Nothing smells worse than a truffle that has gone bad. Which is to say, the truffles went bad on us. Which is to say, Italy went bad on us.

Venice is a theme park. It’s the most beautiful theme park imaginable, but it’s theme park nevertheless, complete with the giant exterior parking lots, the offensive prices, the bad food, and the costumed characters. We arrived, unwittingly, at the beginning of Carnivale, during which Venetians and others don costumes — the standard one being a tri-corner hat, a black cape, and a blank white mask that is positively spooky — attend various public parades, concerts and other events, and pose for photographs with tourists in the Piazza San Marco. It should have been cool, and it was at times, but it was also difficult to enjoy, what with the congestion and the prices. Foot traffic utterly clogged the narrow streets surrounding the piazza, to the extent that there were cops directing traffic in a city with no vehicles.

We had dinner at a place that was so offensively over-priced that we’re determined to complain to the guide book that recommended it. The waiter kept coming over and pointing at our food, and saying things like, “Those are the best olives in Italy.” That’s odd, they taste just like standard Kalamatas. And “That’s original, authentic saffron.” Well, at these prices, not only had it better be, but foot-long strands better be provided at the end of the meal for flossing.

Anyway, it’s a beautiful city, one supposes. But our wallet was literally empty by the time we left, and the weather was dreary and stayed dreary during the 4-hour trip to Milan, where both of us began to suffer a severe gastrointestinal illness, probably brought on by artificial saffron. We were still suffering the remnants two days later when we got on a plane, reluctantly, to Senegal.

Our hotel here, according to Lonely Planet, is a real gem. We’re glad we have the book here to tell us that, because we’d never know it. In fact, to us it smells like sewage.

In any event, we’re feeling somewhat better this morning, and the African sun is blazing through the curtains, and Senegal is supposed to have one of the best live music scenes in the world, and there are no gondoliers here to rip us off, and we’re trying to nourish a tiny spark of optimism.

Au revoir from French-speaking Africa.

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