Problems

surfing the Grand Canal

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This image of one of the “surfisti” was published in La Nuova Venezia.  Fun!

Here’s something I learned today: Electric surfboards exist.  They don’t literally go in the surf, but are big rectangles of plastic with a battery-powered motor and a cord to hang onto, and you just zoom away having the water-skiing time of your life without having to bother with attaching yourself to a motorboat.  I guess it could be compared to an electric scooter, but on the water.  Or a jet-ski that you stand on.  Or a turbo-charged paddle board without the paddle.

This much is news to me.  What isn’t news is that somebody (two somebodies, actually) decided to bring their toys to Venice and try them out on the Grand Canal.  It happened this morning (Wednesday, August 17).  What also isn’t news is that imbeciles have some primitive instinct that compels them to come to Venice in the summer, like the wildebeest have to surge across the Serengeti in May.  If you are an imbecile with money, you will get there before all the ordinary, common-garden-variety idiot tourists who do mundane little stupid things like jumping off the Rialto Bridge, or cooking your lunch hunkered down around your camp stove in the Piazza San Marco.

Two men aboard these entertaining vehicles suddenly appeared in the Grand Canal, as I said, and after zooming from Rialto to the Salute they somehow managed to disappear before anybody had means, money, or opportunity to nab them.  Mayor Luigi Brugnaro was livid and posted this on Twitter (translated by me): “Here are two overbearing imbeciles who are making a joke of the city … I ask everybody to help us identify them and punish them even if our weapons are blunt … there is urgent need for mayors to have more power to ensure public safety!  To whomever identifies them I offer dinner!”

Well, they got caught, and it didn’t take more than a few hours.  Bulletins didn’t name who gets the credit — and the dinner — for tracking them down, but it may be a while before these two bright sparks will be feeling that rush of adrenaline and endorphins and serotonin and oxytocin and dopamine they were savoring this morning.

They are two Australians who now, at nightfall, have had their boards confiscated (total worth 25,000 euros, or 36,662 Australian dollars), and been fined 1,500 euros each (2,344 Australian dollars).  It’s only money and they almost certainly can afford it, but the mayor has initiated legal proceedings against them for “damage to the city’s image.”  I don’t know what that is likely to add up to, but I can see lots of lawyers’ fees and whole lots of time being spent on making an example of them.

Naturally I’m as glad as the next person to know that they have been hauled away in chains and leg shackles, but my gladness is curdled by the thought that if it seems incredible that somebody would do this, it is equally, if not more, incredible that they weren’t stopped in flagrante.  Along the entire stretch of the Grand Canal (3,800 meters or half a mile) there was not one carabinere, state police, local police, lagoon police, firefighter, dogcatcher, anybody at all with a badge and a walkie-talkie who was on the scene, ready to intervene.

I know it’s an old joke to say that you never see one when you need one, but if I were the mayor I’d be spending less time dudgeoning about these two cretins, and instead be chairing a serious meeting to find out where the hell everybody was.  It’s invigorating to want —  what was his phrase? — “mayors to have more power,” but it seems to me that if people were on their assigned jobs at their assigned times and places, the mayor wouldn’t need more power.  The mayor’s supposed to make the system work, not BE the system.

I can imagine scenarios more serious than electric surfboards that would have had urgent need for a rapid intervention (baby falling into the water comes to mind), and yet, nobody’s on hand.  “Please leave a message at the tone….”

Oh wait.  The shell-game shysters have returned to their traditional places to pluck the unwary tourists ready to gamble.  Maybe that’s where the police were.  If not there, they must have been out patrolling the myriad motorboats causing extreme motondoso this year, though the waves make me doubt it.  If not there, maybe they’re going around checking store-owners’ certificates of fire inspection.

The Grand Canal is Fifth Avenue!  It’s the Champs Elysees!  You can’t have Fifth Avenue with no police officer in sight.  Something goes wrong on the Champs Elysees — there must be at least one policeman patrolling.  But here in Venice we have the Grand Canal with nitwits running wild in broad daylight and the mayor has to turn to Twitter to ask for help finding them.  Am I wrong, or is that just a little bit dumber than speed-surfing on Main Street?

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Problems, Transport

International Women’s Day

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The word hasn’t reached this street in Sant’ Elena that it’s a festive day for women.

This day is commonly observed here by means of sprays of mimosa.  I’ve written about this before.

I never buy the bunches of mimosa sold by various street vendors, but this little bouquet was bestowed on me by a member of a social club that we walked past this evening. They had a whole table full of them, and it was getting late.

