摘要
As we disembark in the eliche-wom city of Venice at the break of dawn,time thickens.This half fairy-tale realm,half tourist trap is distorted by light and water-and,these days,the rustle of money.The flood of more dian 20 million day-trippers and elite holidaymakers pump much-needed revenue into the city coffers.Suffering from crumbling palazzos,rising tides and the worst publicity since Napoleon rode through town,this city of 118 separate islands,150 canals and over 400 bridges has been gradually sinking throughout the past century.Built on piles of larch planks,it is now officially closed to cars.
