I’m virtually a regular at Venice café. I can’t wait for my first visit
IN the middle of last winter and the last lockdown, when the nights were dark and the news darker still, I discovered that I could go travelling.
No passport needed, no jabs or airport queues, no quarantine.
I could sit at my desk in dull, grey battered Britain on a dull grey random Wednesday yet still be able to pop over to my favourite parts of the world and, just for a few moments, pretend I was there.
So from my bedroom-cum-office, with the rain battering down outside, off I’d set off to Rome or Nice or Barcelona.
Sometimes I dropped by a Florida beach – Daytona was always nice – or I’d swing by a pretty Cornish harbour to watch the boats come and go.
It was pure escapism, a way to block out the terrible Covid figures and the permanent anxiety about what was to come. I could imagine, for a brief period, I was somewhere else.
And all thanks to webcams. Cameras are everywhere these days, aren’t they? They monitor our movements on the roads and motorways as we drive to the shops or drop the kids off at school.
They’re in offices and supermarkets, pubs and train stations. Little eyes in the sky beaming back live feeds of us going about our business.
Some people don’t like or are frightened of them – I’m looking at you Matt Hancock – arguing they’re an intrusion into privacy.
But you can be the observer as well as the observed, I’ve realised.
And that’s much more fun. When those webcams are trained on the streets around the Colosseum or the view along the cliffs in Devon, they open up whole new possibilities and a window on a world that few of us have been able to enjoy for a long time.
My favourite ‘cam of all – and trust me, I’ve spent more time than I should virtually globe-trotting so I’ve considered this a great deal – is a little back street in Venice.
I’ll log in every few weeks to keep an eye on a small eaterie there that flickers into view with its outdoor tables covered with pristine white cloths and a menu on a board for passers-by to peruse. Things have busied up these last few weeks. Back in May it was quiet, the black and white uniformed staff standing around in their masks or fussing over the few diners that were in. They’d be closing by 9pm.
Now, it’s a lively venue with tourists and locals eating and laughing and drinking, or promenading past the crumbling building in which it’s housed, perhaps on the way to visit the canal, the glint from its waters just visible top left.
I’m glad things have got better for these people who I’ve come to sort of know. The tall waiter, the waitress with the long hair, the older chap – perhaps the owner – who keeps a watch on things from the doorway.
I’m glad things are starting to get better for us all.
And one day – maybe not soon but sometime – I’ll go to Venice and find that little spot and sit and look up at the camera that gave me a window on the world when I needed it most.
And wonder who’s watching me.