Buses (and other traffic) now running in both directions on Leith Walk.  Hoorah!

Admittedly not the whole length of it and not all buses but it's a step further along the road to the completion of the tram extension.  The Shrubhill bus-stop on my side re-opened a few weeks ago and now its fellow on the other side has done so.  For the first time in some years I can get a bus from town to my door.

So far only the number 11, but that came in very handy when I returned from the Vettriano exhibition in Kirkcaldy the other day.  The train I was on stopped at South Gyle and it was announced that we were being held there while an "incident" at Waverley was sorted out.  We only stayed a few minutes but when we got going we were told that because of said "incident" the train would terminate at Haymarket.  I love that expression.

This was my chance to enjoy the bus-stop.  I caught the tram from Haymarket to St Andrew Square, nipped over to George St. and immediately onto an 11 that deposited me at Shrubhill.  

When the Macdonald Rd. tramstop opens next year Haymarket will become my arrival station of choice coming from the west.

The Vettriano exhibition was most interesting in its inclusion of paintings he produced under his birth name of Jack Hoggan.  These were almost all either copies or closely modelled on existing works by other artists.  That's all part of the learning process especially for a self-taught painter. They struck me as very well done, in particular a fine self-portrait of Rembrant and a work called Beach Concert whose original has not been traced.

The 1988 success of this painting, The White Slip, this photo of which I've obtained from www.artnet.com and which was not a copy of anything seems to be what convinced him to go all out for art and develop a style of his own.  There are hints of it here.  It's interesting to compare it with the picture below (taken from an exhibition site) also called The White Slip.  I haven't yet found when that was painted but it's clearly well after his personal style and preferred subject matter had bedded in.

The following year his application for a place on a Fine Art MSc was rejected but that has not held him back, certainly if commercial success is your measure.  Critics and the art establishment have been harsh on him but in 2011 a self-portrait went on display in the Portrait Gallery.

Having two prints and five fridge magnets of his work you might think I'm a devotee but the pleasure I take in his work tends to tail off when I see too much of that brooding darkness.

Go to Kirkcaldy though. The exhibition is on till October and if you don't like it too much then take in the roomfull of McTaggarts and Peploes from the gallery's permanent collection.

If you want a opinion other than mine try The Times.

Thanks to Claire my participation in this year's Jazz festival has been immortalised.  The gig is the culmination of the Napier University Jazz Summer School which I've done a few times.  All have been fun to do but I don't know that my jazz playing is very much better than the first time I did it.  However, my motivation to put some effort into jazz has been given a boost, especially since I'm no longer taking regular sax lessons.

One of the perks of the summer school is that you get free tickets for evening gigs during the week.  Adding on the gigs that I bought tickets for at the two weekends that comes to 10 in total that I attended.  I'm going to put brief notes here as a reminder to myself of what I thought of them.

Richard Glassby Quartet -  I enjoyed the music but confess to having gone home after the first set because sitting twiddling my thumbs for 20 minutes between sets didn't appeal at 10 o'clock at night.

Xhosa Cole Quartet - Super gig headed by a former BBC Young Jazz Musician of the year on saxophone.

Noushy 4Tet -  I was a little bit disappointed.  I've heard Anoushka Nanguy play with the SNJO and was looking forward to hearing her trombone in a more prominent setting.  In this gig she sang quite a few numbers rather than played and also gave a lot of space to her fellow players.  Nothing wrong with either of those but it wasn't quite what I had hoped for.  

Brian Molley Quintet Play Getz and Byrd's "Jazz Samba" - This gig celebrated the 60th anniversary of the release of that album.  I very much enjoy latin music and I admire Brian Molley as a saxophonist so this gig was right up my street.  Loved it. 

John Scofield: Yankee Go Home - This was one of my free gigs so I shouldn't complain and indeed I'm not.  I'm just saying that it didn't float my boat.  Scofield is a guitar legend and people who enjoy the electric guitar more than I do will have adored this gig.  I enjoyed some of it.

European Jazz Workshop Big Band -  This was certainly the most original and impressive gig that I went to and possibly the one that I enjoyed most.  It started innocently enough with four original tunes from a young Glasgow quartet that included Rachel Duns, a saxophonist to keep your ear on.  Then the stage filled up with players from another four European cities, around 20 players in all.  They played for 75 minutes a piece that they had developed improvisationaly over a week long workshop.  Hard to describe, for me at least, there's an informed minute by minute review of the work here. 

