Erla Zwingle | Venice: I am not making this up

Watch your back, and your front, and your sides

October 16, 2010 5 Comments

The following message is brought to you by me, your common sense. Have you not heard my voice recently? I’ve missed you too.

It was about 4:30 on Sunday afternoon, October 3 (the date is unimportant, because events of this sort occur all year long — but the factors of Sunday and Afternoon are significant because they are synonymous with “lots of people in a limited space not paying attention”).

“People” as in two American tourists.

“Not paying attention” as in “had 2,400 euros ($3,347.28) in cash and eight credit cards stolen.”

A moment of respectful silence would be appropriate here.

I'm just guessing that this family's cash is not what they're thinking about right now. Though I wouldn't know where to start digging, I have no doubt that a professional would see where to go. — I'm just guessing that their money is not what this family is thinking about right now. I wouldn't have the least idea where to start digging for it, but I'm not a professional.

The reason I want to relate this event to you is not because I assume you’re going to travel with all that cargo, nor is it because it is so unusual. The only thing that makes this story worth telling is not that it happened, but the electrifying amounts involved.

Pickpocketing is by far the most common crime here in the most beautiful city in the world. There could be as many as 200 events a day in high season, usually accomplished not by gypsies with babies who are easy to identify, but by professionals you will never see but who are all too well-known to the police. They even have nicknames.

So, back to October 3. The vaporetto #2 was trundling along the Grand Canal and was coming up to the Accademia stop, an important node where there are typically many, many people getting on and off the waterbuses.

This is a vaporetto on a Thursday afternoon, one stop before "Accademia." It's a beautiful sight to the purloiners. — This is a vaporetto on a mere Thursday afternoon, one stop before "Accademia." It's a beautiful sight to the purloiners.

The vaporetto was, as usual, crammed with people, most of whom are usually thinking about lots of other things (whether they’ll make their train, where to find a bathroom, what to have for dinner, how to get their kid to stop yelling) than the people around them. This is perfect for thieves. In this case, a youngish Rumanian couple.

According to the report in the Gazzettino, they lifted the wallets of the two Americans smoothly and quickly (two crucial elements of the craft), but not sufficiently secretly, because the deed was observed by a few passengers, including — this is a nice bit — an American policeman.

As soon as the vaporetto tied up to the bus-stop dock, the Rumanians fled, but the alarm had already been given, people were running after them, the police were alerted, they sent two boats, and all these people plus two employees (I don’t know what sort) of the transport company managed to nab the crooks.

Seeing that only minutes had passed, the swag was still warm, and was returned in its entirety to its rightful owners.

One wallet contained three credit cards and 1,300 euros ($1,813.11) in cash; the other contained five credit cards and 1,140 euros ($1,589.96) in cash.

Of course you would feel safer if the streets all looked like this. But what fun would that be?

So now my questions shift from the dark imponderables of the life and mind of a pickpocket, to the more vivid imponderables of the two extremely lucky victims. My questions are perhaps also yours: Why would anybody be carrying that much cash? Especially if they’ve got five pounds of credit cards? Or do people with that much money not need to think?

Here’s another thing I wish I knew: Do pickpockets have any idea of how much plunder any particular pocket or bag is likely to hold? I realize that heavy gold jewelry and fistfuls of shopping bags from Ferragamo and Fendi might be pretty good clues. But most of the tourists I see out there are not the Ferragamo/Fendi sort, nor are they bedecked with any accessories more noticeable than a backpack, water bottle, map(s), hats, and anything else needed for a trek across the Empty Quarter. Or do all those tireless Fagins now recognize this get-up as the perfect disguise for people carrying hundreds and hundreds of crisp crackling banknotes?

If I knew any thieves, I’m sure they could explain. But meanwhile I’m left with the urgent desire to flip the switch on a large, blinking, neon WARNING sign for you that says:

Do not carry anything with you out of your hotel room that you would really miss if it suddenly were to be gone.

And don’t think just because you’re not in the Piazza San Marco with a batch of mass tourists that you can’t get stung. A friend of mine from Chicago who travels a lot was visiting and we went to the weekly market on the Lido, a large assemblage of vans selling everything from fresh fruit to buttons to wine-making equipment. Hardly a touristic site, but there were — yes — large numbers of people crammed into small spaces thinking about something else. And her wallet was stolen. (What? She’s no tourist, she’s with me!). So we spent one of her two days here dealing with reports to the carabinieri and phone calls home to work out a cash transfer. Fun.

