A shockingly elegant couple amble past, long limbed, lean, linen draped. But their eyes are sparkle-gleaming to break their chilly style. They must both be over seventy, but they are walking hand in hand like they mean it. Two fat Brit boys in football shirts and clumsy tattoos, pink-necked and sweating, stagger around on the back of a tour boat. Tangles of old bicycles are bound against the railings.
Bored teenagers traipse behind earnest parents, making grand displays of practiced ennui.
It amazes me how little of that I have seen, on all these visits here. Even the Red Light District, filled with gawpers and thrillseekers, has more style. We have walked with residents, and with luck, choosing corners that lead us beneath trees' shade and into tiny bars. I am insufferable. I sneer and snarl at the gawpers, the gigglers, the stag parties and the beered up Brits.