Laura MacDonald's Cooking With Jazz - A well known and accomplished presence on the Scottish jazz scene for 30 years Laura hit the big time with the public when she made it to the finals of the  BBC's Masterchef show in 2021.  There's a fascinating write-up about it here.  At this gig in which the tunes were all food related she laid aside her alto sax to demonstrate making honeycomb (puff candy to me) and to serve a tangerine cake topped with chunks of the stuff.  Accompanying her on tenor but not in cooking was another brilliant Scottish player, Helena Kay.

Haftor Medboe and friends -  Haftor ran the Napier jazz summer school for over 20 years and handed over responsibility for it only this year to Sue McKenzie who joined him on saxophones for this gig.  Accompanied by Tom Lyne on double bass and Signy Jakobsdottir on drums and featuring a couple of songs from Jessie Bates he explored music from his Scandanavian homeland, all of it gentle, thoughtfull and moving. So good.

Federico Calcagno and the Dolphians - Their mission is to celebrate and extend the music of Eric Dolphy and in this gig specifically his 1964 album "Out to Lunch".  Classed as avant-garde at the time it's still a bit of an effort to listen to for those who like the Great American Songbook but I enjoyed the gig.

Archipelagos - Led by drummer Francesca Remigi this band's music is definitely avant-avant-garde but if you stick with it, which I did for the first set, it's rewarding.  Just as at my first fetival gig I didn't want to twiddle my thumbs for 20 minutes at this the last one so I left at the interval.  Had I been more in touch with the music, (or should that be vice versa?),  I might have stayed.

Inside the catamaran taking me from Venice to Pula.  Not such an interesting experience as I had imagined. No deck to walk about on.  A bit of a view through the grubby windows while we were still in the lagoon.  After that nothing.

We arrived in Pula around 9.30pm.  The place was buzzing with pop-up bars by the water's edge doing a roaring trade and roaring pop music coming from the amphitheatre.  When I got through immigration I spotted a lonely taxi straddling what looked like train or tram tracks so I hurried over and found that he was free.  After loading my case in his boot he asked where to.  I told him.  He immediately started unloading my case declaring that he couldn't go there.  With this festival - gesturing vaguely towards the bars and booms - the road's closed.  Along there and up to the left were directions as precise as he delivered himself of.

I set off not in the best humour dragging my case over bumpy setts between the tracks wilting in the heat.  Me that is. The tracks were made of sterner stuff.  After a while I turned left and the going got tougher for it was now uphill.  At a little square stood two chaps chatting.  I explained my predicament and asked for directions.  They turned out to be taxi drivers and one said there was no road closure, he'd take me, it was no distance.  In the cab he said the obvious.  The driver at the dock wanted a decent fare not a piddling wee trip to my hotel.  When we arrived I felt he'd earned if not a decent fare then certainly a decent tip.

The hotel was a contrast to Treviso.  Perfectly adequate for my needs but had seen better days.  One of those shower heads that won't stay in its housing so no blissful standing under a stream of cool water.  Despite the sheet listing 20 odd TV channels only 3 gave picture or sound so no Wimbledon in prospect at the end of the day.  

I was up early and out to survey the scene after a cafe breakfast of coffee, orange juice and croissant.   Then a wander around.  You can't wander far in downtown Pula without coming across this

A really impressive Roman remain, in use while I was there for a music festival.  I didn't expect (judging by what I heard on my arrival the previous evening) that the music would be much to my taste and I'd never heard of anyone listed on the board you can see in the picture but I thought it would be fun to go one evening.  However, on looking up all the names I found that they were all DJs.  Not a single live artist was appearing. Now I know that the DJ's art has expanded since its early days when putting a record on the spindle and announcing the number's name was its full extent.  Even so I was put off.

I had a good walk around the centre and along the quayside noting the boat excursions on offer.  Later in the day I took an open top city tour that in fact was mostly a tour of the holiday spots to the south of Pula. 

