How To Make Atv Jumps

The Rialto Market

Strolling among stalls of fish and fruit.

When I go out into the street the sun has just risen, but still does not illuminate the streets.
the Santa Croce district is deserted, silent. The coolness of the night is already gone, and promises to be a hot day.
I walk briskly toward the Rialto, following the signs painted on the walls. At the road junction
two scavengers, intent on cleaning up the pavement from the waste left by tourists in the evening before, and a newspaper that raises the gate of his newsstand.
came to the bridge and before the eyes I see a different city from what I know: the hustle, the bustle and noise are gone, so that the old stones could tell their story.

Rialto was the first settlement of what is now the city of Venice. For centuries, here they exchanged salt, sugar, pepper, spices from the East such as ginger, nutmeg and saffron. They sold camphor, incense, opium and slaves. The trade flourished until the English, British and Portuguese opened new trade routes to the Americas, in fact marking the beginning of the decadence of the Serenissima. At this time of morning when the crush of tourists equipped with Reflex is still far, it's easy to close your eyes and imagine being in another era, at the heart of the ancient city.

I climb the Bridge, the oldest in Venice: the shutters of the shops are down, I do not have to pass me off to the elbows, a few tourists here and there early and watch from the railing overlooking the Grand Canal che inizia a risvegliarsi. Ma sono presenze fugaci e silenziose. Sotto di me barconi carichi di merce solcano le acque diretti verso il Mercato, mentre i vaporetti effettuano le prime corse del mattino.

Quando il Sole spunta sopra ai palazzi lascio il Ponte. Lungo le Fondamenta de la Preson una spazzina, unica presenza tra i tavolini vuoti e le osterie chiuse, sta ramazzando la banchina. Mi fermo qualche attimo ad osservare il suo lavoro, poi riprendo il cammino.

La prima cosa che avverto quando giungo al Mercato è l'odore: pesce fresco, frutta, verdura. Le fragranze impregnano l'aria, si mischiano e si confondono. Nell'Erbaria, il mercato della frutta e della verdura, ferve l'attività. Garzoni trascinano carrelli carichi di cassette di frutta, i venditori dispongono la merce in bella vista sulle bancarelle, un cane gironzola qua e là attirato dagli odori.

Attraverso lo spiazzo e giungo ai portici della Pescheria, il mercato del pesce. I banchi sono ancora immersi nella penombra, rischiarati da qualche raggio di Sole che filtra tra le tende e dalle lampade appese al soffitto. Qui l'odore invade l'aria con prepotenza, si leva dal wet pavement and overturned stalls on which the fishmongers of dry ice to keep the fresh fish and shellfish. I pass a man banging on a table a large tuna, guts and beheads him. Keeping watch on the sidelines for a few minutes undecided whether or not a photo of him. The temptation is great, but also the feeling of being an intruder. At the end of shooting and I walk away.

I continue to wander in this manner for the market, observing all the activities that take place there. Nobody looks after me.

When the first customers start to fill the streets and the sun gets higher I decide to leave. Walk the dock of a side channel that continues to land large boats full of goods, a boy download maneuvering a crane.

From a bridge I look back. Gulls hovering above the buildings, chasing each other and launch calls. Stand by and watch their games for hours, but it's getting late. I immerse myself in the shadows of the sixth and begins to recover, a change in the city during the day.

At the end of the Rialto is not so different from any market, but the atmosphere, the old buildings, the history that oozes from every stone and capital, the pre-dawn hours that retains the magic make it special.