Lino strung the two flags across our little street. Only we would have been likely to walk that way, so we just went ahead and bedecked the day. It’s important to recognize that April 25 is also a national holiday: National Liberation Day, commemorating the end of World War 2, so bring on the banners.
Yesterday, April 25, was the feast day of San Marco, who is, as all the world knows, the city’s patron saint. Always the occasion for grand festivizing — ceremony in the Piazza, laurel wreaths on the main monuments, high mass in the basilica, and the iridescent tradition of the “bocolo,” (BOH-ko-lo) or long-stemmed red rose, that Venetian men give to the dearest ladies in their life.
A friend with her bocolo a few years ago.This year, not even the stray petal was to be seen. Except, I suppose, near the few people who had somehow managed to reserve their rose.
Yesterday, we were bocolo-deprived. Plant matter was represented mainly by the laurel wreaths, installed a few days early. As for the bocolo, there were and there weren’t. Of course we knew that the usual freelance vendors staking out via Garibaldi and environs would be nowhere to be seen, that was to be expected. But don’t be downhearted: The Gazzettino published a little article on Friday saying that a few florists were not only going to be selling roses, they’d deliver them to your doorstep. Wonderful! But the article did not publish any names or phone numbers of these florists. Saturday — the day itself — an article appeared repeating the plan, with the names and numbers of the participating florists. Lino immediately called to order one for me (and to discover the heretofore unknown cost, which I estimated would be 3 euros for the rose and 40 euros for the delivery), only to hear “Oh no, you had to book them.”
So this little misadventure will be filed under “You had one job!”, for the florists as well as for the Gazzettino.
This year, San Marco’s day was on Saturday. Shops now are usually closed on Sunday, so this means shop-owners got a rare two-day weekend. Were they happy? Well, Luca and Massimo on the fruit and vegetable boat apparently were — early on feast-day morning, we saw the remains of some pre-feast-day festa left behind where the bananas and apples usually reside.
But no matter! We had a fine day, sunshine, breeze, empty streets, sepulchral silence broken by the occasional bellowing and screeching of dogs passing in the street or on the bridge outside our house. (If you don’t believe that a dog can screech, you haven’t met that long-haired dachshund who evidently can’t stand anything about life, and whose owner must be deaf.)
We took our usual early-morning walk along the waterfront to the end of Sant’ Elena and home again (2.7 miles, for the record), plus our ten crossings of the bridge outside — our personal stone Stairmaster. And we feasted on little kidchops — removed from young goats, not the usual lamb.
We then “went to the beach” after lunch, which is what I call our hour of sitting on the edge of the canal a few steps from our front door. We’ve had two straight weeks of sunshine, so this interlude is a high point of the day; even though we aren’t tanning in any meaningful way. we’re stoking our Vitamin D. And we look at our little boat tied to its pilings directly across the canal, and the lush greenery that is growing on the bottom of the hull, and wonder when we’ll ever row her again. The easing of some restrictions are expected to begin on May 4, but we’ll know only on May 4 if that will turn out to be true. Or, if the Gazzettino is really up to speed, we’ll find out on May 5.
Friday was “Oh my God, we have to get the shopping done because the stores will be closed Saturday and Sunday!” Lines of people here are waiting to enter the only-two-people-at-a-time bread bakery and detergent/cosmetics store. The fruit and vegetable boat (covered by the awning seen in the middle distance) also had an unusually long line. As did the wine shop and the fish stall and the butcher. In the afternoon, there were 50 people in line outside the Coop, which now is closing at 7:30 PM instead of 10:00 PM. I, with my now-finely-honed skills, did the supermarket run on Thursday evening at 7:00 PM when there were only five people in line ahead of me. Of course, by then lots of shelves had been depleted (that’s the trade-off for coming late), but I was able to get what we needed in record time. I’d rather do without a few things than spend hours standing in line, even though it may be a great excuse to be out of the house.People are willing to do this. I don’t understand it, but I respect it. They’ve obviously got reserves of stamina and patience I can only dream of. (The supermarket is about 15 more people-lengths behind me.)Friday morning, long-overdue repairs to the wall damaged by the disastrous acqua alta of November 12, 2019, were suddenly underway.Saturday morning, everything was perfect again.Friday morning, the men were cleaning the monument to “La Partigiana” with hammer and tongs, so to speak, but more obviously rakes and scrapers. Spring cleaning at last?Saturday morning (which was also National Liberation Day), the finishing touches were applied with high-pressure water. The arrangement of roses reveals the mystery of the sudden attack of cleaning — at 10:00 AM Mayor Luigi Brugnaro offered the flowers in token of the city’s respects to the dauntless women of the Resistance.After the ceremony, these offerings remain: Roses for the partisan women, laurel to symbolize victory, and two long-stemmed purple iris that represent wisdom and royalty (it says in this book). The iris are an interesting departure from tradition. I wonder if we’d have had better luck calling up to order them instead of a rose.And laurel wreaths are bestowed on the major monuments. Here, Giuseppe Garibaldi, who was important for much more than the street.
A new day, a new sign, and some new decrees. Thanks to the bright sparks who refuse to be controlled, we woke up this morning to even more stringent regulations. First it was wearing masks when going into a store, maintaining one meter of distance between individuals. Then it was masks and gloves (as you recall) when entering a shop, and one meter of personal distance. As of today, masks and gloves are required of anyone/everyone leaving their house, no matter where they’re going or what they want to do when they get there. Personal distancing is now two meters, so only three people at a time instead of four are allowed inside the faithful detergent/cosmetics store. It’s not that any of these requirements is so burdensome, but it’s kind of tedious to have them imposed because some people just can’t be bothered with any of them.