Today, in addition to the mimosa, we had a 24-hour transit strike (busses, trams, trains, and of course vaporettos).  This is some sort of inexplicable sub-tradition, because Women’s Day has been disfigured by a transit strike more than once.  Some vaporettos will run, but it will be a task to reorganize your day to accommodate the ACTV, the public transport company.  If this strike were to accomplish something, I’d be so glad.  But it seems a feeble reed to wield in the struggles that women live through every day, up to and including their struggles with the ACTV.

The ACTV has a hundred reasons for calling strikes; we have one every few months.  They are mostly politically motivated and are usually directed at lapses in administration.  Work problems, not human problems.  This year they’ve decided to take every social problem yet identified and load them onto a highly worthy cause and, you know, let the women carry it.

This is the announcement on the vaporetto dock.  Note that the date is written, as typical here, with the day first, month second.
These are the reasons for the strike:  “Against masculine violence against women and violence in general towards LGBTQIPA persons; against every discrimination, molestation and sexual blackmail regarding access to and in the places of work; against the sexual division of work and racism; against job insecurity, exploitation, disparities of salary, involuntary part-time and being fired; against the dismantling and privatization of the social state; for the right to free and accessible public services, to income, to the minimum salary according to law, to the reduction of work hours to be equal to salary, to the house, to work, to scholastic education, to health care and to public transport (wait, what?); for the safeguarding of health and safety in the workplace; for the defense and strengthening of safe houses, of the centers against violence and the anticipation of measures of escape from violence; for the defense of Law 194 (right to abortion) and the right to self-determination, of the national network of public consultori (these correspond to social workers) and without objectors; for the redistribution of wealth, social and environmental justice; for the defense of the right to strike.”  It’s impossible to object to these goals, but I still can’t see how not showing up for work is going to accomplish them.  I guess there will just have to be another strike.

So the ACTV demonstrates its sensitivity to the problems of women in Venice, the nation, the world, by creating problems for women.  Transport strikes absolutely mangle your day in a city with basically two alternatives — feet and taxis.  Let’s say you have to accompany your sick neighbor to the hospital for her radiation therapy today.  During a strike last year we walked to the only functioning vaporetto stop, much farther than the usual stop, and took the sole working vaporetto two stops to San Zaccaria, where they put everybody ashore.  Then we had to walk inland, streets, bridges, streets, bridges, to get to the hospital under our own fading steam.  She was so frail by then, but such a trouper.

When the next strike rolled around she could hardly walk to the corner anymore, so we had to take a taxi — that will be 50 euros (rate from her house to the hospital).  And 50 euros back, naturally.  Her pension was 750 a month.  But sure, the ACTV’s union disagreements come first.

So just work your way around the strike however you can, or can’t.  Kids going to school?  Get them up at 4:00.  (Made up, but not by much.)  Going to your job, or your second job, today?  Call to say you can’t make it and lose the day’s pay.  Or walk. Be sure to consult the labyrinthine schedule of the times and routes of the limited service, or just decide to stay home.

So thank you, ACTV, for acknowledging all the problems that ought not to exist in a woman’s world.  I don’t see you on the list, though.

It’s a good thing the timetable for the flowering of this mimosa tree behind us is not scheduled by the ACTV.  I wonder if they’d make the tree go on strike?
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Problems

Dredge we must…

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It’s not just the buildings — even the canals are getting big repairs.

Simple, but effective, this is how they removed the mud in 1956.  This is “dry” dredging, during which a section of canal is blocked by temporary barriers and the water pumped out.  If you need to repair foundations of canal-side structures, this is your only option.  I really have only one question and that is why are the men wearing white?
And this is “wet” dredging, or scavo in umido. They’re  here to deepen the canal by removing metric tons of mud — the foundations will have to wait to be checked some other time.  Here one man with a mastodontic machine is doing the work of ten or 20 men years ago, except that years ago wet dredging didn’t exist.  Progress.

There are roughly 150 canals in Venice, which might sound like a lot, though you probably many more streets where you live.  But whatever they’re made of, streets require maintenance.  And often — make that quite often, in Venice — maintenance is conducted only when it has become absolutely necessary.

Canal-beds here are made of mud, and the movement of the tides, plus the thrashing of motorboat propellers night and day, tend to make the mud move around.   Sometimes the waves (underwater force of) push it to the sides of the canal where it accumulates, blocking any drains that might be emptying from buildings; the blockage causes the material to build up and over time the chemicals in the material damage the building’s walls.  So the mud has been transformed from a water problem to a land problem, and sometimes is the signal that it’s really time to deal with it.

