You're listening to the London Review of Books podcast. Over the four-week summer break between

issues of the paper, the podcast is taking a virtual tour of a few places in Europe, through readings

of pieces that have appeared in the LRB in recent months. This week, Colm Tobein reads his piece on Venice,

published in November 2020. And if you enjoy listening to the LRB podcast and would like to take

out a subscription to the London Review of Books, you can get your first six issues for just

£6. Go to lrb.m.me forward slash travel. That's lrb.m.m.m. forward slash travel and start your subscription with a 79% discount.

This is Column Tobin here. I am reading my piece alone in Venice.

Suddenly there was nothing to complain about. No cruise ships went up to Judeca Canal. There were no tourists clogging up the narrow streets. Pietta San Marco was often completely deserted. On some bridges, a few gondoliers stood around, but there was no one to hire them. Instead, dogs and their owners walked the streets, with no one

pushing them out of the way. People greeted one another familiarly. They had the city back.

Suddenly the intimate spaces were free. In San Polo, I could spend time in the side room that houses

Jan Domenico-Tiepolo's stations of the cross.

I would never have that room to myself again.

In the Scuola di San Giorgio, de la Skiavoni, where the Carpachios are,

the woman at the door was almost glad to see me.

It was like she was putting on a play that was about to fold.

I sat for a while contemplating St. Augustine in his sumptuously lit study. I liked that he

threw books on the floor. No one came to the small gallery in the hour I stayed there.

It was late October.

The days were foggy.

By lunchtime a pale sun fought to break through,

and for about an hour before it did,

an unearthly and sickly yellow light clung to everything.

...