We’ve been living through the completely reliable and predictable days of scorching heat — this being the end of summer — and we’ve been dealing with it in the simplest and most effective way known to man: Immersion in water. But no beaches for us. The beaches have lost whatever appeal they once had, due mainly to the vaporettos loaded with families with hot, tired children struggling home at the end of the day.
Instead, we go out early into the lagoon to a little spot that I have dubbed “the old swimming hole.” It’s not literally a hole, and usually it’s not deep enough for real swimming, but lowering ourselves up to our necks in the cool water flowing in from the Adriatic is all we need to do to feel happy, harmonious, chakra-balanced, equipoised, and otherwise at peace with ourselves, if not with the world. This little idyll ends at 9:10 AM, when the man with the motorboat arrives, along with assorted family members and a dog. No idea how he discovered this place, but their idea of relaxation is very much not ours.
So we climb in our boat and row home, which we’d probably have been doing in any case, because by 10:00 the sun has switched to “char.” Those two hours, though, are the best part of the entire day.
Ideal departure time is no later than 7:00 AM, so we’re up at 6:00. It takes about the same amount of time to prepare the boat as to prepare ourselves.The water is wonderfully calm before the barges and taxis and other motorboats begin to rumble around.Low tide is my favorite moment, though it means we have to take the perimeter route around the mudbanks. Usually the tide is about to turn when we go out, so when we come back there will be enough water for us to cross directly over it.Not every morning is this calm, but every morning has its own beauty. The lone grey heron who lives nearby never lets us get any closer than this, but it’s always wonderful to see him or her — here he’s standing just to the left of the two poles.We made absolutely no noise as we approached, but he was taking no chances.I have made a vow that we’re going to mount an expedition to discover where this lone tree is located. It’s a very strange thing to see out here, all by itself.I don’t know how long this “capitello,” or little shrine, has been here — we were both surprised to discover it the other morning. The lagoon is full of these memorials, in all sorts of designs and types, commemorating the spot where someone (usually speeding at night with no lights) has met his end. Or, as Lino puts it, “painted himself onto a piling.” There have been more of these events than usual this summer. Post-quarantine madness?The Regata Storica is coming up soon (September 6), and some racers make the most of the early calm to go out to train. Here is Rudi Vignotto astern, rowing with his son, Mattia. Of course Lino’s right when he says that they ought to be out in the bacino of San Marco instead, where the waves make rowing much more difficult. But we’ll say that after 28 Regata Storicas, Vignotto probably has a pretty good idea of what he’s doing.One of the few remaining milestones that were placed by the Venetian Republic around the lagoon. The date is now indecipherable.Further on, two more have fallen side by side — it’s puzzling that they would be together. Some interested soul has braced them with sticks to prevent their sinking into the water and mud forever. So here they lie.
When the tide is really out, this part of the lagoon looks like this. On the way home in an hour and a half, the water will have returned.The tide has turned, so we begin to see more water, less land.More water filling up the lagoon.Not much later, it’s like this. The little ripples in the lower right corner show the water coming in.And not even an hour later, we’re back to water everywhere. Wandering around Venice, you may not be inclined to notice what’s happening with the water in the canals, but obviously the same thing is going on there as it is out here. Or up, or down, I mean.The lagoon is full of egrets. There is almost always at least one in this part of the neighborhood, though I’d have no way of knowing if it was the same one.Returning to our outward-bound trip, this is the last stretch before we swim — it’s one of my favorite parts of the lagoon. It has a sort of Amazonian vibe.When the tide’s out you can really see the erosion of the wetlands caused by motondoso, or the waves created by motorboats. At this particular moment the marsh is covered with blossoming common sea lavender (Limonium vulgare). It only lasts about a week.
The flowers are interspersed with clumps of Salicornia europaea, variously known as sea asparagus or marsh samphire (crunchy and salty). It’s also called glasswort, as it was burned to make soda ash (sodium carbonate) for glassmaking.Just a reminder that Venice was built on wetlands like these. That fact alone continues to amaze me, perhaps even more than how impressive the buildings are.Of course I knew that the tide was low, I’d been watching the water since we left home, but this was ridiculous. Where’d our swimming go? Have we been relegated to the wading pool?You could see all the shells in the water, left here over months or years by birds, crabs, sea snails and other denizens who’d feasted on clams. Sometimes clams just die, too, Lino tells me. Anyway, it’s Clam Graveyard. I don’t mind walking on them, but when you can see them this easily I’m guessing that swimming is out, along with the tide.Interesting, to be sure, but not a scene that brings swimming to mind.Yet as you see, all we needed to do was back up a few yards (meters), and we find a spot where the channel deepens enough for dunking. I am still asking myself why I was surprised — I’d just rowed over the dang thing.Apart from the little issue of swimming, I have to say I love it when the tide is low. World turned inside out.The egrets appear to prefer water that’s knee-high, so they’re back with the incoming tide.Feeling good….partly because the tide is really coming in now, which you can detect by the water flowing around Lino. Yes, the Adriatic inlet at San Nicolo is actually to the right of this frame, but the water doesn’t flow only from right to left. Here it’s gone up a channel, curved around, and is coming in by a sort of back door.It’s too bad that we’re leaving just when there’s finally plenty of water around, but that motorboat is probably only minutes away.Having covered that muddy field, the lagoon has returned to postcard perfection. We’re looking straight out to sea, with the Lido on the right and the inlet at San Nicolo in the center of the horizon.Homeward bound, wending through Amazonia toward Venice.And back to the big city. Let’s do it all again tomorrow.
