Category: Boatworld

rowing for peace?

April 10, 2024 12 Comments

The 38 boats at the starting line stretched across most of the Giudecca Canal between the Maritime Zone and Sacca Fisola. (City of Venice, uncredited photo)

Last Sunday morning was special: Several very different events were rolled into one efficient package, and the sun came out and burned off the mist, and also there were leftovers.

The amalgamated elements were: A Venetian-rowing race, a deft promotion of the next Winter Olympics, and an appeal for world peace that was ingeniously linked to the preceding two. And there was food — oh, right. I already mentioned that.

The prize- and speechgiving stand being prepared Sunday morning in the area by the basilica of the Madonna della Salute. Several people are attaching the pennants for the first four boats to finish to their respective little metal sticks.

The race is called the “regata of the 50 caorlinas” to indicate the type and number of the boats involved. Allow me a bit of backstory to help you appreciate it more fully.

Some years ago (I’m estimating as many as 15), there was formed a type of consortium of the local rowing clubs called the Coordinamento Associazioni Remiere della Voga alla Veneta (Coordination of the Venetian Rowing Associations). The consortium still exists in a suspended-animation sort of way, but while it was young and glowing it organized an annual boat festival and race on Saint Andrew’s Day (Nov. 30, as you know) because Andrew is the patron saint of boatwrights, among many other things.

Almost all of the rowing clubs have at least one caorlina — a trusty boat created generations ago for lugging cargo around — and it’s very useful for fun because six people can row it even if they aren’t all at any particular level of skill. It’s a social sort of thing.

The rowing group of the railway’s after-work sports club was looking fine. As you see, height is no handicap — or, barring extremes, advantage — in rowing. And speaking of work, to their starboard is a four-oar sandolo rowed by members of the Generali Insurance company, out to cheer on or loudly denigrate their team.

So for a few years this race was a great occasion for everybody to just throw themselves into the scrum. Your correspondent participated in one edition and our little crew was quite the mixed bag. I can’t remember our position at the finish — we were pretty far back. Maybe we’re still rowing. Your correspondent also participated for several years in the clubhouse kitchen, preparing and slinging vast amounts of pasta at the ravenous rowers and their relatives and friends afterward. The fame of this little jamboree spread across the Venetian-rowing world, so crews came from Cremona and Florence and Milan and Pavia, and so on. That’s how the number of participating boats rose to a mighty 50. If there was a party for just us rowers, that was it.

The last edition was held in 2018. Then Covid and the lockdown and many other things happened, and no more festa until now. And why now, considering that St. Andrew is on vacation in the month of April? Because April 6 was designated by the United Nations as the International Day of Sport for Development and Peace. And so once again, Venice provides the perfect setting for initiatives or ceremonies that have little, if anything, to do with it.

I’m thinking back to the years when one of the more active and public members of the Coordinamento was vehement in his opposition to traditional rowing events being exploited for touristic or other purposes of promotion. He would shout “We’re not figuranti!” (the costumed performers who parade in period dress to enliven certain events or ceremonies).

But here, in the fullness of time, it appears that what was once something truly local, that had nothing to do with anything but its participants, was suddenly the perfect way to draw attention to other things that have nothing to do with the city or its people. This, without a squeak from the former paladin of Venetian-ness. They like to say that Venice is the world city of peace, but I think it’s more like the world city of irony. But let’s get back to the events.

This brings us to the second element: Sport. Not Venetian rowing, per se, but the 2026 Winter Olympics. The venues will be divided between two regions — Lombardy and Veneto — and naturally Cortina d’Ampezzo, the Pearl of the Dolomites, represents the Veneto. Cortina is arguably one of the most famous names in winter sports, having hosted the winter Olympics in 1956. So Sunday’s race was an extra-Venetian way of publicizing the Olympics, and also — did you notice? — the Veneto Region. It was a match made, if not in heaven, certainly in many offices, bars and restaurants.

It took me more time than it should have to decipher the ultra-designed emblem. The Veneto is identified as “host region,” and the two star cities, as you see, are Milano Cortina. The three-swirl symbol on the right is for the Paralympics.

