Alza remi! Just got back from Venice, having seen (amongst other things) the 36th paddle boat marathon - the Vogalonga - being contested.http://www.vogalonga.com/eng/index_ing.aspThough contested is hardly the right word for something more like a regatta open to all comers, in which a motley crew of golden oldies, responding to the cry of "alza remi" lifted their oars and came perilously near to capsizing the boat. For a moment there I fancied entering next year's event - in an aluminium Canadian canoe - but on learning that the course is some 30 km long, up to Burano and back to St Mark's square via Murano and the Cannaregio canal, thought better of it. In the teeth of the strong wind that sometimes blows in the lagoon, this could be a pretty challenging undertaking.

Better stick to the ancient monuments, maybe. Who could fail to be bowled over by the Scuola Grande di San Rocco, the incredibly lavish interior of which Tintoretto spent 23 years of his life in decorating - virtually unaided, it would appear. When Ruskin - no mean painter himself - saw what Tintoretto had done he remarked "As for painting, I think I didn't know what it was until today."

Interesting to note that Ruskin admired Venice, partly, because it had traditionally shown resistance to the authority of Rome. And also because, like England, its prosperity had been based on maritime power. He sounds a cautionary note, though. In The Stones of Venice he warns that England "may be led through prouder eminence to less pitied destruction." The prospects of proud eminence have diminished somewhat since Ruskin's time, though those for less pitied destruction can't altogether be ruled out.

That said, we hope to make it through to next week end.

Cosas de Espana. There's a tilde on my keyboard but I can't get it to sit on top of the letter n. Muy aburrido. Just got back from 3 weeks driving to and from Andalucia (can't do the accent over the i either). Spain, as ever, full of remarkable contrasts - on the one hand the international beach scene at Tarifa, with kitesurfers from Australia, Canada and all the European nations (including Russia and Lithuania) chattering away in a variety of tongues, but with English as the lingua franca - and on the other the wonderful silence of the countryside of the Cantabrian cordillera, between Burgos and Aguilar de Campoo, on either side of the N627. Just the wind in the trees, the sound of running water, and the occasional intervention of birdsong and the cuckoo's call. And an amazing little roadside church at Quintana del Pino, with a couple of extraordinary medieval reliefs on the walls - see the photographs on Antonio Calderon's fascinating site http://romanicoburgales.blogspot.com/

Even more unexpected than coming across the English language in such a remote and unspoiled location is the discovery that Eng. Lit. has left its mark here - for in the tiny graveyard there is a stone bearing the following inscription: La naturaleza nunca traiciono al corazon que la amo. Which is surely nothing other than a direct translation into Spanish of Wordsworth's lines on Tintern Abbey, to the effect that nature never betrayed the heart that loved her.

Those of a doubting disposition will probably argue that this is a sentiment no more verifiable in Spanish than it is in English, advancing as it does the dubious proposition that because we are keen on Nature, then Nature will generously reciprocate by being keen on us - and keen on us individually, moreover. In short, Wordsworthian pantheism is nothing more than a comfort blanket. Well, maybe. But the older you get, the less cynical you get about such bits of kit. They are not to be sneezed at - be they in the shape of Wordsworthian pantheism, simple faith, or that old, star-eaten blanket of the sky that a later poet wished to wrap around himself - so that he could lie in comfort.