Jason*, our Hugh-Grant-lookalike Airbnb host, was prone to wild sporadic fits of weeping. It was the kind of animal uncontrollable wailing that you often hear in new wave Indie films or in a final year art student’s all-immersive video installation piece.
Raw, carnal and generally pretty distressing.
We would find out later why. And the…
"Fuck Air BnB".
"Tourists go home".
Confronting messages sprayed across crumbling brick walls on the outskirts of Venice put a pit of guilt in my stomach.
Oh. Sorry.
Venice was not somewhere I'd ever really desperately wanted to go. I'd read more about the city's issues with rising sea levels than the best sights…