Third and final element: Peace. We all need it and want it, and the Olympics were a fine reason to ask Antonio Silvio Calo’, president of the Fondazione Venezia per la Ricerca sulla Pace (Venice Foundation for Research on Peace) for his thoughts on the subject.

Bonus points: The regional councilor for sport, Cristiano Corazzari, drew our attention to the “Ancient memory of the ‘Olympic truce,’ that it should continue to be the central theme to evoke the profound value of the Olympics.” If the long jump and the luge can promote peace, I say let’s extend the Olympic truce for the next 250 years.

Fun fact: The sacred truce did not put a stop to all warfare, only to conflicts which hindered the games. (Always check the fine print before signing anything, especially a truce.) The truce protected travelers on their way to the sanctuary and only forbade military operations against and by the organizing city. But even this truce was breakable. In 420 BC, the Spartans were excluded from the Olympic games because they had attacked a part of the Elean territory. In 364 BC, Arcadian soldiers even attacked the holy domain of Olympia during the games. So seek it as you will, peace appears to remain an elusive and fickle ideal.

Back to Venice. Boats, Olympics, and peace got wrapped up together, and then we ate bigoli in salsa and went home. The caorlinas and their rowers went home, the Olympics went back to the offices and the construction sites, and peace is yet to be found. If only we could remember where we put it the last time we used it.

Some members of the Bucintoro club came out on their six-oar gondola to watch the proceedings. Anything on the water looks better when seen from something on the water.

The gondolas that are usually tied up here are either at work or have been sent elsewhere for the morning. Thirty-eight caorlinas have to find somewhere to dock.

Several clubs sent more than one boat. The orange-and-blue rowers from the Voga Veneta Mestre were out in force.

Ditto the hardy members of Voga Veneta Lido, who rowed not only their own two caorlinas but borrowed one of the city’s set used for official races.

The Canottieri Mestre, green and white, sent their best.

The Olympics mascots were bouncing around. Tina (Cortina) on the left represents the full-bore Olympics. Milo (Milano) on the right stands for the Paralympics. As you can somewhat see, his tail and right foot are not like hers. The story is that he was born with only three legs, and has learned to use his tail instead to help him walk. His motto: “Obstacles are trampolines.”

A slightly better look at Milo’s right foot. The normal right foot of the costume has been covered by the end of the tail, which is looped around the foot. The animals are stoats, otherwise known as ermines. I haven’t discovered why they were chosen, but I’m sure there’s some significance somewhere.

Finally the refreshments. In a departure from the usual vats and cauldrons and countless plastic plates, the Art & Food Group catering organized portions of bigoli in salsa — one of the most basic and primordial Venetian dishes — neatly boxed in recyclable and/or compostable materials. Incredibly efficient. The leftovers were sent, it was said, to the Emporio della Solidarieta’, a type of local food bank and assistance organization.

If you’re in the mood to live the race, here goes. The race itself begins at about 6:00.

Boatworld

A stroll in the Grand Canal

April 27, 2021 12 Comments

Let me set the scene: Below is a glimpse of a typical high-season day in the Venice of yore. Till last year, high season had spread across most of the calendar.

Just a brief refresher on what “normal” used to look like on any summer morning.

A late-summer afternoon in 2016. When I made this photograph I was concentrating on the gondolino — I was so accustomed to the traffic that only later did I notice how much there was. Does it seem like there are more taxis every year? That’s because until 2020, there were more every year. An undated overview of unscheduled water transport (i.e., not vaporettos) listed 271 taxis and 158 tourist launches.

I’m not sure why Tony Catanzaro decided to give this student a rowing lesson in the maelstrom of the bacino of San Marco, and I’ll never know if she ever came back for another one. But if you’re going to row around here, you have to find a way to deal with all this. It’s like those jungle survival courses.

Enormous tracts of Venetian water are essentially off limits to anyone rowing, unless they know how to handle the waves. It may be counterintuitive, but summer is the worst season of all for going out in a boat with oars. One can certainly renounce rowing. But when one suddenly finds the city floating in what amounts to a millpond, the way it has been for a year or so, it’s like a paper-thin silver lining to the rest of life.