Istria has the sort of tangled history you could expect from being handily placed for the Austrians and Venetians, their predecessors and successors to argue about, not to mention the Cold War, and is officially bilingual as in this street sign

extended to trilingual for the benefit of visitors as in this bakery

and in this poster for a celebration of the work of their famous one time resident James Joyce.  

In an earlier post I had a picture of a statue of Joyce in Trieste where he lived happily for several years.  In Pula he lived unhappily for only a few months but that hasn't prevented the Pulans(?) from commemorating his connection with their city.  This article expands on the relationship and records some of the scathing things he had to say.  But clearly no offence taken for here he is seated in the cafe Uliks (Ulysses in Croatian).

The cafe stands at the head of the main street of the old town leading from the Sergius Arch to the Forum where the Temple of Augustus still stands, the Temple of Diana having had to make way for the town hall.

 

      
 

 

 

 

Along Sergijeveca which is what the street is called there is lots to see though I couldn't find the Roman mosaic floor mentioned in my guide book.

And a bit of life.  The bike fell over and decanted the poor dog.

In another part of town there are markets indoor and out.

Elsewhere there's a bit of faded grandeur.

The next day I took a boat trip.  We went up the coast to the beautiful little town of Rovinj where they'd laid on a guided walk.  On returning to the boat a delicious lunch of fish with lashings of finely shredded veg that could have been cabbage but seemed too delicate was served as we went further up the coast and then some distance into an inlet called Limski Kanal. 

We returned to the sea and headed for Crveni Otok,  a very pleasant holiday island where we had a couple of hours to wander around or go swimming or simply contemplate our navels.  In that heat some shady resting and cold drinking was my choice.

Then it was back to Pula with a fine view of the amphitheatre on the approach.

On the way back to the hotel I stopped for refreshment and a snack.  I had a Negroni which was a bit on the strong side so I lingered to allow its effect to wane and watched a group of couples with their kids enjoying themselves in the warm evening air.  I got chatting with a waiter and was able to improve his rendition of "it's a braw bricht moonlicht nicht the nicht an aw" that he'd learnt from some other Scotsman.  When I passed his cafe on other occasions thereafter we'd greet one another with that phrase, to the bewilderment no doubt of passers by who overheard.

Having sailed up the west coast of the Istrian peninsula I decided the next day to take a bus to Rijeka which stands at the top of the east coast to which according to my guide book there was a 90 minute bus ride.  When I got to the bus station the next bus on the indicator board was at 11.00 and would take 2h40 for the journey.  Subsequent research revealed that not all journeys are posted on that board and that there is indeed a 90 minute service but only once a day departing at 21.30.

So I strolled over to the train station and no thanks to the loquacious lady in front of me in the ticket queue just caught the 09:05 to Pazin which is an inland town about 40 km away.  It took about an hour and then 15 minutes or so to get from the station to the town.  It was all downhill but I couldn't help thinking of the walk back in that heat.

It was a very pleasant little town.  The castle and its museum were shut thanks to it being a Monday and the church was covered in cloth-bound scaffolding for its once in a 100 year brush up so there wasn't a lot to do other than enjoy the tranquility, have a little picnic on bakey goodies and take the inevitable liquid remedy against the heat.  I watched some people whizz down a zip wire that went along a gorge by the castle but wasn't tempted to find its source.

When the train I'd gone to catch back to Pula didn't turn up I asked a woman in an office what the story was.  She went and called another guy who came out to the platform and looked at the timetable (as I had) but was able to interpret the markings (as I had not been) to tell me that that train didn't run during school holidays.  I'd had thought, given the number of trains that pass through Pazin per day, they'd have had that info at their finger tips.

A wait ensued during which I trekked downhill to buy cold liquids at a petrol station and slogged back up again.  On return to Pula I had an excellent dinner in a restaurant called Kantina.

The next day I was on the water again, this time to visit the Brijuni Islands.  These are a national park and the main island is where Tito had his summer home. Notably it's where he, together with Nehru and Nasser founded the Non-aligned movement.  A monument to the same stands in the museum together with innumerable pictures of the man entertaining statesmen, royalty and celebrities on the island.  Parts of it, off limits to tourists are still used by government ministers for holidays and I daresay they host foreign dignitaries too. 

There's also a very interesting gallery dedicated to the Viennese businessman Paul Kupelwieser who bought and developed the islands in 1894.

