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docked (the engines act as their major power source). The air pollution from just one of
the docked giant ships is the equivalent of 12,000 idling cars every day. In a city that bans
automobiles, that is a major source of air pollution.
With our new vision, we headed toward St. Mark's, going by vaporetto, the efficient if
crowded water bus system of the city. We caught a boat at the Accademia stop and crossed
the Grand Canal in search of a true Venetian souvenir. Along the way we started count-
ing the oversized advertisements hanging like banners from building scaffolding with pho-
tographs of famous actors selling designer clothes, champagne, watches, and perfumes.
While Venetians may abhor these ads, the city says it has no choice but to accept them in
order to pay for the necessary preservation work being done behind the scaffolding. This
is Italy, after all, one of the worst-governed countries in Europe, with corruption and mis-
management at all levels. It is also the country with the most historical treasures; Venetians
know that they can't rely on often-unscrupulous politicians in Rome to fully fund their
budget for restoration and preservation. Since all of the advertising money goes directly to
those projects, the mayor said there should be no complaints. Commercialize this city of
art in order to save it. Some citizen groups believe a new tax on tourism to cover mainten-
ance costs would be better.
At St. Mark's Square we ran into the real problem. We wanted to buy a beautiful piece
of Murano glass and instead we ran into blocks of brand-name fashion stores that rivaled
the Champs-Élysées of Paris. Familiar Italian names like Prada, Armani, Gucci and Fer-
ragamo were joined by Dior and Burberry. The night before, we had dined at the fabled
Osteria da Fiore, an extraordinary one-star restaurant that uses Murano glasses, which en-
chanted Bill. He asked for the name of the shop where we could buy a good piece of glass.
There it was—the Venetian gallery called L'Isola—the one local artisan showroom buried
in the midst of those high-end boutiques that you can find in any major shopping city of
the world.
We walked in and were stunned. Bright oranges, purples, greens and yellows swirled
in playful patterns on perfectly formed goblets, vases and water glasses. I spoke in my
mangled French-Spanish hoping to hit upon a word that would sound Italian. The sales-
man switched to French and after a few minutes asked my nationality. I said American and
he smiled, answering in perfect English. “We don't see many Americans anymore. Wel-
come to our shop.”
His name was Brian Tottle. He was British, married to an Italian, and a twenty-six-year
veteran of the Venetian glass industry. After we bought a wine carafe, I asked him what
had happened to the glass business in Venice.
“Mass tourism,” he said. “Cruises, bus tours, they take tourists in boats to the island
to so-called glass factories where they are taken into showrooms. Real glass factories are
closed to the public,” he said.
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