Let me state that there is nothing good about the pandemic, so don’t think what I’m about to say is to be taken as positive. Except that in its tiny little way, it is.

Over the past months, the daily armies of motorized boats of all shapes and purposes and horsepowerage roaring around everywhere — particularly in the Grand Canal — have made a forced retreat. This is bad (see above), but the side effect has been a Grand Canal liberated from the appalling turmoil that had long since become normal.

Note: Barges and their cousins are still at work, but what are missing are the approximately 39,210,443 taxis and tourist launches that had claimed the waterways as their own.

Result: Space, tranquility, and calm water for Venetian boats to return to their native habitat, which they have been doing on Saturday and Sunday mornings. Perhaps also at other times, but I’m not there to see them.

So for anyone who might want to breathe the atmosphere of a watercourse that has been unintentionally restored to many Venetians who had been effectively banished for years, here are some views of our Sunday morning row in our own little boat a week ago. There were even more on Saturday, because boaty people like to go to the Rialto market, but Sundays had long since been taken over by herds of taxis thundering along one of the world’s most beautiful streets like the migration of the wildebeest in the Serengeti.

Here are some glimpses of what the Grand Canal looks like when there are more Venetians than anybody else. Enjoy it, because yesterday the Great Reopening began here, and we may have seen the last of this.

Hark! Is that a boat I see on the horizon?

Yes indeed it is, a sandolo rowed by three friends from the DLF Sport Mare rowing club. Odd numbers of rowers are not ideal in Venetian rowing, but maybe somebody couldn’t make it. Or wasn’t invited. Or maybe they just like it this way, because we saw them two days ago as well.

Approaching on the left is a pupparino from the Remiera Canottieri Cannaregio rowing club, while lurking along the right side of the canal is a sandolo from the Associazione Canottieri Giudecca. Surprising how many clubs have chosen red and white as their colors, though the reds vary. Even from this distance you’d never confuse the bordeaux tint here with the fire-engine red (not shown here) of the Unione Sportiva Remiera Francescana (full disclosure: we’re members).

Slipping up behind us is a mascareta from the Reale Societa Canottieri Francesco Querini.

I don’t exactly know the man in the bow, but I have had a little run-in with him and it appears that almost every boating person in Venice has encountered him at some point. Let’s just say he can be difficult. (Also, he likes to video his excursions; note the video cameras set up on the bow and stern of the boat.) Still, he was in a great mood and not only said hello as they went past, but called his partner to execute an alzaremi for us. Too bad their oars weren’t synchronized, and neither was I in time with my camera. But the intention was very nice.

Hark! We meet again. It’s the three from the DLF Sport Mare, heading upstream on their way back to their boathouse.

DLF Sport Mare was previously known simply as the “DLF,” Dopo Lavoro Ferroviario, the Railway Workers After-Work club. Their boathouse is up behind the railway station, of course.

A private s’ciopon being rowed “a la valesana,” with two oars per rower. The man astern is the former president of the Reale Societa’ Canottieri Bucintoro rowing club.

Coming up fast on the inside rail, so to speak, is a gondolino, also from the Bucintoro.

This is a hard boat to row in the throes of the usual Cape Horn waves around Venice, but with water like this it’s really fun.

Another mascareta, this time from the Remiera Ponte dei Sartori, has slid down the Cannaregio Canal and has turned left into the Grand Canal. Seems like everybody had the same idea this morning and I felt somehow that everyone belonged, because of course they do.

The compatriots again. Usually people row to the end of the Grand Canal and back up it again, or go home another way. It just depends on many factors ranging from the weather, the tide, how much time you’ve got for this, maybe what’s for lunch (rush home, or take the long way back….).

Querini club again. Great to see so many people out today.

Two mascaretas from the Gruppo Sportivo Voga Veneta Mestre club, on the edge of the lagoon at the end of the bridge to the mainland. They are indefatigable, especially on Saturday when batches of them row to the Rialto to check out the fish.

We went home by the back roads, so to speak, and found that some gondoliers were making the most of the lack of traffic to help their aspiring students practice rowing. On the gondola hiding just behind the corner was another gondolier with beginner aboard.