One floor of the buildings contains stuffed animals.  These apparently are animals that were given to Tito who established a zoo and was so fond of his animals that he had them stuffed when they died. l have to say that the giraffes must have died very young or they are from a pygmy species.  There's no longer a zoo but there is a safari park with various animals including an Indian elephant.  There's also a wierd statue of an elephant for which I found no explanation.

We had a little tourist train trip round the island, seeing the Roman remains, the safari park and the golf course.  You can cycle and walk around and of course eat and drink, which I did. 

 

Back in the hotel that evening there being as I said no tennis channel on the telly I finished my book - After Lives by Abdulrazak Gurnah.

Still keen to go up the east coast of the peninsula I decided next day to get away reasonably early and aim for a slightly shorter trip to Opatija instead of Rijeka.  What a good idea that turned out to be.

The bus ran inland for roughly half the journey amidst attractive scenery and then by the coast for the rest of the journey with equally attractive views, turning off the main road and swinging into the small bus station at Opatija thus relieving my slight anxiety about knowing where to get off.

I was charmed by the place.  It developed from a small fishing village into its present glory starting in the mid 19th century when it became what my guidebook calls "..a tonic for the stressed elite of the Austro-Humgarian Empire and beyond."  Luxury hotels began to be built and all the trappings that go with that came along.  Here's what's available today.

I enjoyed just wandering around admiring the place and enjoying its gardens and a small portion of the 12 km long Franz Joseph I promenade more cozily called the Lungomare which you can read about here. On my next visit I must walk the length of it.

My guidebook recommended a restaurant which I eventually found but which was not open at lunchtime.  This turned to be no bad thing for I had an absolutely delicious lunch at the Yacht Club Bistro.  I thoroughly recommend it.

The return bus turned up some 20 minutes late but since it was coming from Zagreb I wasn't too surprised but I was happy to see it.  The delay was made up and gave me ample time to overdose on ice-cream before bedtime.  

On my last day in Croatia I was up early and off to the bus station to leave my bag in the left luggage till bus time later in the day.  En route I was accosted by a lady looking for information in a language which I took to be Croatian. After must repetition from me of "no speaky you lingo" (well I was a bit more polite than that) she beckoned her chum over who had some English.  They were looking for a market to buy some fruit. I knew where the market was but my directions I'm sorry to say were much like my unwelcoming taxi driver's in their precision.

Having dumped my bag and had a leisurely breakfast at the bus station I set off to have a stroll around.  A text from Asda my mobile provider popped up saying a monthly card payment had been declined.  A consequence of RBS's move from Visa to Mastercard I surmised.  I'd tried to update the card info on the Asda website at the time but wasn't sure that I'd succeeded.  Now I was sure I hadn't.

I took a seat in the shade in one of the pop-up open air bars by the waterfront and rang their support line.  A charming lady who called me Mr. Brian throughout our conversation said she'd fix it but the fix wouldn't come into effect till the following day.  No sweat as far as I was concerned.  I've had occasion to call their support a number of times over the years and found the staff unfailingly friendly, courteous and efficient. I give them top marks.

I sat on in the shade for a while reading and watching some guys working in full sun.  There was a gentle breeze. It was perfect.

Then it was time to take some gentle exercise.  These two boats attracted my attention.     

On the left is the Aresteas, available for sale or charter.  You'll need deep pockets mind you.  Details here and here.

A cheaper alternative is the Linda.  You can have a cycling/sailing holiday on her.  See the details here.  I had a good chat with the lad working on deck.

Back in town I had a decent plate of fish and a nice beer for lunch and then bought some booze to take home, honey brandy to take to a social event and some fortified wine for myself. After that I went back to my shady rest spot for a while before going to the bus station to wait for the bus to Trieste.

The journey was not very interesting though I was struck by the wide fertile valley we crossed not long before or not long after we crossed into Italy.  Entering Trieste from the south you pass through a heavily industrialised and frankly ugly area and there's a lot of it.

It was raining when I got off the bus but it's only a hop, skip and jump to the railway station so I didn't get very wet. I didn't have long to wait for the train and consumed a little snack while waiting.  The air conditioning wasn't working in the carriage I got into so shortly after we started I moved to a much more comfortable location.  The journey was uneventful but gave me another opportunity to admire the mountain scenery north of the line and to wonder what the towns we passed through were like.  Maybe I'll explore this area some time.