Or the the mud swirls around, carried by the water to wherever the force of the waves diminishes, at which point it eventually drifts downward and is deposited on the bottom.  When this process reaches the point where there is no longer enough useful average depth to the water, the dredgers are called in.  Just think:  High water means that many boats can’t pass under certain bridges until the tide turns, but low water can mean that boats can’t pass at all, bridges or not.  This is not a happy situation if the boat in question is an ambulance, or belongs to the firemen.  So yes.  In your town your roads have potholes.  Here we have mud.

One morning in late November, we discovered that dredging of our canal, the rio de Sant’Ana, was imminent. Many copies of the official notice were taped to the red and white striped security tape strung along the pilings.  Everybody stopped to read, especially people like us whose boat is in the foreground, therefore directly in the path of danger.
Here’s what it comes down to: “Move your boat, we need space so we can dredge between November 15 and December 17, or whenever we finish the work.”  Like everybody else on the canal, we had to move our boat somewhere else, which wasn’t a problem.  And we soon discovered why the decks, so to speak, had had to be cleared; the dredge would have splintered our little watercraft to kindling.  For lots of others, though — for the people who use their boats for work — points 2 a and b were more problematic than where to park it.  “From 7:00 AM to 6:00 PM on Monday to Friday, all boats, either by motor or oar, are prohibited from passing this stretch of canal.  Emergency and public service boats  that have a need that can’t be accomplished by any means other than passing this canal are authorized to pass here but in any case must reach an agreement with the dredging company.”  Do not even think about inconveniencing the dredges, this operation costs real money and it needs to get done on time.
The next to last holdout moved his boat a few hours after I took this picture. Maybe he noticed the two big dredges ready to start work the next day.
As I said, waiting on the other side of the ponte de Sant’Ana to start work, which they will just as soon as the tide goes out just enough to allow them to pass under it. If there is anyone who checks the tides table more than I do, it must be the operators of  “Valerio”, the big green dredge, and “Zio Mario” (Uncle Mario), the smaller blue one.
Dredging the canals ought to be like painting the Forth Bridge, i.e. continuous. Yet years, sometimes decades, can pass between interventions. Why? (checks notes) Yep: money again.  This map announces the conclusion of the canal-dredging program in the 30 above-listed canals.  To be fair, dredging the remaining 100 clogged-up canals, at 150,000 per canal, is an impressive line in the city’s future budgets.  Frivolous note:  I’m sorry to see that I missed the work in the only canal listed here for Castello because it’s a really narrow canal and it would have been fun to see what sort of machine could have gotten in there.  Guess I’ll have to wait another 30 years for my next chance.
This perspective shows the importance of the accuracy of the tide forecast. Of course the hydraulic arm lies down flat, but there’s the little factor of the deckhouse.

Yes, Uncle Mario did his part.
They eventually were working the whole canal together. Here they’ve finished for the day; you can see that Uncle Mario is backing up, stirring up more mud for tomorrow.
A good day’s work. Back for more tomorrow.  If I had time, I would seriously find someone to tell me how they knew when the job was finished.  Metric tonnage of sediment?  Strictly by the clock?  Fuel consumed?

They were as good as their word: On December 17, they departed, and on 19 we rowed our little boat back to its mooring.  When the weather is cold, the water is usually extremely clear, and I can tell you that we could see the bottom of the canal by the wall, and it was definitely deeper.  Of course, as always, we’d have to measure it at low tide to know how much deeper it was, compared to two months ago (at low tide).  But keeping in mind that now, and for the next month, the lagoon is prone to exceptional low tides, that would also be deceptive.

But the saga continues; dredging is far from over.  Via Garibaldi is a rio tera’ — “earthed-in canal” — but not literally filled in, as you might have innocently imagined, because a large culvert was installed beneath the pavement to allow the tidal flux to continue its useful work of fluxing.  And over the years the tide had deposited mud in this culvert, too.  A filled-in culvert is just as bad as a clogged-up canal.

Conclusion: Considering a new career?  Give some thought to dredging Venice.  Just regard it as the Humber Canal of cities.

Via Garibaldi is approximately 345 meters long (1,100 feet). That’s a lot of canal to suck dry.
The view from the riva dei Sette Martiri onward toward the end of the line at the vegetable boat is impressive.  The white barriers snaking down via Garibaldi are guarding the many tubes.
The intermittent rectangular interruptions are crosswalks.