So we have swung between two extremes — the old days entailed lots of work and craziness and also hugely damaging motondoso, then the pandemic period was marked by no work, no craziness, lots of people with no money. But I will whisper this: I never would have thought I’d have the chance to feel that the city returned somehow to its origins, and it has been beyond wonderful. Whether some middle ground between the two extremes can be found will be clear only when the pandemic is well and truly over.

Boatworld

The gondola and Roberto Dei Rossi

November 26, 2020 21 Comments

Roberto Dei Rossi has been making gondolas for 40 years, one of only four men in Venice capable of this feat.

Yes indeed, it has been several eternities since I have scribbled a post — though I have written many in my mind, as I watched the pages fall off the calendar and blow away in the wind, etc. etc.

I was entangled in the finishing (“ultimating,” in Italian, which is so cool. They can make verbs out of anything.) of a large and very long-drawn-out project of researching and writing an article on the gondola, and more specifically about Roberto Dei Rossi, who makes them. I started the research in February, 2019, and there were many stops along the way, especially that long one during the three-month lockdown from March to May. The story is now online at “Craftsmanship” magazine.

I’m hoping to get back in the groove now with my blog, for any of you who may still be out there waiting to read….

Venice, Gondolas, and Black Magic

The gondola’s fundamental secret is its asymmetry. The boat isn’t straight, but that’s what makes it go straight when rowed by one oar. Note: Not paddle, not pole, but an oar.

The basic ribs of the gondola, made of three pieces of wood, reveal the inherent shape. The straight bottom piece is made of oak, the side pieces are elm.

The gondola is built from the inside out; what look like the boat’s sides are temporary pieces (“serci”) that resist the pressure of construction until it’s time for the permanent sides to be attached.

It is not falling over. This is the gondola at rest and it’s built this way to make it easier to maneuver through the narrow canals and even to turn on its own axis without any headway (the only boat that can do this).

Most rowing clubs have at least one gondola. This view of a gondola returning to the Remiera Francescana clearly shows the boat’s asymmetry.

Certainly there are standard measurements, but the work is done largely by eye, followed by fingers and experience. You will never be able to build a gondola by working merely from a plan; there are too many adjustments to be made and these are only discovered by practice.

Of course he knows exactly what he’s looking at and either seeing or not seeing. Some infinitesimal change may be at hand; I never asked while he was working. We’d still be there, a year later, if he were to have stopped every time I wanted to know something.

He could have all the tools that were ever made, but this folding metal measuring stick is the one that really counts.

I almost never saw him wearing glasses. It began to obsess me.

It’s strenuous with power tools? It was even harder without them, especially when gondolas were always built with planks of wood instead of marine plywood. Still, a day here can easily wear you out.

Or maybe suffocate you a little, from time to time.

The inner surfaces are now full of the points of screws. Well, it’s inside, you may think, what difference does it make?

It makes enough of a difference that he has to spend some time now cutting off each point, one by one.

Eight different kinds of wood are used to make a gondola.

Dei Rossi doesn’t carve the decoration; a master carver executes the designs according to the gondolier’s request.

Of course he’s happy — after two months of work, the next new gondola is about to be launched.

Boatworld

Boats and saints

July 4, 2020 5 Comments

Last Sunday was an unusually entertaining day. It wasn’t as entertaining as the last Sunday of June typically is, coming at the culmination of five days of festivizing at San Pietro di Castello in honor of the church’s namesake. But by the time the day was over there had been more diversion than I’d expected.

Let’s start with the festa for Saint Peter. This year — you know what’s coming — The Virus made it impossible to host the usual large and lively crowds, or execute the expected entertainment and the feeding of at least five thousand. (Yes, bread and fish are always on the menu, among other things.)

This is the way the festival always looks, give or take a colored spotlight or two. Five evenings straight, going full blast until midnight. We can hear the music from our house, and we’re not exactly next door. Depending on the direction of the wind, we can also get wafts of hot greasy things. This year, nothing.

A lot of people always came from all around Venice, and maybe the mainland too. So technically you could call them “tourists,” though they generally seemed unforeign. I wish I’d paid more attention to the little boy in the center of the image, who I now see was attempting to climb the large trash-collection bin. I’d like to have known how that came out. I don’t recall any ambulances. Those were great years.