At the hotel in Treviso I had a little chat with the receptionist to exercise my Italian then off to bed.  In the morning I pulled my case down to the airport shuttle bus stop, not having got around to sussing out the service bus route or the ticketing system. That's a task for next time because I'm sure I'll be back in Treviso.

The airport was busy and the wait was tedious as always but the plane left on time and bumpily arrived in Edinburgh five minutes early.  It was a bit windy (thus the bumpy descent) but reasonably warm and by tram and bus I was home in time to watch the ladies final at Wimbledon.  I've already forgotten who won or indeed who played!  

After catching a 4.15 a.m. bus and suffering the long tedious slog through airport, flight and arrival airport my holiday started around lunchtime here in Treviso.  There's nothing very special about this part of the town but the photo shows the typical arcaded streets that offer shelter from sun and rain with a hint of a square seen through the arches on the right. The beautiful roadway is made from their equivalent of our setts.  The setts are smaller than ours, square rather than rectangular and generally laid out in a non linear pattern, often fan shaped. 

I'd arrived before a hotel room was ready for me so I dumped my bag and wandered off to find lunch which sadly was a fairly nondescript plate of cold meat and salad.  But it provided enough fuel for me to get back to the hotel, now ready for me, and change into lighter clothing.  For it was hot, as it continued consistently to be until I got back to Edinburgh where to be fair it was pretty warm.

Anyway I spent the rest of that first day getting acquainted with Treviso.  It's a lovely place, not too big, not too busy, not a tourist magnet but with sufficient points of interest to be, in the famous Michelin phrase, worth a detour.  The town walls for instance.  They extend along

most of three sides of the central area of the town.  There are some fine churches, a few museums, markets and pleasant spots in which to pause. 

The next day I went to Vicenza, slightly by default.  I intended to go to Venice but thanks to machine problems and ticket office queues I decided to take the next train out and so bought a ticket to Vicenza via the Trainline app.

What a lovely day resulted.  The town is beautiful.  Reading The Rough Guide on the train I learnt about its connection with Palladio and about the oldest indoor theatre in Europe which lies at the end of the Corso Palladio, the main street.  So I made a dash for that on arrival.  It's really a Roman theatre with its standard highly decorated permanent background with its three doors brought indoors.  It looks bowed out in my photo but it's not in fact. Panorama shot effect.

After that visit which included a bit of a sound and light show I wandered back up the Corso and off many side streets admiring the buildings and public spaces.

On the next day (Sunday) I was going to buy a ticket online again but decided I should really be taking every opportunity to speak Italian so I queued up at the station and asked for a ticket to Trieste saying that I would be coming back later in the day but didn't know exactly when.  The agent said that would cost me €30 but for €29 she could sell me a ticket  which I could use on any train (except some high speed services) as often as I liked over the next three days.  No brainer. 

So I set off to Trieste.  There were lovely mountain views for most of the way replaced by lovely views of the sea in the last half-hour or so.  On arrival I decided it being hot and steamy to try to find the seaside.  Several buses claimed to be heading for the Castello di Miramare which sounded just the ticket.

Unfortunately they wouldn't sell me a ticket on the bus.  Smartphones were mentioned but I didn't grasp quite what the driver was on about.  There being no open shops in the vicinity I sat in a bus shelter and investigated (thankyou smartphone).  The SMS suggestion didn't prove fruitful. Next option, download the Trieste transport app.  Once downloaded you have to register as a user, providing all sorts of extraneous data.  That involves responding to a link sent by email.

Now we're ready.  I'll go for the €3 day ticket.  Wait.  My card issuer wants to protect me from the possibility that I'm about to be scammed out of €3 so we go through the one-time passcode text routine.  Finally I get on the bus and squeeze through the crowd of beachgoers to push my phone up against a QR code to validate my ticket.  Phew.

I say beachgoers but in the 5 mile stretch of Miramare this is the biggest bit of beach that I could see.

But the whole stretch serves as a place to take the sun, relax, picnic and slip into the sea.  It was packed.

