It is difficult to say, of all the world's cities, Venice is the most beautiful. A statement of this magnitude can not be applied, probably, to any city in the world. But if you can ensure that, at least, Venice is the most unique, the least seems to all other. So yes we can say without hesitation, Venice is unique.
Venice has some unrealistic because one is never sure if it belongs to the earth or water belongs. I have traveled there several times and, occasional, I saw the Piazza San Marco flooded by the sea and other turned into a friendly forum for tourists and gloating ride of pigeons. In Venice the pigeons competing with the seagulls to occupy the places where visitors are going to throw crumbs of bread or corn. The pigeons always wanted, birds even though they are much weaker than the fierce sea gannets.
Venice seems to adopt a fatigued, as if a little tired of living century, so elegant beauty of the treasured throughout the ages
The best time to visit is the winter, between the months of November and February. And not only because in this period one can enjoy a few days of carnival - ay, the enigmatic Venetian carnival!-, but it is precisely the time when the inhabitants of the city, usually as discrete, look out onto the streets and allowed to see for tourists.
In these winter months, the air becomes almost opaque, There is a kind of clammy gauze covering the canals and building facades and making the city an air of secret city, or at least a city that hides its deep sensuality abroad. The Venetian colors, then, fade, are covered with faded look, and Venice seems to adopt a fatigued, as if a little tired of living century, so elegant beauty of the treasured throughout the ages. Venice was in those months ago intimate and delicate as a beautiful lady Renaissance.
One can imagine watching the mysterious lives or suspecting passers terrible stories of unspeakable crimes
Venice is also more literary then. Under the mist arising from the sea with the dawning, people walk hunched in the cold damp air and sleepy ghost. One can imagine watching the mysterious lives or suspecting passers terrible stories of unspeakable crimes. If you take a vaporetto and navigate through the morning mist, you can imagine Thomas Mann taking with pencil the notes of what would later become his formidable book "Death in Venice". Although the narrative of the novelist goes to late summer, We air the story is always winter, Winter calls simply because the death more than life.
They say that the goddess Venus-Aphrodite emerged from the waters of the Mediterranean and the Greeks placed his birth in southern peninsula Peloponnesus. I think they were wrong: the goddess was born here, in Venice, and here it is again swallowed the sea when the waters devour this city born to die of a surfeit of beauty.