This was a most interesting and enjoyable post to read and view! Thank you for sharing. My youth was spent living 4 long blocks from Coney Island beach on the Atlantic. But now, and for over 40 years I live in the foothills of the mountains of northern California, 150 miles from the Ocean. I miss it. It does get very hot here in the Summer, so I helped some friends construct a 40 x 20 foot swimming hole with a vinyl liner. It’s six feet deep and refreshing to say the least. I was very happy to experience the Lagoon when I went to Burano and Torcello; next time to San Francisco isle. However, I may have mentioned in the past that I have this thought that in my next incarnation I think I would like to come back as a white egret in the Veneto! Lots of fish to eat! I promise I’ll wave at you and Lino.
I thought it might come as a surprise — or modest discovery, anyway — to even the hardest-bitten Venice fan. Glad you liked the little expedition. For a place that’s so near the city, it really does feel like somewhere far away.
I really felt that we were right there in the boat with you, how wonderfully you have documented it! (I wonder if the heron was the Italian cousin of the English one strutting around in my back garden yesterday?)
Thank you yet again, you have a real gift for selecting the really effective image.
I’ve really enjoyed this expedition- and funnily enough, not at all aching from rowing again after all these years since last I did any!
Time for a little drink now, I think, to reflect on it all. Wonderful, yet again.
Hi Erla, I was begging to worry about you because you haven’t wrriten in a long while. I am glad to see and read all is well (I hope). I do enjoy your blog and although I read all Donna Leone seeing the real thing is best. Keeep them comming.
Dian
Loved this blog, Erla! Was cleaning up my email and discovered I’d missed reading this one. So fun to think of you and Lino taking your morning dips in such a beautiful setting.
21 Comments
I love everything about this post…serenity, sparkling wit, wondrous calm. Nothing better than a morning swim. Thanks for bringing us along.
Thanks Erla, a wonderful blog.
Beautiful!
Thanks Erla… as always, a good read and a great way to start our own morning!
Roberto y Maria’
FarNorthQueensland, Australia
I’m so glad you liked it. Let’s all pretend you come along with us next time.
Love this…morning in the life
always supposed someone was going for a secluded dip
thanks
This was a most interesting and enjoyable post to read and view! Thank you for sharing. My youth was spent living 4 long blocks from Coney Island beach on the Atlantic. But now, and for over 40 years I live in the foothills of the mountains of northern California, 150 miles from the Ocean. I miss it. It does get very hot here in the Summer, so I helped some friends construct a 40 x 20 foot swimming hole with a vinyl liner. It’s six feet deep and refreshing to say the least. I was very happy to experience the Lagoon when I went to Burano and Torcello; next time to San Francisco isle. However, I may have mentioned in the past that I have this thought that in my next incarnation I think I would like to come back as a white egret in the Veneto! Lots of fish to eat! I promise I’ll wave at you and Lino.
a new form lurking here — the photographic novel.
What an interesting idea. I’ll have to mull this over.
I’m glad you have found a nice place to immerse up to your chins and cool down a bit. What a lovely way to start a day.
I am so sad to think I may never be back to Venice; I am very glad I got to see a lot of her in my lifetime. And, to meet you!
Absolutely beautiful! Few get to experience the serenity these photos display.
I wanted to share it with you. All that’s missing is the birdsong…
A fascinating look at an unknown—to me, at least — part of Venice.
I thought it might come as a surprise — or modest discovery, anyway — to even the hardest-bitten Venice fan. Glad you liked the little expedition. For a place that’s so near the city, it really does feel like somewhere far away.
I really felt that we were right there in the boat with you, how wonderfully you have documented it! (I wonder if the heron was the Italian cousin of the English one strutting around in my back garden yesterday?)
Thank you yet again, you have a real gift for selecting the really effective image.
I’ve really enjoyed this expedition- and funnily enough, not at all aching from rowing again after all these years since last I did any!
Time for a little drink now, I think, to reflect on it all. Wonderful, yet again.
I hope you feel as good reflecting on it all as I do when we actually go out there. Glad the row didn’t wear you out!
Hi Erla, I was begging to worry about you because you haven’t wrriten in a long while. I am glad to see and read all is well (I hope). I do enjoy your blog and although I read all Donna Leone seeing the real thing is best. Keeep them comming.
Dian
This may be THE most magical post of yours that I have read! Thank you so much for bringing your experiences to me here in Salem, Massachusetts!
I’m glad I could bring you the experiences without having to fly over. I’ll try to keep it going.
How wonderfully you describe everything. Happy swimming!
EZ, Gee, have you ever thought about being a travel writer? Oh, wait. Been there, done that. This was a grand read. Thank you.
Loved this blog, Erla! Was cleaning up my email and discovered I’d missed reading this one. So fun to think of you and Lino taking your morning dips in such a beautiful setting.