But nobody said we couldn’t have the festal mass, complete with the Patriarch of Venice on his annual visit. Chairs were set up outside in the campo, correctly distanced, and although the usual supporting players were few (a couple of selected Scouts instead of a whole troop, four trumpeters instead of the band from Sant’ Erasmo), or even non-existent (no Cavalieri di San Marco in their sweeping mantles — soooo hot but sooooo well worth it, I’m sure they believe), there was a fine gathering of the faithful.

And may I say that seeing each other without being separated by layers of tourists has been, and continues to be, a noticeably positive aspect of the quarantine and aftermath. More about that another time. But back to the service.

As the Patriarch pointed out in his sermon, the religious aspect is the one essential element of the occasion. He didn’t specifically say “Don’t feel mournful because there were no barbecued ribs and polenta and live music and horsing around for hours with your friends and the mosquitoes,” though I’m sure he knew that’s what people were missing. At least they came for him.

To review: This was the traditional festa:

It’s a bigger campo than most, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be the person responsible for enforcing social distancing on this mob.

And this was the setup for mass, the only event of the entire festival. Down to the essentials, indeed.

The temporary platform/altar arrangement was very efficient. The backdrop is the Patriarch’s coat of arms, worked by the tireless fingers of the group “Un Filo che Riunisce” (A Thread that Brings Together).

Just a refresher: The crossed-key motif symbolizes Saint Peter.

Except for a few places in the design that called for more complicated handiwork, the fundamental element appeared to be potholders. Sorry if that seems disrespectful.

Last year’s festa was the first exhibition of the handiwork by “Un Filo che Riunisce” was this arrangement of — if not potholders, then squares to compose some titanic afghan. The components were sold for a few euros each to benefit the pediatric department of the Ospedale Civile, or city hospital, in Venice.

They struck again last Christmas, with this creation in via Garibaldi. The group, a crocheting class, was formed in January of 2019 at the Salesian convent in calle San Domenico. The idea was to create something big out of many small pieces. I like the metaphor, and it certainly cheered up the December night.

The arrival of the Patriarch aboard an elegant balotina is always a great moment (made beautiful as much by the balotina as the passenger, sorry). This year the Remiera Casteo launched the fleet — I’ve never seen that many boats from the club accompanying the guest of honor. The caorlina carried four trumpeters, the ones usually seen blasting from the bow of the bissona at the head of the corteo for the festa de la Sensa. I love the band from Sant’ Erasmo, but these were better, partly because ceremonial fanfares are fabulous in themselves, and because they came under oar-power. I can tell you from experience that following the motor-barge that carries the band means that you spend 45 minutes inhaling diesel exhaust, so it’s basically like rowing the Patriarch behind an 18-wheeler on the interstate. Not very poetic.

Behold the brass section. They sounded as good as they look.

Here the eye moves from the boat and its passengers to the dock onto which the passengers must alight (if one can use that word for a maneuver coming from so far below the objective). Hmmm….

The job description for Patriarch of Venice ought to include “Boats, ability to climb into and out of.” His Eminence Francesco Moraglia has always shown remarkable aplomb in nautical moments that have every potential for disaster. Perhaps being born in Genoa and former bishop of La Spezia, site of an important naval base, has had some effect.

Nothing easier. And he’s always quite conscientious about showing appreciation to the crew.

A squirt of the semi-obligatory hand sanitizer, then on to greeting the notables, beginning with the woman representing the city government bedecked with the colors of the national flag. As you see, masks are not obligatory because we are all outside. But many people are still taking the safe route.

Assorted greetings follow, in this case to a divisional general of the Guardia di Finanza, as he walks toward the church, where he will add some garb and prepare for the mass.

Four priests administered communion from various positions around the area; they were easy to find by a white umbrella held aloft by a Scout.

And then it was time to take everything down.

Some of these ladies may have cataracts and any other sort of visual problem, but there is at least one who still manages to miss nothing. What is she looking at? She, and nobody else?

A batch of balloons has broken free. Up and away… Of course I have no idea where they’re going, but as for me, I’m off to the races this afternoon.

