In my last post I mentioned the various physical effects of the Redentore festivizing, but I forgot to mention the nautical manifestations of Redentore Syndrome. A new one turned up on the Morning After (Sunday).
You should know that by now a large percentage — I’d guess around 97 per cent — of the boats which come to watch the fireworks are not carrying Venetians. By this I don’t mean to say that Venetians don’t come (though an informal survey reveals that they are fewer each year), nor do I mean that Venetians only come in boats with oars, because, there too, the number is dwindling. Certainly some Venetians come in their motor- or sailboats. But, at least in our neighborhood, people either watch from the fondamenta, as we do, or don’t go at all. (Giorgio was asleep upstairs by 9:30.) A wander around the zone revealed that the majority of the partyers are from elsewhere — foreigners on vacation, or people from the hinterland in every direction, from Chioggia to Treviso to Padova to points beyond. Many of them do not have a deep experience of boats, as I can confirm from seeing them around the lagoon.
The lagoon as seen by the innumerable people who come to zoom around for the day or, in the current case, the night. Notice the lack of waves, pilings, current, barges, taxis, ambulances, fire-department boats, vaporettos, houseboats, or any other potential hazard. One of our more hilarious memories was the Redentore years ago when the man in the big motorboat two boats over from ours spent the entire evening trying to set his anchor. He kept throwing it, it kept coming loose. The last time he threw it, he fell in. It really was better than the fireworks. (Photo: Maksim Kostenko/Fotolia)
In any case, here is the latest exhibit in that category. What I will never know is whether it was the boat’s owner, or some kindly soul full of good intentions where experience ought to be, who tied it up in this eccentric manner. It’s kind of adorable.
The first funny thing is that this boat is exactly across the canal from the strangled boat of last year. Is this the first landfall certain people manage to make when leaving the scene of the fireworks? Because I can almost promise you they don’t live around here. Being positive, though, we can all be glad that the boat is, indeed, immobilized in some way, and not out there roaming around like the Flying Dutchman.The knot on the boat itself comes from “The Sailor’s Guide to Super-Secure Knots to Make in the Dark While Drunk” (probably). Three thousand turns of a line does not necessarily guarantee that it will stay tied. I speak from experience (though in my experience I was neither drunk, nor was it dark). So I’m guessing this is where the line will give way if a storm strikes.Apparently the person gave up on this incomprehensible knot — good decision — and just draped it atop the stanchion. I’m still trying to decide if this is a genius idea because I guess it would hold pretty well. But I can’t figure out if the knot came first and the loop was just a desperate way to make it useful.Graceful. I like the way it was passed behind one support and through another. This person has an artistic soul, because this couldn’t have been done by chance.And around the boat’s snout. It doesn’t look terribly secure, but the person was doing his/her/their best to cover all the important points. I can hear the Captain’s voice now: “‘Avast, and belay there with a double turn, goodman host.” (The Knight of the Golden Melice).Lino was briefly amused by the photo and the ingenious mooring. As for who or what might have been responsible, his remark was even briefer: “All you have to do is look at the cap,” he said, “and you know everything you need to know.”
By now all the world knows — the world that reads this blog — that the feast of the Redentore is a huge event here, and has been for 441 years, counting this year.
The food, the fireworks, the votive bridge, the races, the church — it’s all fabulous. Confirmed by the pharmacist dryly this morning, “Tomorrow everyone will be in here with headaches, with stomach-aches, with everything-aches…”.
But yesterday I got an unexpected glimpse behind the curtain, as it were. The fireworks staging area was in full cry, making the most of the area at the farthest corner of the Arsenale that has been walled-off for eventual repairs to bits of MOSE.
As the 5.2 vaporetto left the Bacini stop behind, heading toward the Lido, I took a quick series of photos of the panoply of preparation:
Heading east…What ho — we have company.Floating platforms are awaiting loads of fireworks, brought here in trucks on other floating platforms, like the grocery trucks that resupply the supermarkets.Everything that’s being unloaded atop the wall is going to be transferred to its position in the regiment destined to be exploded tonight.This is roughly what “the rockets’ red glare” looks like when it’s at home.It’s hard to believe all those explosives fit into those few trucks. I’m sure there’s an explanation. Probably “One hundred deliveries” covers it.Perhaps this is what retired bomb-squad experts do as extra work. And an unintended but very willing shout-out to the “Parente Fireworks” escadrille. Many of the greatest names in pyrotechnics are Italian: Grucci, Zambelli….. We’ll see how the Parente group compares.Just like the old song, “Love and marriage…horse and carriage…” we have “fireworks and watermelon.” You can eat watermelon whenever you want, but if you don’t have it tonight … well, I don’t know what would happen. Maybe the fireworks wouldn’t go off.
Everyone knows that 33 days ago (June 2, for the record) a cruise ship named the MSC “Opera” ran into the dock at San Basilio and delivered a glancing blow to a smaller ship moored there, and a mighty thwack to the dock itself. The video of the event created quite the sensation, though probably nothing near the sensation experienced by crew and passengers.
Not an accepted position for mooring in Venice. (Photo: ANSA)
Many people were horrified but, as you might imagine, the “No Big Ships” contingent was ecstatic. Whatever your emotions, for those few seconds it appeared that the end of the world had come. Abundant photos and a video are to be found here.
Technicians swarmed the ship, examining every valve and screw; statements were taken, legal documents were launched, apologies and reimbursements rained down upon the passengers. The proximate cause of the incident was the breaking of the bow tugboat’s line to the ship as it struggled to slow the ship’s speed. But it seems that something was amiss with the engine; an official of a tugboat company explained to France 24 that “The engine was blocked, but with its thrust on, because the speed was increasing.”
