In the style of Calvino

Here are a few stories that I wrote, with group members in undergrad, that were influenced by the style of Italo Calvino. I'm wondering if I should go back to this style for awhile, if it would help my writing at all...

Byzantium

The ancient city of Byzantium rests atop a hill, surrounded on three sides by major waterways. Approached by land or sea, the traveler encounters a continuous wall, watched over by twenty-seven guards in twenty-seven towers. A maze of streets, lanes, and alleyways spider down from the hill, creating axes and vistas showing off the exotic beauty that is the city. The people of Byzantium have ruled their city for a thousand years. They fought through 65 revolutions and lived through the abdication or assassination of 60 emperors. They are timeless, evolving and changing through the years, but always they are present. Built over and under, renovated and extended, Byzantium still exists, living and breathing, buried beneath progress.

Constantinople

At the junction of the three seas, there exists the city of Constantinople. Glancing from the water, the traveler sees the enormous dome dominating the skyline from atop the hill. Blocking the sun, it rises above the city, casting it in shadow. To enter the domed structure is to immediately be struck by the magnificence of its composition. Not visibly resting on the stonework below, the dome is suspended from the sky, watching over all those who enter its domain. The finest and most rare materials were brought from all corners of the world to adorn the interior of this great edifice. Gold mosaics shimmer on the ceiling, while multi-coloured marble gleams on the floors, and ornaments from exotic places hang in splendor. As the road fades into the horizon away from Constantinople, so do the memories of the city, of its roads and of its buildings. The only memory which remains, is that of the dome sitting high atop the hill.

Istanbul

The gateway between two continents, Istanbul is a city of experiences. Travelers indulge in the city as a mix of new ways and old traditions from many cultures. Beginning at dawn, and four times throughout the day, a call is heard, rebounding off the walls, echoing in all corners of the city. As if under a spell, people leave their homes and walk. They walk towards the call. They walk slowly and quietly, all for the same reason. And soon, in rows of hundreds they dance. It may not be any dance a traveler has ever seen, but it involves thousands across the city and the image of it is burned in his mind. As he follows the crowds making sure to walk the correct paths, enter only welcoming doors, the crowds disperse and the traveler is left alone, to find his way out of Istanbul, the dancing city.

Industria

When you wake up in the city of Industria, the landscape is shrouded in mist. It has a mysterious quality which intrigues the traveler, and tempts him to go explore. As the day progresses, more of the city is revealed, the looming mass of a factory, the white beacon of a water tower. The train clatters by in the distance, as the visitor watches the labours of a crew on the water. Dunk, lift, drop, dunk, lift, drop. It seems to operate in time with the train. At last the city is clear to the eye, vast openness broken up by low buildings, scattered randomly across the terrain. The traveler is captivated by the ambiance of the area. So much history, so much life; but sleeping, dozing; waiting to be awoken by the arrival of the population. As the traveler leaves the city of Industria, he is again surrounded in mist, seeing only the white tower, as it slowly fades away.