And don’t think you’re sneakier and smarter and more alert than they are.

And don’t think that there are somehow “safe” zones, the way certain stores are for lost children. A German tourist guide had her wallet stolen while she was with a group. In the basilica of San Marco. (There it is again: Lots of people not paying attention.)

Still, if you were to have your wallet lifted while you’re on a vaporetto, you’d actually be in pretty good shape. Because as soon as you notify the mariner (who ties the boat to the dock at each stop) or the driver, he will stop the boat right there in the middle of the water and call the police. If that had been possible in the case of the two Americans, it would have saved a whole lot of running like crazy.

So let me suggest this, even though I do not want you to come here thinking you’re putting yourself at some appalling risk. Just imagine that your wallet gets stolen in Venice. Then think about what you would be thinking about when you realize it’s gone. You’d be thinking about what you should or shouldn’t have done. So before you go out the door, do or don’t do that.

Now get out there and have a great time.

Boatworld, Events, Venetian-ness, Water

Regata Storica, update du jour

October 11, 2010 No Comments

When last seen, Venetian rowing champions Giampaolo D’Este and his partner, Ivo Redolfi Tezzat, had delivered a document, at the start of the Regata di Burano on September 19, to the mayor and other appropriate officials.

The document protested their having been disqualified halfway through the Regata Storica for infractions of the regulations — including the ephemeral rules of “sportsmanship” — and called for the immediate removal of all the judges and the various committees who administer the realm of racing here.

Goodbye, cruel world. D'Este and Tezzat at Burano prepare to deliver their lightning bolt.

According to the offended parties, and their frenzied fans, something has clearly become so rotten in the entire organization of the races that the only solution is to tear out all the weeds, along with whatever healthy plants (they see none) may also happen to be in the garden, and start over. Presumably replanting the entire garden (to continue the metaphor) with people who are entirely, consistently, unassailably objective. The theory seems to be that anyone answering to this description will be sure to uphold justice, fair play, honesty, rectitude, and to act in their favor. If you know any such people, send their names along.

Their fans have also helped to keep the fire stoked under this cauldron of rage, and the latest contribution, by a so-far anonymous partisan, is the publication on YouTube of parts of some 11 minutes from the first half of the race on the official video of the race, complete with the sound track of the judges’ voices and caustic play-by-play comments printed (in Italian) by someone who makes it clear he is part of the D’Este-Tezzat column.

This video is made from the first judges’ boat during the race, and considering that it’s the property of the city, those who made it are more than a little irritated that it is now out on the web even if technically city property is also public property. In any case, things like this don’t help the general situation.

I do not contribute any comments on anything that was done or not done in the race. I may already have written that I am not taking sides; I don’t care who won. And yes, I am certainly on the side of justice and fair play. I am merely trying to give as complete a picture of the situation as I can.

The latest developments from the turmoil following the aforementioned dramatic denunciation have been two-fold.

First: Not only have D’Este and Tezzat not received any redress for past judicial misdeeds, they now have been formally disqualified from the next two races (the Regata di Mestre and the Regata de la Sensa), which obviously are in next year’s season. Of the seven races open to men of their caliber, this leaves them only five. This is a heavy sentence indeed; usually the Commission has to forbid only one race to make its point.

Naturally this decision has only shown, yet again, the treachery and incompetence of the entire system in the eyes of the plaintiffs. No more documents have been issued so far from the samizdat of the affronted duo.

The Commission has also disallowed the payment to them of the usual “indemnity for training”; in the Burano race it was 198.50 euros ($276.84). Admittedly it is a token sort of payment, a small addition to the equally modest purse allotted to each racer according to his order of finish. But this payment is contingent on the rowers participating in the race, so giving them the indemnity would make no sense at all.

Second: Two of the six men comprising the Technical Commission have resigned. For the record, they are Umberto Sichero and Osvaldo Zucchetta. If a third member, most likely a former champion named Bepi Fongher, follows suit (it is always unclear how his statements and actions are going to match up, though they often don’t come close to each other), the committee will terminate and the Comune will be able to start over (the Comune appoints four members, and the Racers’ Association chooses the other two). So losing half the committee would provide enough of an opening in what appears to be a severely bombarded and weakened wall of credibility and competence to allow some heretofore unfeasible innovations to enter the system.

What next? D’Este-Tezzat have announced that they are giving up racing. Only time will show whether they’re serious, or whether this is just another of those fervent vows racers tend to make under stress, like seamen in a typhoon.

