Built on water, its history is pasted with this element from which its greatness and its deferred perdition. Venice, when it was an independent republic, made maritime navigation the backbone of its existence, and a main source of its wealth, which it used in the beauty industry.


For three centuries, the Treasury of the Republic of Venice collected a third of what the French Treasury collected in the heyday of the Napoleonic era, double the budget of England, and its per capita income was ten times the average per capita income in Europe. But since the dawn of the nineteenth century, Venice entered the path of a comprehensive collapse that increases the fragility of its beauty as much as it deepens the agony over the inevitable awaits, and leads to a rush to inspect this body hanging on the gallows.


This unique strange beauty that overlooks from its balcony the narrow streets in which tourists flock as on the day of the crowd, and flows along the banks of the canals whose stinky waters smell bad, and shades the wide squares and buildings that slowly sink in front of the rise of fate.


Venice is hot and sticky in the summer, it was extremely cold and damp in the winter. But nevertheless, it is sufficient for it to be strayed for hours in its streets and over its bridges that embroider its sick chest in order for it to possess your memory and settle therein, to prevent you from leaving it completely when you finish your visit to it.


You know it before you see it. I heard, read and witnessed countless things about this city whose magic is generated by the mixture of splendor and misery, so it imposes itself on talent, tames writers and artists, and forces them to surrender to its charms and adapt to it.


And if time is our great prison, and every step forward in it is in fact a step backward, then all excuses are acceptable, and all dates are appropriate for us to surrender, even once, to the charms that this city that has grown up mired in beauty gives us. And if the hazelnut is the most beautiful among the beauties, then nothing is more beautiful than it except for the rifle, cheering for the carnival, which began counting down its solutions days ago.


A visit to Venice can take a lifetime, but we will be satisfied with standing at some of the breathtaking stations in it, as an opening for an appetite that we know will not end, because when you look at you this city will no longer be able to save you from it, you will return to it once again, with or without an excuse, no Something that makes you ready for this magic and nothing excludes it. This stone poem is nothing but an oasis that sheds the trivialities of life, forgot you about crises, and carries you away from reality, because outside of time it takes you to another world in which the dream becomes reality and life.