Sunday afternoon it was time to segue from the sublime to the secular. Every year, on the last Sunday in June, the city of Venice organizes two races in honor of Saints Giovanni and Paolo. The reason it isn’t called the race of Saint Peter is because it is held in the water between Murano and the Fondamente Nove, and the finish line is in front of the hospital, which is on the campo SS. Giovanni e Paolo.

The first race involves pairs of men on a boat called a pupparino; the second race is for young men up to age 25, rowing solo on gondolas. Sound simple? Of course it is, as long as everything goes well.

But sometimes it doesn’t…..

For both races, the starting line is in front of Murano; the race then follows the path indicated here, and the finish line is in front of the hospital. Until this year, the gondolas lined up in the canal in front of the campo SS. Giovanni e Paolo for a blessing. Hence the name of the regata is the two saints, and not “race of the City Hospital.” That would always sound sketchy, but these days it would be inconceivable.

The men on pupparinos go first, and go they certainly did. I’m usually watching from the shore, but this time I was able to follow the race on a friend’s motorboat.

The men on pupparinos are off to a fast start, leaving Murano behind to the left and heading west past the cemetery toward Sant’ Alvise and the first turn. All the boats, regardless of type, are painted these colors and yes, the two boats in the lead (orange and green) have made an impressive start. They will pretty much run their own race and finish first and second respectively. The real race is what transpired in the scrum following them.

This is what we like to see — the boats strung out in an orderly line. Except there are a few issues lurking in the lineup. Green has left the group and gone left, hoping to find some advantage in the tide (problem: it will soon have to rejoin the group at the first turn). And there is the pink boat, side by side with white. I foresee problems because boats arriving at the turn side by side — especially the boat on the inside — are inevitably going to be facing consequences.

The plot is rapidly thickening here as the boats try to get into the best position (as defined by each one) for rounding the first turn, anticlockwise around a piling.

It’s enough just to look at the race judge with the loudspeaker to realize that things are not going well. Orange has turned and is clean away; blue has just completed its turn, and green has rejoined the pack in third position. But blue made its turn very close to the piling in order to prevent green from having space to turn (a maneuver that is forbidden for reasons which are already obvious. The judge would have been justified in disqualifying blue right there, but events have gotten out of control). So green is now destined to run into the blue boat — destined also by the decision of its stern rower not to swing wide at the last second, which he could have done. Meanwhile….

Why is blue still here? It should already be gone, but its calculations went a little screwy and instead it is now stuck, grappling with green, and white and pink are both coming up at high speed to make the turn with two boats essentially standing still in front of them. Pink was gambling on having room to turn from the inside, even though the rules prohibit putting yourself between the piling and another boat, for reasons which are already obvious. White could have swung wide here, but for some reason decided not to (probably it doesn’t want to lose time), and right about now they both realize that they have no room at all to avoid the pile-up. An expert later explained that blue had probably deliberately made the turn closer to the piling than is permitted in the hope of preventing the following boat to sneak past on the inside (also forbidden). Everybody’s supposed to leave room for at least minimal functioning, but blue decided otherwise. And so, as the expression now goes, here we are.

Purple and yellow have cut their losses by swinging wide; they lose some seconds of time but at least they can maneuver. White and pink are still stuck inside, trapped by green and white, and now we have brown coming up on the inside, stuck between the piling and yellow. Blue has managed to disengage itself and accelerated, speeding away and leaving everybody to deal with the effects of its little duel with green. Looking good? There’s still plenty of race to go….

Yellow and purple are fleeing, while brown is trying to stop the boat to avoid running into pink; pink is sitting there because white and green can’t move. Everyone’s so close there’s no room to work their oars.

The stern rower on pink has actually reached down and is grabbing the metal point on brown’s bow to keep it from colliding. You can understand the instinct, but it is totally forbidden to touch your adversary’s boat. So pink could have been disqualified here, but too much is going on. Blue, bless its heart, probably thinks the day is won and is already envisioning that beautiful white pennant for second place. But the race is far from over.

Things are starting to look a little better for everybody except for red, who is now hurtling into the mix. But red manages to make it around without incident, and so everybody’s back on track. Yellow and purple, out of the frame at the moment, are turning around to get back into contention. Orange is so far in the lead by now he must be wondering where everybody went.

