This is just a quick note concerning my most recent post. I’ve made an important correction.
The supermarkets are NOT closing on the weekend; that was my misunderstanding of something Lino said (his fault!). It’s the big commercial shopping centers that are closed on the weekend now — but they are required to keep open the entrance to the supermarket component. So food, yes, but you can’t plan to fritter away Saturday afternoon anymore wandering around looking at shoes and accessories for your phone and lingerie and whatever else people look at in big shopping centers.
Of course you realize that I could have adapted to the lack of a supermarket on Saturday and Sunday, if it should have gone that way; it did not shake the foundations of my universe. But I’m glad to know I was wrong. And how often can I usefully say that?
Supermarkets make me think of lines. Venice makes me think of lines. Not the same lines.
Venice is a cat’s-cradle of laundry lines.Everything lined up perfectly (on the line). But there’s something very wrong with this women’s laundry today. The sock thief has struck again.There are no words.
This announcement was posted at San Francesco da Paola yesterday and this morning it bore fruit. “You too should participate in this fun initiative!!! Every family can design a rainbow with the words Andra’ Tutto Bene on a piece of cardboard or a bedsheet and hang it on your balcony or window Saturday 14 March. A moment of creativity and of hope. Sometimes words aren’t enough… and so we need children, colors and feelings.”
The children have spoken. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
I got this message from several windows as I walked along via Garibaldi. I don’t know what’s happening elsewhere in the city — I’m hoping that the calli and campielli are smothered in festoons of “It’s going to be all right” sheets and scarves and beach towels and boat tarpaulins and painters’ old dropcloths. Somebody’s father’s favorite shirt…. Mom’s once-a-year taffeta evening skirt… What we can see on the windows may just be the tiniest part of the creative volcano.
Walking up the street, the first rainbows were above the Coop.Actually, we spied them last evening, and it looks like sitting outside all night was pretty tiring.
This is impressive: The world in the colors of the Italian flag, and the Italian peninsula makes a strangely convincing nose. I say “strange” only because attaching Sicily threw the proportions off kilter and now the boot is overpronated.The flag! Some enterprising person pulled it out of mothballs, where it’s been since the last World Cup. But it works too, and will be just as useful for the next World Cup.
Well all right — NO NEED TO SHOUT.
Meanwhile, with the waking-up of via Garibaldi the lines begin to form outside the shops of prima necessita’ (first necessity), the only type that’s allowed to be open. They are orderly and correctly spaced. At least for ten refreshing minutes in the morning I get to see people who are not on my computer screen. They’re amazing! In three dimensions!
Starting from the foreground, at right we see one person waiting outside Gabriele Bianchi’s delicatessen (in Venetian, biavarol); his limit is two persons at a time. At left is a lady with a dog who is not in line for anything, as far as I can tell. Then a few people on the left in line to enter the pharmacy “Al Basilisco,” even though everybody knows it by the name of the founding family, which is Baldiserrotto. At right is a longer line waiting to enter the forner, or bread bakery. The fruit and vegetable stand on the right gets away with people standing along the edges, though I’m a little surprised that they (and also the supermarkets) haven’t installed any plastic or even plastic-wrap shields between the customer and the produce. Beyond that is the line for the Coop, shown below.The line at the Coop is never ends; it’s like that famous imaginary line of all the Chinese (sorry) that never gets shorter. Further down the street are lines outside the detergent/housewares shop, another forner, and on the other side of the canal, there’s one outside the wine store. The fish market doesn’t usually (I don’t want to say “never,” but…) have enough customers to be troubled with organizing a line. The pastry shop is closed, then there’s Alberto, the butcher, who can manage with the space he’s got. And that’s the end of obtaining “prima necessita'” in our little pocket of the world until we go down to the end, turn left, and stand in line outside the Prix supermarket.