According to Mr. James Walker, a Miami-based maritime lawyer and cruise safety advocate, “Cruise ships typically have redundant power systems; however, it is not possible for a secondary power source to immediately or instantaneously activate in time to avert an accident like this,” noting there was nothing the captain could have done to avoid the collision.
One factor that I haven’t seen mentioned anywhere amid all the technical details of the ship was the tide. Anyone who was near — or especially on – the water could confirm that there was a very powerful incoming tide that morning; obviously it would have added significantly to the ship’s forward momentum. The next ship in line to enter Venice waited for at least an hour, immobile, in front of Sant’ Elena, while the rear-facing tugboat attached to its stern kept its engines roaring at full-speed-ahead (i.e., pulling the ship backward), straining to resist the power of the current.
To return to the wayward ship: After a week or so the MSC “Opera” was back at work. I saw it go.
So things are back to normal. I can say that because I noticed other signs.
For example, last Saturday (June 29), as we were crossing the causeway to Venice, I counted nine (9) cruise ships in port. I interpret that to mean that the cruise industry has not labeled Venice a hazardous-duty post.
Also: Passing San Basilio in the vaporetto, I could see the damage to the dock. Frankly, our bathroom is in worse shape than this.
The fondamenta after the collision. More detailed photos are visible on tg24/sky. The wounds don’t look good, but neither do they appear apocalyptic. I’m happy to know that the fondamente are so strong.
Perhaps most important, last Sunday morning around 9:00 AM I saw a majestic ship bearing the MSC emblem approaching Venice. According to the port schedule, this would have been the MSC “Magnifica,” but the “Opera” was right behind it an hour later. It was being accompanied (not literally towed, as you can always see that the ship is proceeding under its own power) by two monster tugboats in place of the previous single, more modest tug.
One can almost imagine the faint melody of a ceremonial march — this is quite the escort.The captain stated that the line attaching the tugboat to his ship’s bow had broken, so now two more robust tugs will accompany ships above a certain tonnage. This arrangement seems to me to be the most effective defense against any possible repetition. A successful resolution of a problem is one that doesn’t create new problems, and this is simpler, cheaper, and less damaging to the lagoon than digging new channels to send the ships to the mainland shore, or offshore, or whatever the shore-du-jour may be in the endless struggle to find a way to banish the ships from the bacino of San Marco.
For those who object to the ships on aesthetic grounds — big, out of proportion, ugly passing Venice, none of which is debatable, though I think we should, as a general rule, resist correlating beauty and safety — one should keep in mind that smaller boats are often involved in similar accidents, with worse results than a banged-up fondamenta. Four days before this event, a river-cruise boat collided with a sightseeing vessel on the Danube at Budapest, leaving seven dead and 21 missing. Neither ship was big.
When a solution is reached to which all parties can agree, something will change. Meanwhile, the monster tugs are on the job.
The fireworks on Saturday night for the annual festa of the Redentore were in the top five I’ve ever seen in my life — beyond spectacular — full of new designs and gorgeous combinations, an exhibition that ran almost 15 minutes over the usual 30. It was thrilling.
There was a thunderstorm at 9:30 for a while that made it unclear whether the show would go on at 11:30 as usual, or if all those little bombs would still be combustible if lit in front of what might have been only a scattering of drenched, diehard boats. Also, restaurants all along via Garibaldi were forced to implement their disaster procedure, staff racing to clear tables and carry them inside (the customers were figuring out their own strategies, some of which were “Well hey, let’s just keep on singing in the rain”).
But the rain stopped, the people took heart, and the pyrotecnics proceeded.
Sunday morning dawned bright and shiny, and as we strolled we came upon one of the most eloquent demonstrations I’ve ever seen of what taking your boat to the Redentore means. It’s the aftermath that reveals the truth about you and your boat.
Somebody didn’t remember — if they knew — that the tide goes out (meaning down) every 6 hours. This doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tie your boat to a railing, even though obviously the line won’t slide downward along with the descending boat. But it does mean that you should allow lots and lots and lots of slack. As was not done here. In ordinary parlance, the boat is “impiccata” — hanged. As in what you do to criminals on the gallows.
Any seadog with a shred of foresight — let’s even posit that he/she doesn’t drink — might have considered consulting the updated daily forecast of the tides (height and depth of) so usefully provided by the Tide Center of the Comune of Venezia. Italian language skills not required. I appreciate that after a festive evening, which might have begun at 3:00 PM, one’s thoughts on caring for one’s boat might turn more naturally to preventing its floating away than toward its dropping a few feet straight down.
This owner was extremely lucky in one way: At this moment, the tide had already begun to rise, which meant that although the boat was still hanged, it wasn’t drowned as well. Because it isn’t the hardest thing in the world for the rising water to begin to go over the gunwale of the boat and peacefully and efficiently fill it up. I have seen this and it is not a happy sight; you can bail out the boat, but the effect of salt water on your submerged engine is a catastrophe. Those horses will never run again.
Another point: There are scores of boating knots, the most important qualities of which are reliability, ease of tying and — most important — ease of untying. This person has succeeded impressively with the first, and perhaps with the second. But the weight of the boat has jammed this knot beyond recovery.Different knot toward the stern, but the same problem remains. I have no idea how one would release this knot even in the best conditions. Lino took one look and said, “He’ll never be able to open that knot. His only solution will be to cut it.” Well, fine — what difference does that make? None, I suppose, except that it’s the nautical equivalent of the white flag. And before you start bragging that you’re totally in control of knotting, a very old salt once told me, “You can’t say you know how to tie a knot until you can tie it at night, upside down, in a storm.”Lino teaches his students a few knots, but naturally they forget everything in the moment of necessity. At which point he says “Just make the knot you use to tie your shoes!” Not something Commander Hornblower might have said, but actually it works just fine.
