At the boathouse in New York’s Central Park, this gondola was moored and sadly only half covered. Maybe it’s been a long winter, but she was a bit beat up along her side and her forcola was well-worn. Still, I always sigh when I see a gondola–a sigh of nostalgia for Venice, a sigh for the beauty of Tramontin’s asymmetrical lines, a sigh for that glossy black hull and silver ferro.
As I sat inside the boathouse sipping at my spritz, away from the blustery wind, I asked the barman about the gondolier. “Is he Venetian?”
“I’m supposed to tell you yes,” he replied.
When the weather warms a bit more, the gondolier will return and the gondola will get to do what it’s meant to do. Until then, we can enjoy the blustery wind, the daffodils and tulips.