Venice, a day more expensive than ever...

The tower just tilted.

I once passed by the tower of Pisa, fifty-five meters high, with the fear that it would fall on my head, because underneath it, as a writer once said, "it is terrifying to stop and look up." But it probably won't; it has had its share of falls over the centuries...

If it weren't crooked, few people would care about it. There are as many towers in the world as you want, but not crooked ones.

Is it him, master? Bonano, who began construction in 1174, intentionally made it like that?

This dilemma was also faced by the great traveler, poet, bishop and lord of Montenegro, Njegos, when in May 1851, on his way from Livorno, he stopped in Pisa to see the famous tower.

Njegoš said: "This wrong deed of his (Bonan's) made him famous; if he had done anything right, mankind would have forgotten him long ago."

Previously, in April 1851, in the Church of St. Peter in Rome, Njegoš was shown the chain with which St. Peter was bound and imprisoned in Jerusalem. He looked at the chain and returned it to the priest, who asked him in astonishment: “Aren’t you going to kiss it!?” And Njegoš uttered the famous words: “Montenegrins do not kiss chains!”

Njegoš stayed in Italy about twenty times; mostly in Trieste, from where he continued on to Vienna, St. Petersburg, but also to Rome, Naples, where he spent several months wintering, treating chest pain, always thinking of his Montenegro; always a dream; where people have always slept "bunnies", with one eye open...

The Montenegrin Duke said, Stevan Perkov Vukotic: "And the sun rests every night in its fight with the eclipse, and Montenegro never..."

I crossed the Arno River, in Pisa, my birthplace Galilee Galilee, with a university since 1338, a theater, museums, galleries, and heading to hilly Tuscany, where he came Michelangelo to choose fine stone for his works.

I have made laws in Treviso, a small town, once an important place of the Venetian Republic. The water, from the nearby rivers, stretched out in several canals, flows between the houses, almost silently. On small, yellow, metal signs, in black letters, it says: “Fishing prohibited!”

On the canals there are mills. They say there were once sixty of them. One large driving wheel turns, hidden by thick ivy. Another, far away, stands still, it has done its job, its fins have already rotted; it stands like a monument; it no longer grinds, although Italy is sown with corn and wheat.

A swan and a swan mother are sailing slowly along the canal, accompanied by two adorable chicks. Numerous tourists are curiously watching and photographing them from the bridge.

Treviso is a lively, small city; full of ancient palaces.

The city is on bicycles. Everyone rides them; women, men, children. You can often see entire families on two wheels.

Treviso is home to the famous Benetton factory, and the first Benetton store still operates in the town center, resembling a small museum.

From time to time, police cars pass unobtrusively through the narrow streets; sometimes soldiers with camouflage-colored Range Rovers. There are also policemen on motorcycles and BMWs. On the streets, there are police officers with dogs. An orderly state.

In Piazza dei Signori, in the Signore&Signori café, next to the table where I sit with a glass of Aperol spritz, several of my subscribers are discussing journalism, lively, but very tolerant and somehow friendly. One is leafing through the Milanese Corriere della Sera, and two of them Roman The Republic, both newspapers traditionally excellently edited and very influential. Newspapers, therefore, are not dying yet. The lady in green “holds the bank”; now she cools herself with a fan, now she quickly folds it and makes a wand out of it with which she waves it; “plays” with her hands; now she leans back in her chair, restless, and when she wants to say something important, she leans halfway across the table. As lunchtime approaches, the company gradually disperses; there are only two of them and the lady in green left; they did not suffer! Suddenly, a girl with spiky hair approaches, sits down next to the lady in green and immediately, as if she had already been there, starts a conversation...

And for me, "these memories". Editor-in-chief of a daily newspaper Evening country it was a vacille Stevo Stefano Petrovic (1929-2013), nephew of the Montenegrin princess, Queen of Italy, Deer. He was twelve years old when he came to Italy from Montenegro in 1941 and lived with his aunt, the daughter of King Nikola, Queen of Italy, Helena. He studied architecture in Turin, then devoted himself to journalism. Rigorous in "publishing" texts, as the head of the editorial office Evening country He trained several generations of journalists, some of whom were the creators and founders of the Roman newspaper La RepubblicaWith Eugenio Scalfaro. Za Espresso Group Stevo worked until he was eighty. Newspapers never grew old with him. He was not only a top journalist and prince of graphics, he was a man of high culture and innate curiosity.

- Good graphics should only provide an efficient technical language, with which a journalist can easily and clearly communicate news to the reader, propose ideas, favor the exchange of opinions, interpret the aspirations and feelings of modern man - Stevo Stefano Petrović once told me. - The old, established principle always applies: appearance (form) corresponds to content, content corresponds to form. If the distance between the two components increases, the distance of the newspaper from style also increases...