What’s interesting about all these lines isn’t so much that people are forming them — though that certainly is noteworthy, being a sort of Nordic, Anglo-Saxon sort of practice that I’d never have thought to see here, where groups of people (I remember the banks) generally tend to arrange themselves as an amoeba. It’s astounding to recall that the same number of people going into stores in via Garibaldi, however many there may be, always used to just go into the store. Whatever store. You just walked in. It was like the vaporetto; if there was space for you, you took it. If there wasn’t space for you, you made some and took it. Even if there were 40 people where now they can allow only one, that was normal.
Now that we’re stuck at the other extreme of the living-together phenomenon, I am amazed that we lived like that. When all this is over, I’m also going to be amazed to see whether we will continue forming lines, or whether the amoeba instinct will re-assert itself. I’m putting my money on the amoeba.
What’s wrong with this picture? It’s not that there are no people, it’s that there are no fishermen on the fondamenta, snagging the seppie. The seppie are coming in now and there’s nobody welcoming them with hooks and buckets. That’s how bad things are getting to be.
I was all set — eager, even, sleeves rolled up — to weigh in on some important points about Venice as revealed by the current absence of tourists. But developments in the past two days have led me to reconsider the timing of those points. The situation here is not improving.
Schools will be closed for another week, theoretically reopening on March 16. Masses are still forbidden, and some sporting events are being held, but without spectators. We have been instructed not to shake hands, or even consider hugging or kissing any of our friends — so much for those hearty greetings in passing in via Garibaldi. Something called the “Wuhan shake” has been proposed as an alternative (touching opposing feet), or bumping elbows. I suppose those would work if your sense of human interaction is incomplete without some physical contact, but I think they would only make people feel awkward and self-conscious. Maybe after a few generations that would wear off.
What’s notable about this death notice? It’s not that Egidio has moved on (at 98 years old, it’s not exactly noteworthy). It’s the statement at the bottom, where the funeral details are usually printed. I translate: “The funeral will be celebrated in private form, according to the orders in effect by the Ministry of Health.” That means no friends, friends of the family, friends of friends; the rule is to limit the funeral to the strictest and closest immediate family members and THAT’S IT.Wait — now things are getting serious. The first virus victim in Venice is somebody I know! Danilo Carraro had the eyeglass shop in Calle de la Mandola, and he was a very good guy. He was also one of the last — perhaps the last? — of the members of the Querini rowing club who belonged to its most florid and glorious days. I would have gone to his funeral, but as noted, only family members allowed.
So much for the people who are here. But plenty of people are not going to be here — cancellations are flooding in (sorry). A potential tourist’s fear of being infected is realistically complicated by fear of not being able to return home. “Rooms are down to just 20-30 per cent occupancy,” said Claudio Scarpa, director of the hoteliers’ association, “and some are down to zero.” Ten hotels in Venice are beginning to consider laying off staff (with unemployment benefits, as appropriate), and perhaps even closing — temporarily, one can hope.
The airports of the Veneto region (not only Venice, but also Verona and Treviso) have registered a 30 per cent drop in passengers; Israel, Jordan, and South Korea have forbidden flights coming from the Veneto. Evidently people departing Italy are now regarded as hazardous material, and people wanting to go Italy aren’t much more appealing. I saw a photograph of the departure gates for flights to Italy at Sheremetyovo airport in Moscow — all the personnel were wearing hazmat suits, completely covered, as if they were dealing with a bioterrorist site. Gad. I’m starting to feel like some sort of leper.
But I still didn’t get a sense of how serious the situation was becoming until the astonishing news came yesterday that the Biennale (this year dedicated to architecture) is being sliced in half. It usually opens in May and runs to the end of November, and provides ponderous amounts of money to the city’s economy. Now, instead of opening on May 11, it will open on August 29. In 2019 the Biennale counted some 600,000 visitors (roughly 3,000 per day), plus several thousand journalists, all of whom needed to eat and sleep in some manner, and pay for same. A mere three months isn’t going to do much for the city’s coffers, though by now I guess we should say it’s better than nothing. The prospect of “nothing” is also sobering.
All those terrible things we got used to saying about tourists? I think a lot of people would love to have the chance to say them again.
