Maybe it’s the imperfections – the peeling plaster, the crumbling buildings, the hotchpotch layout – that are the real charm and gem of this otherwise tourism-centric city.  Maybe these lovely flaws of a nevertheless beautiful place are best seen in the weak light of a winter day.  If so, maybe the best way to attempt to capture its ethereal images is to go on a walk with a Holga with its own store of surprises and limitations.
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A view that is no one’s but ours alone.   From our corner room on the fourth floor of the Best Western Hotel Monte Carlo, we wake up to the red-tile rooftops of the San Marco sestiere and the chiming bells of an unknown (to us) bell tower.  Sometimes, we are treated to the wafting scents of a nearby home-cooked meal or the muffled sounds of distant tableside banter.
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