And while I'm sitting in the cafe Ladies & Gentlemen in Treviso, a message pops up on my phone! A journalist answers Svetlana Popović, former editor of the central news program of Montenegrin Television. She writes: “Slobo, good day. I hope you are well. I can’t find your number, but somehow I managed to. (Your number was given to me by Marija Mirjačić from Vijesti). A few months ago in Ljubljana, a gentleman, the owner of an antique shop selling old books (along the promenade by the Ljubljanica, a little further down from the Triple Bridge) asked me about you. He mentioned the possibility of your literary evening. He asked me for your number, I promised to connect you. Best regards, Svetlana Popović”. Nice news in a nice place.

I drank my Aperol spritz and headed towards the nearby town of Koneljano; neither a village nor a town. In fact, more a town than a village. Full of “beauty and charm”. Along the cobblestone streets, numerous palaces, from who knows what century. I also came across the local carnival. Drums are beating; music is blaring, flags are waving, and all this is closely watched by the residents of small Koneljano, dressed in festive attire.

An Italian friend comes to pick me up in her white Jaguar, Madi and leads me along a narrow road along rolling hills covered with vine-covered vineyards, which are as green as young cornfields; they climb all the way to the top of the hill. A wine-growing, wine-producing region; you can see it from the row of distilleries along the road and the sign: “Wine for sale!” All this wooded splendor is accompanied by appropriate restaurants with wonderful terraces and views of the wine-growing valley. In the restaurant-hotel Da Tullio, Madja's husband is waiting for us Fabricio. Successful young people. They were once in Montenegro. They are delighted with its nature, especially Sveti Stefan and Cetinje. They will come again.

I taste delicious spaghetti with a glass of excellent local white wine “prosecco.” In the clearing next to the restaurant terrace, several deck chairs are lined up; for guests to lie down after lunch in the blooming landscape.

Madji continues to their home nearby, and Fabricio picks me up and drives me to the hotel in his BMW.

The next day they came to pick me up again and took me to lunch in the hills, where I tasted gnocchi with a slice of triangularly cut lasagna, of course with a glass of local white “prosecco”.

Walking through Italy is like walking through ten centuries. It's a wonderful country. It never gets boring; always new and always the same. One lifetime is not enough for it.

It's summer in Treviso, and in me, as a Sarajevo native sings Halid Bešlić, it's autumn. It's creeping up; with age...

One day in Venice

Venice, Venice; the unforgettable Yugoslav chansonnier hummed Dragan Stojnic.

I met him once in New York, and he said to me, delighted: "This is a wonder of a city!"

... In Treviso I take the train and in half an hour I arrive in Venice, full of art. The train station is right by the sea. You only have to go down a dozen steps and get on a boat, similar to a city bus, which will take you to the final point, where everyone rushes, to St. Mark's Square. Along the way, it stops at several stations, to disembark some passengers and take on new ones. At an otherwise short stop, the sailor ties it tightly with a thick rope, then quickly unties it, repeating the same action at each stop; the regulations are respected.

Venice is expensive, so many tourists usually stay in Treviso and from there go sightseeing in this wonderful city on the water.

Columns of tourists are pouring in from all directions towards St. Mark's Square. Krkljanac! I have never seen so many tourists in one place. However, in Italy, whether summer or winter, autumn or spring, there is no shortage of tourists. They are attracted by ancient cultural monuments, but also by the skill of the Italians to attract them with a kind word, a courteous gesture, impeccable service, a warm welcome.

Passing through a huge crowd, a man tapped me on the shoulder and raised two fingers high, as if Churchill sometimes, signifying victoria, victory. For a moment I thought that maybe some Cetinje resident who had settled in Italy in earlier times had recognized me. No. The sixties were long gone when my school friend, a Cetinje resident, Joja Mandic, walked around Italy. And only Baro Živković Baron! He hung out in Rome with Monica Viti, Claudia Kardinale, Silvano Mangano... No. It will be a Venetian who saw an old man making his way through the battalions of tourists and to encourage him raised two fingers in victory!

There is lively traffic on the Grand Canal, as on a busy road. Motorboats, gondolas, and "cargo boats" are speeding by, large wooden boats loaded with various foodstuffs, most often fruit and vegetables. On one, about twenty demijohns and vats are lined up; on another, metal beer barrels, on a third, neatly arranged bags of cement...

And their houses, as Duke Draško says, are a world of wonders! You enter from the water, and in front of the ornate palaces, boats swing, the only way to get to the entrance.

