The following is from actual experience. My writing ability can't possibly match up to the actual experience of this tour; those who read this and have experienced it will know this. I'm leaving off a conclusion on this one until I can match it well. I hate conclusions. Anyway: Venice: )

We stepped onto the bus that took us down the canals through Venice to different stops, the most popular of which seemed to be San Marco's Plaza. Piazza. Whatever. Our tour guide pointed out sights to note as we passed . . . "Well, here we are in this cold . . . wet . . . miserable . . . sludge. Anyway, what a morning to be in Venice! Please do not gnaw on the railing of the bus . . .

Quick! Everybody to this side of the boat! That lovely young woman in the passing gondola is the Queen of Venice. Queen Roxy. Yes, her name is on her sweatshirt, as you can all see."

There on the wall we see a mural of Princess Alice, the Princess of, erm . . . Venice. Observe her pants--they are called high-waters. She made them popular for women's fashion in Venice during the early fifteen hundreds."

The bus came to a stop and our tour guide became restless. Frantically casting about, she seized on an old building across the waterway. "LOOK! There's a building! And it's OLD! See the pretty green triangle thing on the top? There's people in there. And it has stairs, too." This seemed to calm her down a little and we all breathed easier when the bus continued on.

"This is Venetian green sludge, growing on the sides of these buildings--yes?" We all glared at the fool who dared ask a question. A timid fellow, scratching his forehead with an uncapped ball-point pen, asked whether they ever cleaned it off the buildings. We all looked at him with utmost skepticism and waited for the tour guide to pronounce judgment. She judiciously rearranged her hand-knitted and stripey beanie and hemmed for a moment as if trying to remember something. "Yes . . . uhh, yes. Actually, they harvest it." Several people looked puzzled as the tourist squeaked a further comment. "When?" she looked at him with new interest, "Every August, I believe." We all clapped appreciatively.

Seagulls of various and sundry dispositions began to sing to us. Some of the tourists decided to sing back. Ever gracious, our guide integrated the odd noises into our tour. "And these are, ladies and gentlemen, genuine flightless Venetian seagulls. Oh wait, its flying. Does anyone have a cell phone . . . ?"

"It is glove day on Tuesdays, ladies and gentlemen. Feel free to pick up one of the free gloves that have been placed in the water for your enjoyment." We left several cackling tourists bobbling in the water of the canal for the free gloves.

Next she pointed out a signpost on the side of one of the buildings. As we passed it, an open space came into view, like a market or something. Our tour guide said that it was all a sacrificial ground for animals. Queen Roxy presided. However, the gory details would have to be saved for a more expensive tour. Shhhh in the back, please!

"Can everyone see the complete agony on the faces of those men on the walls? Their wives chopped off their heads and put them on poles. Why? They forgot to put down the toilet seat. Now you know why Venice is the way it is today." A few of the gentlemen near the back of the bus looked a little paler than was healthy for them.

"Notice, these lovely Venetian blinds on the windows. Yes, the panes are Venetian too, I'm sure of it. And the PACE flags. Does anyone know what "pace" means?" Yes, absolutely correct. It means "piece". As in: 'Do you want a piece of me, boy?'"