Well, that was exciting. Now back to normal, here in the back half of the race.

Now what? For some reason the blue boat (remember those few seconds when it seemed like it was zooming away? The other boats have caught up) has swerved off its trajectory right into white’s path. The usual term is either “losing” the boat or the boat has “fallen.” You might do it on purpose and pretend it was an accident if you’re willing to sacrifice yourself for the sake of eliminating your rival, but it’s a risk and I’m not saying that happened here because blue had plenty of space to race. It could be that white got too close to blue and ran over blue’s oar (forbidden!!), a contact that renders the victim helpless, as you see here.

Blue is now trying to get moving again as white speeds away. Blue’s race seems to not be following whatever wonderful plan was implied at the fateful turn. So blue decides to chance its arm by abandoning this flight path, to so speak, and heads across the channel to the right to seek some better current (or fewer adversaries).

As you see, blue has disappeared, and now we have a delightfully orderly line of boats. This is refreshing, we haven’t seen this for quite a while. Think I’ll look back at what’s happening with the last boats.

Excuse me? Yellow has completely stopped because his partner in the bow has collapsed.

And he’s staying collapsed, too. Meanwhile, the show — I mean race — must go on. I would never presume to know what goes through racers’ minds, but I’d be willing to bet that after “Holy yikes!” some version of “One less boat!” has flitted through their brains. No real worries, because the judges’ boat is right there.

There is always an ambulance nearby — the race can’t be held without one. So help is at hand (and the man was resuscitated, though they didn’t finish the race).

So that’s taken care of. How are things going with the race up ahead? The last three boats have peeled off to the right, seeking some advantage with the tide that will put them ahead of the rest of the boats along the line of pilings to the left. I see blue in the lead, followed by purple and red.

But wait! Why is purple suddenly heading toward the embankment — or more precisely, toward the red boat?

Purple has lost control, has run into red, and they’re both heading straight toward the ponderous white vaporetto moored at the dock. (Ignore the blue motorboat — it’s not dangerously close.)

It’s every man for himself. Red swerved right to avoid hitting the white vaporetto, purple managed somehow to swerve left (hidden by the vaporetto), and blue continued on its merry way.

But never say die, they’re still in the race.

We didn’t follow the race beyond this point, but waited near the finish line. The judge’s dock, with the blue awning and gonfalone of San Marco, is moored to the fondamenta on the right.

The anarchy of the after-race half-hour is almost as entertaining as the anarchy of everything else. The mix of boats, people, relatives, and racers in various states of anger or joy is pretty entertaining. Center stage here is a pupparino from the rowing club of the DLF, or Dopolavoro Ferroviario, the after-work sports club of railway workers. Coming to see a race is just as good an excuse for amateur rowers to come out on a sunny Sunday afternoon as it is for the families in motorboats.

Speaking of families (or people, anyway) in motorboats, you get used to the fact that everybody in a motorboat is a fan of rowing. I know. Crazy.

The rule — not always observed — is that motorboats aren’t allowed to get out ahead of the race and create waves that would disturb the first boats in the race. The second through ninth boats have to deal with whatever waves come their way. Yes, I freely recognize that I too am in a motorboat.

If it floats and has a motor, you’ll probably find it at the races. Here we have a better-than-usual assortment of spectator boats.

This is the quintessential summer-Sunday-in-lagoon boat: A classic wooden sampierota (could be rowed, or even sailed with the right rigging), with a tiny motor and lightly toasted family and friends of various shapes and ages. There’s a cooler (extra points) but no baby or dog (points subtracted). You could easily see all this on a shiny plastic motorboat, but it wouldn’t be this beautiful.

If anyone is interested, here are the results of the race of the men on pupparinos, from first to last: Orange, green, pink, white, brown, blue, purple, red. (Yellow withdrew, obviously.)

As for the race of the young men on gondolas, I have no strength left to report on it or anything else. Happily, there is nothing noteworthy to report. It seems that the day’s double-ration of drama was expended completely on the first race.

Now I’m going to lie down for a while.

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