There is one spot called Pineta di Barcola which I saw from the bus that is a wood laid out with kids' playgrounds and such that looked really good.

Anyway the bus stopped about a mile before the castle.  I walked on and got to the car-park within the grounds but was damned if I could be bothered to go all the way.  You can see from this Wikipedia entry that it's well worth a visit but for me that will have to wait.  I trudged back to the bus-stop with a cool drink pause en route and caught a bus back into the city centre.

The centre is all grand buildings and wide streets reflecting one period of its long history.   I got off somewhere and wandered towards the sea coming across the statue of James Joyce in the process. Famously he taught English here and lived for years in the city having got away from Pula, of which more later.

In approximately this area I was absurdly excited to hear Japanese being spoken.  I heard and recognised the language before seeing the speakers. It was a family or group of friends sitting chatting in a cafe.  Could be me one day (I hope).

I did a bit of sitting without chatting but imbibing before catching a bus back to the station. In the underpass leading there from the bus-stop somebody shouted after me.  I ignored it of course but as I went up the steps a youngish man came abreast of me.  He offered me sex.  I fell about laughing I'm afraid.

Masks were still obligatory on public transport and on the train home two young men were ejected (safely at a station) for not wearing them.  They must have put a hex on the train because it broke down later on.  I suppose the wait for another one was about half an hour.  No great sweat.  

I went to Venice the next day later than planned because the train I expected to catch only runs at weekends so it was pretty well lunchtime till I got there.  I decided it was too hot to focus on contemporary art so I spent the day pottering about on the vaporetti.  I had an excellent lunch at a restaurant that I hope to be able to find again.  Their terrace was full but a waiter set up a chair for me to wait and gave me a glass of prosecco to wait with.  It reminded me of being given something to drink when Claire and I were in a queue for a restaurant in Buenos Aires.  Very civilised.  When I did eat it was delicious.  I had a tender cuttlefish salad and fish filled ravioli washed down with a wine whose name I forget.

I checked out how to get to San Basilio where I'll be catching the ferry to Pula on Friday.

When I got back to Treviso in the evening I was able to watch Andy Murray's first round match on Sky Sports in the hotel.  A very satisfactory day.

On Tuesday an early start to get to Padua.  I'd bought a time slot ticket to see the Giotto frescoes online following the guide book and the website's imprecations about the impossibility of buying a ticket on the day.  This turned out to be nonsense by the way, but like a number of systems I dealt with in Italy you don't actually get a ticket online.  You get a code number or a QR code that you subsequently have to present to a machine or a human being to get a physical ticket. What is the point?

It took me a while to find the Scrovegni Chapel and when I did find the grounds I had to walk the whole way round to find the entry to the Chapel itself, annoying and hot work.  This was me getting my ticket to be used later in the day.  I had a wee daunder round the museum which had lots of nice stuff in it.  I bought some postcards but I didn't have a pen, nor surprisingly did the gift shop.  They had some pretty little notebooks though so I bought one of those on the assumption that it would come in handy.

I then headed off to town to fill in some time before my date with the frescoes.  I got myself a Bic pen for a euro in a tabaccheria (and subsequently passed a pen shop where one euro wouldn't get you a drop of ink) and a cheap umbrella (rain was forecast for later but when it came it was only a few spits).

The last thing these fragile frescoes need is a crowd of hot tourists giving off sweaty fumes so you have to spend time in an air-conditioned chamber before you get your 15 minutes in the presence.  It's an educational wait.  They show a video about the frescoes.  The wait turns out to be well worthwhile because the frescoes arre stunning.  They certainly rival Michelangelo's work in the Sistine Chapel.

Here are my snaps but you'll get a better idea of the beauty of the work if you google "scrovegni chapel frescoes".

I had lunch then in the museum cafeteria.  I ate a delicious black rice salad and by a happy misunderstanding was served two Aperol spritzes.  Not for the price of one alas.

In the grounds there are various bits of art that I wandered amongst before going back into the town centre for more wandering. Some examples

Back to town for some more sightseeing I came across the Cafe Pedrocchi which is historically, architecturally and intellectually one of the most important places in Padua.  It also serves delicious snacks, viz

And on the particular day I was there there were a couple of celebrations going on.  This girl complete with laurel wreath, symbol of triumph borrowed by the Romans from the Greeks, was there with friends and family to celebrate her graduation (laurea in Italian) in medicine in the 800th anniversary year of Padua University.