One of many ex-votos promised by sailors in danger. Being saved is nice â€“ fulfilling your vow to publicly thank the Virgin Mary for intervening for you is even nicer. (Museo Storico Navale)

Events, History, Tourism

Venice marathon, ramping up

October 8, 2010 1 Comment

Last week saw the arrival of yet another signal of autumn. It wasn’t the tuffetti, my favorite ducks, though that is an important moment for me. Nor was it the first chestnuts, jujubes, and persimmons appearing in the market. (Ignore the persimmons — it’s too early. These are clearly interlopers from some hothouse.)

It’s the arrival, if you can put it this way, of the mega-ramps constructed over the bridges that stud the route of the Venice Marathon, an event which is always held on the fourth Sunday in October. (For a look at the route, see here.)

Of course it takes longer to go up the ramp than to climb the steps, but there are obviously compensations. Note: The object at the foot of the bridge is a pigeon preparing to land. Obviously wings are better than feet for dealing with bridges, but they're not allowed by marathon rules. — Of course it takes longer to go up the ramp than to climb the steps, but there are obviously compensations. Note: The object at the foot of the bridge is a pigeon preparing to land. Wings are certainly better than feet for dealing with bridges, but they're not allowed by marathon rules.

Perhaps you never thought of Venice as being suitable for a marathon (do they use water wings? Must be one of the oldest jokes around).

No, the magic word for Venice, in the world of runners, isn’t “water,” it’s “bridges.” Specifically, the 11 bridges between the mainland and the finish line way down at the Giardini not far from us. (I don’t include the Ponte della Liberta’, from the mainland to Piazzale Roma, nor the temporary pontoon bridge set up between the Salute and San Marco, because they have no steps and present no special challenge beyond their simple existence.)

I can’t tell you where Venice ranks in the world of marathons (there are 72 marathons in Italy), but thanks to the ramps it’s a great thing for everybody who isn’t a runner — who has trouble walking, or has to schlep a heavy suitcase or shopping cart or child-laden stroller or any object involving wheels, which means just about everybody. The marathon closes after six hours, but here, schlepping is forever.

A view of the last bridge before the finish line, buttressed by its somewhat temporary bridges.

October 24 will be the 25th edition of this event, so there will be a small celebratory change in the route, which for the first and only (they say) time will be detoured straight through the Piazza San Marco. It will obviously be a publicity agent’s dream. If you’re trying to get around the Piazza that morning, it may be somewhat less dream-like. But at least now you know. Make a note also that the vaporetto schedules will be deranged.

Of the 24 Venice marathons to date, seven were won by Italian men, 11 by Italian women. Since the year 2000 it has been pretty much dominated by Ethiopian or Kenyan runners. If you’re a runner, you may already have known, or surmised, this result. I see by the statistics that during these 24 years the elapsed time for the men’s race has shrunk from 2:18’44” to 2:08’13”. A similar drop has occurred among the women. (If you care, the world’s fastest marathon was four minutes shorter: Haile Gebrselassie of Ethiopia holds the record for his finish at the Berlin Marathon in 2008 at 2:03’59”.)

Let me repeat, for us mortals the marathon doesn’t mean glory, it means an annual drop in the Daily Fatigation Factor. Because they leave the bridges up till Carnival is over, which means almost six months of ramps.

Yes, they’re ugly. No, I don’t think it would be great to leave them up all year (at least not this version, though a design for a permanent wheel-friendly modification to some bridges was recently proposed). But when they’re gone, it takes a while to get used to doing steps again.

I know, steps are better for you. So go climb steps somewhere else. Try this: Drag your suitcase from the train station to your hotel at the end of the Strada Nova (four bridges).

And remember, to be really annoying a bridge doesn’t have to have a lot of steps. It just has to be narrow, and steep. There are 409 bridges in Venice, and as soon as you have something heavy and clumsy to carry, even just one will be too many.

The last ramp before the finish line. A vision of heaven to 6,000 runners.

History

Perfect crime? Perfect solution

October 4, 2010 No Comments

I’m having a highly entertaining time these days reading “I Banditi della Repubblica Veneta” (The Bandits of the Venetian Republic) by Pompeo Molmenti, in a copy reprinted in 1898.

“Bandito” literally means “banished.” To be “bandito” was to be sent away, usually forever, dispossessed of much of your property, which had been confiscated by the State, sometimes along with all your titles of nobility, too. It sounds awful, but considering how many people were bandito you’d think it was just part of the regular cost of doing business as a havoc-wreaking, sword-wielding, virgin-despoiling nobleman. Like depreciation on your car.

