The typical tourist path is short and direct: from Piazza San Marco to the Rialto Bridge along the famous shopping street the Mercerie, then back to their waiting cruise ship. Here are found the “Venetian” glass trinkets (made in Taiwan), overpriced restaurants (and yes, McDonalds) and the gondoliers offering a ride for astronomical sums. But walk 50 feet away and you could be in a different city.

Marjorie speaks Italian; I do not. I rely on a smile, say “Mi scusi, Io non parlo Italiano” (Pardon me, I do not speak Italian), and launch into whatever I want to get across, and hope that someone within earshot knows English. And someone usually does, except in the most out-of-the-way quarters of the lagoon. Venice is still that trading city of yore, and young Venetians usually learn English as their foreign language.

The flipside of this is that English has become the lingua franca of the contemporary art world. Almost all the artworks at the Biennale are labeled in English, and if a video has subtitles, they’re in English, not Italian. This is easier for me, but it feels strange to be in Italy and see nothing but English all day while at the galleries.

We just learned that there is an Elton John concert in Piazza San Marco, scheduled for the day we arrive in Venice. Incredibly, this has been set to coincide with the opening of the Biennale – sort of like running the Kentucky Derby around the Super Bowl field.

Did I mention chaos earlier?

Preston Thayer and Marjorie Och in self-portrait taken at the Biennale in '05.

Intro | The city | Opening day | Theme park | Strong statements | Art tourists | Contra art