That was about it.  I headed back to Treviso and watched Rafa at Wimbledon.

The following morning I felt like a break from intensive sightseeing.  I had a leisurely breakfast, took my coffee out to the little seating area in front of the hotel and wrote my postcards.  Later in the day the very pleasant lady in a tabaccheria who sold me stamps insisted on positioning the large stamps accurately on the postcards and came out onto the pavement to show me the nearest postbox.

I had a bit of a toddle around town and went to an exhibition of the work of Cleto Murani called L'Ossessione della Bellezza.  As we all know beauty is in the eye of the beholder so I'll let you judge with a few pics.  Let's start with this image plucked from a video.

I like the cravate but I'm not sure that the eating irons in the breast pocket show an obsession with beauty.  His work is quite fun though.

The place I stopped at for lunch had a large selection of salads named after authors (and maybe characters as well, I forget).  I chose an Agatha Christie.  Presumably because it was composed of ingredients that I liked though I've forgotten them as well except for one.  This appeared to be croutons but burnt to a cinder croutons that were nonetheless still in one piece.  As coke is to coal so this stuff was to bread.  Definitely a mystery ingredient befitting the name of the dish.

It came on to rain as I was finishing my lunch so I was grateful for the protection of the little umbrella I'd bought the previous day as I made my way back to the hotel where I spent the rest of the day watching Raducanu and Murray lose their respective matches.

No rest for the sightseer the next day.  Off to Verona, which town I was lately the provost of on the Edinburgh stage.  The station is a wee bit of a hike from the town centre but I bought a traditional paper bus ticket valid for the day from a shop in the station and hopped on whatever number my guide-book said I should.

It's pretty easy to decide when you've reached the town.  Where else can it be but by the arena.

For those exhausted by the effort of getting there or just lazy there's a satisfyingly long parade of cafes just opposite in which to while away a while or so while considering the next move.

My next move was to circumnavigate the arena.  Famous for its use as an opera stage its scenery dock seemed to be the surrounding street which was full of Egyptian gods and other operatic riff-raff.

I contemplated going inside the arena but there was pretty big queue and to be honest when you've been in one Roman arena you've been in them all.  The design is standard though the dimensions differ.  There was also too big a queue for the town tour bus for my taste so I did my own tour through some central streets and along the banks of the Adige on shanks' pony  before collapsing at a table with this fine view and a cooling drink or two.  It was very hot.  According to my phone it was 32°, feels like 37° and that's certainly how it felt to me.

Once recovered I used my invaluable bus ticket to work my way back to the station where I caught a train to Treviso.

Next day was my day for moving to Croatia but first there was the small matter of the Venice Biennale.  I got down to Venice smartly, dumped my luggage at a place in the Piazzale Roma that I'd sussed out earlier in the week and caught a vaporetto to Giardini where I joined a ticket office queue knowing as I explained earlier that there was no point in buying online since I'd still have had to queue to collect the ticket.

Supposed to open at 10.00 it seemed they were having a long lie today and would open at 11.00.  I repaired to a cafe to fume with a coffee.  When the office did open I did more fuming because a woman a few punters ahead of me spent an inordinate time at the window.  There was much consulting of phones and notebooks and parleying with the agent within and handing over of babies to a companion.  Ultimately she moved off clutching a bunch of tickets 3 or 4 inches deep. I assume she was a travel agent or tour guide or something but really they should have a window dedicated to group sales and let the individual visitor buy their ticket promptly.

Once in I loved it but saw only a fraction.  I'm very tempted to go back for a couple of days later in the year to revisit and to use the Arsenale section of my ticket because I didn't have time to go there.  I'm just going to post a few pictures and let you share what I saw without comment.  I will tell you one amusing detail.  Outside the Japanese pavilion was a notice apologising for the fact that their installation wasn't working properly. How could you tell I wondered when I saw it.    

After all of this and much more I hurried back to collect my luggage and get to San Basilio to catch the ferry to Pula and at about 17.15 we headed down the Giudecca canal and through the lagoon into the Adriatic.