Venetian justice was tenacious, but sometimes it took more than St. Theodore and his spear to quell the anarchy out there.

Palaces razed in revenge, pitched battles in the streets, including artillery, murders of anyone deemed to be difficult– or even just a teeny tiny bit irritating — such as heirs of rival families, priests, wives, the random innocent bystander, including nursing infants — it was all part of the routine for your ordinary conscience-challenged baron and his squadrons of thugs. Some of the worst characters seem to have made a hobby of collecting decrees of their banishment.

By about page 10 it was incontrovertible that the id was on a permanent rampage across an empire awash in endorphins, a realm in which generations of men (and a couple of outlying women) were born with brains capable of forming only one thought: I want it now.

Unlike many books about the goings-on around here back in the old days, which often retell legends, folk traditions, and assorted other unconfirmed and unconfirmable events, Molmenti has filled his work with footnotes and citations. He was a scholar, and a very fine one.

In other words, he wasn’t making it up either.

So how many bandits were there? Reading Molmenti, you are forced to conclude that it was just about every male over the age of 18 months born into a noble family outside the city limits of Venice. Life in the Venetian Republic was far less organized, cool, or calm than some histories might lead us to believe. I, for one, was happily led for quite a while — till I discovered this book, in fact — to think that the Rule of Law here, as enforced by its many enforcers, had created a realm in which human nature willingly renounced its baser tendencies in order to create a Better World and Life for Everybody.

But how wrong I was about human nature, at least in Venice, could be summarized by Lino’s occasional comment: “If somebody stole something, they cut off their hand,” he says. “People went on stealing anyway.”

The archangel Gabriel is also vigilant, from his vantage point atop the campanile of San Marco.

Every once in a while, though, something would happen that, in its own odd way, showed that laws were in fact alive and well and functioning in Venice. Here is my new favorite story (according to Molmenti). Not much blood, but I can tell you another story with plenty of plasma another time.

Here goes:

In 1638 a gentleman was killed, and nobody could find the murderer. The search was vast, as was the promise of 4,000 ducats to whoever found the guilty party.

After many years, a penitent presented himself to the rector of the church of San Marco, and in the secrecy of the confessional revealed himself to be the forgotten murderer.

The priest, remembering the large reward promised to whoever discovered the perpetrator, conceived a nefarious plan, and dismissing the penitent without having given him absolution due to the enormity of the sin, told him to come back another time.

After a few days, when the assassin, tormented by remorse, returned to ask for pardon, prostrate before the minister of God, the wicked priest hid the sacristan in a closet next to the confessional, able to gather all the details and circumstances of the deed and then reveal them to the State Inquisitor.

A typical cell in the Venetian prisons. A place like this would certainly inspire you to rethink the whole matter, step by step. (Photo: Musei Civici)

The assassin, immediately arrested and condemned to the gallows, seemed to be prepared for his punishment, but not without having expressed to the friar who was assisting him and to the prison guards his amazement that the Inquisitors knew the particulars of the crime down to the smallest detail, which he had revealed only to the rector of San Marco in the secrecy of the confessional.

His comments were reported to the Supreme Court, and his sentence was immediately suspended.

The priest was brought in, and confessed under torture his ignoble sacrilege [knowing he was going to go to hell wasn’t enough of an incentive to make him confess?], and he was beheaded.

The assassin, on the other hand, was released from prison, and seeing that the discoverer of the crime was also its perpetrator, he was given half of the reward [Caramba, not only am I alive, not only am I free, now I’ve got 2,000 ducats I didn’t have yesterday].

And he was instructed to abandon Venetian territory forever. [Watch me go.]

You looking for justice? Here it is, served up in a jumbo-size package: The assassin is identified (check), another crime is discovered (check) as well as its cassock-clad perpetrator (this is getting good). The guiltiest of the guilty walks the green mile while the formerly — well, still — guilty murderer gets a prize and goes free.

Bonus: The Venetian State saves 2,000 ducats.

Extra bonus: Pretty clever assassin, really, going to confess his crime to a priest. That way he managed to remove the sin from his cosmic account without having to suffer any unpleasant blowback from the Venetian government. True, it didn’t work out like he planned. It worked out even better.

Let me know if I’ve missed any morsel in this cassoulet of crime. It’s pretty tasty.

Venice promoted and publicized itself as a city where everything was under control, and peace and order reigned. Beyond the lagoon, though, it was a different story. — Venice publicized itself as the Most Serene Republic. Beyond the lagoon it was a different story.