I looked around to see if I could spot any of my fellow students. When I had mentioned the boat races and suggested we might have a picnic somewhere and see the fireworks, I was not greeted with overwhelming enthusiasm. Imelda informed me that she had no intention of sitting in the sun and getting sunburned. Gaston said he didn’t go in for religion. Franz said he might come, depending on how much work he had for class, and Henry said it sounded like fun. I said I’d try to be somewhere near the bridge. But the whole area was crammed with people, some waiting to make their way across the bridge and others having already claimed their spots to watch the races and picnic. I couldn’t spot Henry and thought it unlikely I’d find anybody in the chaotic movement of people. Nor did I think I’d have much chance of finding a spot in the shade. It appeared that every inch along both sides of the canal had already been claimed with blankets, chairs, tables, picnic baskets and even some umbrellas.

Cheers further along the waterfront announced that the races had started. I joined the line to follow the stream across the bridge. It was a strange sensation walking on a pathway that rose and fell with the water—and no handrail either. I wondered how many people might fall in before the day was over, seeing the amount of wine that was being consumed. On reaching the island, I worked my way out towards the tip, where I might have a good view of the races. They seemed to be starting out in the lagoon in front of St Mark’s. The whole basin was full of watercraft, with a clear path down the middle for the races.