A boat suddenly jumped out of a side, smaller canal! I thought it was going to collide with someone, but it skillfully joined the other vessels on the Grand Canal.

The smell of the sea.

On one arm, if I may say so, there are about fifteen gondolas parked; gondoliers in sailor shirts eagerly welcome tourists. A half-hour ride costs ninety euros, and in the evening a hundred. A ride at night is more romantic, and therefore more expensive. The gondolas are decorated, decorated, reminiscent of “golden carriages”.

I don't dare to describe or "discover" Venice. Many writers, travel writers, journalists did that long ago, better than I could...

And St. Mark's Church, at the lowest point in the city, is sometimes threatened by the tide; global warming, apparently, threatens magnificent Venice.

The Venetian sun spread wings, just like the winged lions, symbols of this city, where magnificent palaces embraced the water.

There it is, a winged lion, proud, and on the ancient walls of Budva, since ancient, Venetian times... Somewhat forgotten, but enduring for centuries.

And where is Montenegro in Venice? Everywhere! Gentlemen, Montenegrins flocked to Venice. As far back as 1777, Montenegrin leaders wrote to the Venetian governor: "Don't even block the roads."

By establishing his printing house in Venice, at the beginning of the 16th century, the knight of printing, Božidar Vuković from Podgorica introduces the Balkan book into the general flow of European culture. The chronicler noted that the first editions of Vuković's books were published in Venice in 1519...

Another important Podgorica resident, a famous sculptor Risto Stijović, created in 1939 a bust of Božidar Vuković, born in Podgorica.

He lived in Venice and worked as a printer, a native of Kotor, Andrija Paltašić (1440-1500). TO Đurđe Crnojević He was the founder of the first Cyrillic printing house in the Balkans in 1493. The following year, in 1494, the Oktoih Prvoglasnik was born in Cetinje... Even in the Dark Middle Ages, the materially poor and courageous Montenegro successfully connected with European cultural trends.

Records from Venice about magical Montenegro can be found in a cult book Montenegro from the reports of the Venetian governors 1687-1735.(CID, Podgorica, 1998).

"Montenegro is a synonym for proud and ascetic beauty; among its mountains, massive and bare, on whose peaks eagles and falcons nest, live a warlike and at the same time pleasant people, who know how to combine infinite refinement of feelings with an innate love for weapons, which flickers in their inspired folk songs, whose verses echo from the throats of beautiful and strong women who, proud of the independence of their country, go to war, as the song says: with a dagger in one hand, a rifle in the other, a child on their chest, and bullets in their aprons."

In the wealth of the Doge's palaces and the splendor of the ancient Venetian Republic, the glory of Kanjoš Macedonović, immortalized in the wonderful novella Budvanin, hangs. Stjepan Mitrov Ljubiša.

Brave Paštrović, Kanjoš, inspired and Mihovil Logar (1902 - 1998), prominent Yugoslav composer, pedagogue, and music writer, to create a new Kanjoš in the spring of 1974; in the opera. Logar stayed at the Maestral Hotel in Pržno, where nature smiled and where he benefited from meetings with the locals, who gave him a framework for his music. That framework was not large, but it was authentic.

He had long had the idea of ​​writing this musical comedy, a musical-dramatic work in three acts. The beginning is set in Venice, where Kanjoš trades, where he is fined, and where he meets Friulan.

- That novella by Ljubišin is truly a masterpiece, the most beautiful story. I have been working on this for five months now. I would like this Kanjoš of mine to resonate with the wider cultural masses - Professor Mihovil Logar told me in 1974 in Pržno. - It is not mere entertainment. It is an act of heroism that leads to myth. But Kanjoš does not make capital out of heroism. He manages to humble the proud and the arrogant with his gesture. That heroism is not accompanied by conceit, but by modesty, and that is the characteristic of the noble. I hope that this full-length opera work of mine will find a wide resonance. At my age, one does not do it routinely. One either has to say something or remain silent. Creative restlessness is healthy. I want to repay myself. I have been carrying Kanjoš for a long time; it is time to bring it back. I am working intensively. Kanjoš has completely occupied me - Professor Logar told me.

The mountain wolf, Njegoš, said that Duke Draško "went to Venice."

Relations between Montenegro and Venice date back to ancient times. Venice found support in Montenegro, forming frequent alliances in the constant and cruel struggle against all kinds of enemies. Montenegro was, one could say, the bulwark of the Republic.

And the Crnojević dynasty was embellished by the marriage of the lord Djurađa and Venetian women of noble origin Lizbet Erico...

All good things come to an end.

One day in Venice, it may be, is enough for one lifetime.

Venice, Venice... Summer is sailing down it.