. In fact, I should like to come back again some day and do more painting. The time that we now have is so in adaquate for all this. we planned to visit a gallery this morning but Italy seems to be celebrating a national holiday and all museums
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canals in picturesque fashion and make charming backgrounds for the "gondoliers" to play against. Venice is curiously different and restful - there are no automobiles, carriages bicycles or trains on the streets - but there is a constant squeeze of people pushing through the tiny crooked byways so though they were going somewhere, but in reality can't be going very far. Steamer trains fly through the Grand Canal and back and forth between the various island here-a-abouts. They dock at regular intervals, discharge their loads and take on new passengers. It is really fun to ride on the municipal trams just to see how transportation is taken care of; but it is much more romantic to gondola about the more unfrequented channels in and about the city. The gondolier standing upon the back, going through his cycle of rowing cuts rather a striking picture. He is almost more interesting in motion, than is the scenery through which his gondola passes. As he goes through the small dark smelly canals with the building crowding in on both sides, he shouts "a hoy" at every possible intersection, to avoid an accident with cross traffic. Venice is really rather fascinating. At night snatches of song are wafted upon the air - happy young souls sing and serenade in an abandoned care-free way. Young Caruso's in the [feed?] perhaps - so it sounds very frequently at all hours of the night. We witnessed both a wedding and a funeral yesterday and both were interesting. The funeral barge was fastoned to the municipal steamer and brought to the church. The prow was decked in a skull and cross-bones, the barge draped in black and gold and banked with flowers. The mourners, friends and excess flowers were taken on the steamer-tram and all floated away to the cemetary, a small island some distance away. The Venetian women wear heavy black woolen shawls with long fringes. The air is damp and penetrating and I suppose the woolen shawls are the most protection against such a climate. They are drab in color to be sure, but better than no individuality at all. The nurse-maids are picturesque in their pleated plaid skirts, white apron, white hose and white wrapped headdresses. They quite resemble the peasantry that you have read about. I like Venice better than any of the other Italian cities. In fact, I should like to come back again some day and do more painting. The time that we now have is so in adaquate for all this. we planned to visit a gallery this morning but Italy seems to be celebrating a national holiday and all museums
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