Venice

Venice is an ideal set for any story. Frightening and mysterious, fussy and existential - that's what she's loved for. She's like Atlantis. The latter has already drowned; Venice  is on the way to it. Probably, her inexorable drowning is just another make-believe of shrewd advertisers, but probably, one of the world's wonders is really disappearing. Whatever it may be, it's worth rushing to Venice while she's still above the surface and her wooden foundation hasn't completely rotted. You must come to Venice: unexpectedly, by chance or on business, while passing through, en route to some other place – anyway. The best way to get there is by water. Then, all of a sudden, Venice  will show up in all her glory: she will open the estuary of the Canalazzo, Piazza San Marco will impressively float by, the white and chocolate curls of Palazzo Ducale will reflect in the dark water. Actually, Venice  reminds of a ship or the ever drifting piece of land vulnerably open to winds and storms like an old fishing-boat, for she's very small, this ancient cradle of courtesans. Behind the "scene" Venice is a poor Italian town, where laundry is hanging just above the shallow water of the canals; where formerly bright colors of stuck to each other houses look so dull in the sun; where dark-haired, skinny natives walk along the narrow, snake-like streets.

And if you happen to come to Venice  for a special occasion, she will turn into a perfect theatrical stage for any kind of performance – at carnival she will be all baroque masks and costumes, she will put on a strict gown of the tenth muse at film-festival, and she will shine with intelligence at art biennale. She will play any role it's offered and will be stellar in each, because real Venice does not exist, what we see is just a fabulous scenery. If it disappears one day, we can always make it up.