The morning is still reasonably busy on via Garibaldi, but we’re not at a level I’d call “bustling.”Updates on the church notice-board: “The pastoral visit SUSPENDED postponed to a date to be decided.” The patriarch of Venice, Francesco Moraglia, was scheduled to visit the churches in this part of the city over the next few days, and a lovely program had been set up. But he could hardly plan a big parish visit if he’s forbidden people to gather for mass.Notices are just popping up everywhere. These two documents are taped at the entrance to the Coop supermarket.I translate: “Let’s collaborate together” (just go with it) “for the protection of our health. In the interest of everyone’s health, we invite you to avoid crowding, with particular attention to the service counters” (this refers to the prepared food cases and cold cuts where you order individually), “to the cash registers and the busiest departments, maintaining at least one meter of distance from other persons. In case the number of people doesn’t guarantee the respect of this indication, a system of providing access according to groups may be instituted. A responsible collaboration for the prevention of Coronavirus. In compliance with the Decree of the President of the Council of Ministers of 1 March 2020.”“Let’s collaborate together for the protection of our health. The cooperative has taken pains to make disinfectant gel available at the checkout counter for members and clients. The possible absence of this product is determined by the difficulty in finding it on the market.”A friendly wave from at least one meter away from you.
Not to trivialize people’s concerns, but I wanted to show that flowers are blooming just the same. Miniature iris! Who knew?
I had no intention of writing anything about the coronavirus and its current effect on Venice, but a friend passed along a comment that pushed several buttons, so to speak, so here goes.
First, about the virus: Schools are closed for the second week, masses continue to not be celebrated in any churches, sporting events are either canceled or postponed to some vague not-far-but-not-near future. I have heard some references to the city being a “ghost town,” but that may be a bit exaggerated. True, late yesterday afternoon via Garibaldi was almost empty, as was the supermarket, but then again, it was cold, dark, and raining. I could hardly justify my being outside, much less wonder about anybody else.
This morning, warmer and sunnier, saw plenty of locals out and about, at least in our neighborhood. Obviously I can’t speak about the city as a whole, but by the same token, the “ghost town” person was most likely referring to the area that he or she frequents. There weren’t many children around, which is odd, considering that they’re not in school, but I presume the parents are keeping them inside. There seemed to be less boat traffic than usual out in the bacino of San Marco, but still, our morning promenade, which went as far as the Ponte dei Greci, took us past several places where workmen were toiling away. So I can’t say that everything has ground to a halt.
On the Ponte de la Veneta Marina, these men were chipping away the old mortar and planning, I assume, to apply something new and sticky. Much as I admire their dealing with the stone banister, the steps of the bridge itself have been crying out for help for years. Anyway, here we had business going on as usual.
A noticeable number of restaurants and some bar/cafes are closed, but this didn’t strike me as exceptional — in fact, I might not have noticed it if we weren’t all mentally on red-alert status. The period between Carnival and Easter is always very quiet; it’s an ideal time for the owners to go on vacation, or undertake maintenance work, precisely because there are relatively few tourists. There being even fewer due to contagion concerns doesn’t mean that the virus has prostrated the city.
Yes, restaurateurs have been reported as wailing and gnashing their teeth about the drop in business. (An ordinance has imposed a three-foot distance between tables, which does make the atmosphere slightly less welcoming.) But merchants and restaurateurs are evidently born tearing their hair and yelling “Business is terrible!” I’m not saying that this is not a difficult period for them, it’s just a refrain that is so common, for one reason or another, that it has acquired echoes of wolf.
In any case, I think the ghost-town comparison may be felt more by non-residents who aren’t able to visit museums, or who see their favorite bar or pizzeria closed. Anyone who has ever come to Venice in late winter/early spring expects to find breathing room, whether it’s three feet in every direction or not.
About the buttons to which I referred in my opening statement (pushing of, effect of) — I will explain them in my next post.
I knew that the churches are still open, even if mass isn’t celebrated. (And very quiet and empty they are, too.) But I didn’t expect to see precautions reach this level: No more holy water in the stoups. And don’t think you can just moisten your finger in what’s left in the bottom. Nope. No touching and that’s it.