This is what’s happening: “Intervention of refurbishment of the sewer network damaged by the high water” — oh, you mean the one two years ago?  What’s your hurry? — “and removal of mud in Rio Tera’ Garibaldi.”
As you see, the underground canal is getting to be in a tight spot. Opening it more generously will be appreciated by those who have been inhaling that unmistakeable biological aroma at super-low tide. In case you think that just filling in the canal would be a better idea, you should know that a few years ago they did exactly that in a small canal in Cannaregio. It wasn’t long before the residents were up in arms because the tidal flow was blocked and stench ensued.  The city had to pay to open it up again.
Here you can just make out the top of the street’s arched support. At extremely low tide, which will be here soon, you can see the bottom inside. A bottom which will eventually be much lower.
End of the white fences. Let the pumping begin!
I’d never given any thought to where this manhole cover might lead. Now I know.
The pump is seriously ready to work, moving that mud out of the dark and into the waiting barge. But ask not for whom the mud tolls, because the mud will be back.

 

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Problems

November 25: Red Shoe Day

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A few days ago, this extraordinary assemblage appeared on via Garibaldi.  The sign explained it: “No to violence to women.”  I didn’t know that in the year 2000 the United Nations had declared November 25 to be the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women, arguably the most pervasive human rights violation on earth.

The sign was fine by itself, but bringing a mascareta ashore was a lovely gesture by the Remiera Casteo.  It is a classic Venetian boat most commonly rowed by women (and created centuries ago, some sources say, specifically for women during Carnival).
The red shoes strewn about — not to be confused with the fairy tale or ballet of the same name — became a symbol of this issue in the hands of Mexican artist Elina Chauvet in 2009, when she staged her first art installation of red shoes representing the bloodshed women face in Mexico because of femicide, domestic and sexualized violence. Her installations have inspired activists around the world to wear red shoes to replicate her protests in their own cities and countries, and to share photographs of their red shoes.  Not to be confused with Dorothy’s ruby slippers.
“Un Filo che Unisce” (‘A Thread That Unites’) says no to the violence against women.”  This women’s association, founded in Trivento (region of Molise), devotes its energies to crocheting; the results are used to promote programs on issues of social importance.  Charming, ingenious, gratifying, whatever you want to call it.  For me, this creation is beyond amazing.
Each flower, and other components, is a marvel of crocheting, not to mention the skill required in putting them all together.
Even the hearts have been crocheted, the cats’cradle making it all even more symbolic.  These women are unstoppable.

Let me say, before the comments begin to come in, that I am aware that men also suffer from domestic and other forms of violence.  I know this.  But I don’t want to start some ghastly competition between who is more tormented.  Verbal, emotional, physical abuse damages everyone — victim, perpetrator, children who have to witness it.  Fun fact: One in three women in the world suffers from some form of violence. November 25 is at least one day in which to acknowledge the violence inflicted on them: grown women, little girls, old ladies, at the hands of men, but also of other women, of their own children, and even whole families who agree to whatever atrocity they consider appropriate.

Revolution, an ad agency based in Macapá, Brazil, created the Star Models Sexual Violence ad campaign in 2014. (Photography by Diego Freire.)  There were more images, but this is enough for now.

And then there’s this:  Just a few weeks ago, 50 year-old Cosimo Damiano Bologna was having a coffee with a lady friend at a cafe’ in the little town of Canosa di Puglia.  She had been stalked for an undisclosed amount of time by a man who suddenly appeared, and began to insult and otherwise assault her verbally.  Cosimo intervened in her defense, the aggressor aggressed, and literally beat him to death.  Not immediately; it took Cosimo two weeks to die.

So not only is there bride burning, dowry death, honor killing, widow cleansing, acid attack, and let’s not forget breast ironing, to name a few dreadful things at random, now we have women getting hurt by men, and men getting hurt for defending women from men.

I am not saying every woman is perfect.  I’m just saying that if you wouldn’t do it to a dog, don’t do it to a woman.  And if you would do it to a dog, still don’t do it to a woman.   Let’s make this the International Century for the Elimination of Violence against Women.  It’s really going to be better for everybody.

“It’s Time You Spoke” was an ad campaign for the City of Hope women’s shelter, New York City.  Violence against women fuels global crises such as drug and alcohol abuse, suicide, infant mortality, and poverty.
When I took this photograph I thought they looked happy.  Now I’m beginning to realize you can’t know anything about people by just looking at them, no matter how much gelato they may be eating.
Girls don’t have to be beautiful to be wonderful.
Being beautiful is wonderful too, or at least it seems so to most of us.  But as I said, what  can I really know about this unearthly being except that somebody spent an ungodly amount of time braiding her hair, and that she was fine with it?
Venetian women who are racing take no prisoners.
“Signora del Vento,” a three-masted brigantine built in 1962, is the second largest Italian tall ship after “Amerigo Vespucci.”  Her figurehead, created by artists Birgit and Claus Hartmann, appears to be permanently waiting to launch the dove of peace.  I’d say any time from now on would be ideal.  Especially for women.
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