If you’re confused, Michael, about why I loved Rome and hated Venice, you actually stumbled on it with this:

“Every ancient thing in the city is in the city, in the midst of a teeming and vital urban center, with people living their lives, just as people have lived their lives since the tribes of the Three Hills first met together to trade in the sunken valley that would later become the Forum. Rome is not a museum. Her bones are wrapped in flesh.”

That’s why Venice just sucked for me. It was a fantastic museum expo masquerading as a real city. I could tell something was off, and when I asked a Gondolier where he lived, and he answered, “Mestre,” which I learned was a suburb on the mainland. “No one can afford to live here anymore, except for the old money, and they never mingle with anyone else. I’d guess 60% of the buildings are unoccupied.”

That means there are now only three kinds of people in Venice: tourists, people taking tourist’s money, and people who are clinging to an old, albeit beautiful, artifact.

After 4 hours, I was done. Venice’s story seemed over, and when a story is complete, you place the book on the shelf and move on.

Rome’s story is still being told.