Despite a number of extreme measures imposed by the national government on the verge of the Easter holiday weekend (Saturday, Sunday, Monday), there are still people who just can’t be reined in.
The decree as of Friday was that nobody was permitted to leave their primary residence. Keywords: “Nobody,” “leave,” “primary residence.” These simple words can’t find any space in many brains because those spaces are occupied by “fun,” and “holiday,” and “break the monotony.” Knowing this, the various order-keeping forces of the Veneto (and I assume elsewhere) fielded regiments of supplementary officers, stationing them at checkpoints on the main roads leading from towns toward the mountains and the beaches. Even if you were heading five minutes across town to your extra dwelling/apartment/lair, you would get fined and sent back to your primary residence. And that fine has no connection with what you might get for perhaps not driving with a mask and gloves, or if you were driving more than one passenger, and that one passenger wasn’t sitting, as per the law, in the rear seat on the opposite side from the driver.
You see? This is how we got from the Ten Commandments to the entire books of Numbers, Leviticus, and Deuteronomy — a simple concept has to become endlessly complicated because people just don’t want to hear it.
Either the Coop was completely denuded by closing time Saturday night, or they’re expecting extreme demand this morning. In any case, the bulwark of boxes containing supplies is a little unnerving. And as you see, it’s not over yet.I think I’ll just break somebody’s heart showing this block of toilet paper: Each package contains four mega-rolls.
Anyway, back to the creative cheaters. A few days ago (every day ago seems like a week ago), a man was stopped by the police in Mestre, inquiring as to his reason for being out walking around the streets.
“I’m going to work,” he replied. This is good, because it’s one of the few reasons you’re allowed to be out. And what work is that? was the natural response from the police.
“I deal drugs,” he replied.
Over the three-day holiday weekend, the scofflaws had a ball. In and around Venice the majority of residents stayed inside, or close by; only 323 people were fined for infractions such as walking on the beach. But elsewhere in Italy, things were humming along to the tune of 13,756 citizens or commercial activities being fined for illegally doing something. Or anything.
On Monday (“Pasquetta”), a member of Parliament was stopped on the road going from Rome to Ostia (a/k/a the beach). When asked where she was going, and why, she replied, “I’m a member of Parliament and I’m working.” Because the police couldn’t establish a rational connection between Parliament and Beach on a holiday, she went home with a fine. Which of course she is going to contest, because something. Injustice, oppression, experts guilty of conflicts of interest, the destruction of the national economy under the excuse of the epidemic, and the danger of vaccines (none of this is made up).
A policeman in Torino stopped a man driving somewhere to inquire where he was going, and the man replied, “I’m going to make love to a friend.” The driver got a 533-euro fine, but the policeman is now under disciplinary action for having put the video (probably via bodycam) on social media. The friend is still waiting.
Yes, there were parties — the by-now usual rooftop barbecues with loud music, easy to detect by the patrolling police helicopters. (In one city, one reveler actually shot at the helicopter.) In Lodi, a young man who knew he was positive for the virus invited five friends over to his house. Naturally they’ve all been fined; I’m still mulling over their concept of “friend.”
Then we move to the grassy embankment of the little river Piovego, near Padova. On Easter Sunday afternoon, a young man was sitting on one of the steps leading down to the water. Alone. Therefore sad. It’s wrong to be outside but he has an excellent reason, which he explained to the policemen (Guardia di Finanza, for the record).
It was on these steps that he had met his girlfriend; where they shared their first kiss; where they had spent such lovely times together. But the separation imposed by the quarantine had somehow led her to break up with him. And so, eyes filled with tears (I am not being sarcastic, I am reporting from the newspaper), he decided to return there to seek inspiration for a poem, a poem that would somehow win her back.
The officers recognized his predicament and were — as far as possible for someone in uniform — completely in sympathy with his plight. They felt for him, even as they were writing out the ticket. And so the young man was sent home, without his girlfriend, without his poem, and also without some 300 euros.
This is the city, so in need of protection and defense.
The division of history into the still-common categories of B.C. and A.D. is rendered in Italian as A.C. and D.C. (not to be confused with electric current or rock bands). It stands for “Avanti Cristo” and “Dopo Cristo” (before and after Christ).
I’m going to propose we keep using A.C. and D.C., but now they’re going to stand for “Avanti Coronavirus” and “Dopo Coronavirus.”
Before Coronavirus, we had problems with tourism (which immediately became problems without tourism). And we had acqua alta. And we had MOSE, and still have MOSE, and will always have MOSE till eternity has been reduced to the nucleus of the hydrogen atom and is extinguished.
To recap: Acqua alta is something that happens. It can be extreme, and sometimes extremely damaging. So it was decided, after the still-champion event of November 4, 1966, that the solution would be barriers composed of mobile “gates” that would be raised to block the water’s entrance into the lagoon, a/k/a Venice. (I make that distinction because the MOSE people don’t care about the lagoon — it is being built to protect the city. The damage that this construction has done and continues to do to the lagoon isn’t mentioned by the MOSE people, but it remains nevertheless.)
This is the lagoon, equally in need of protection and defense. At dawn on a muggy morning in June, Lino is clamming, the tide is going out, and life is beautiful. You’d never know that a world-class city was so close yet so detached.
How are things going? Well, about as usual, which means moving ahead by fits and starts, badly and expensively. This form of progress attracted notice from time to time until the catastrophic acqua alta on November 12, 2019 that simultaneously drowned and battered the city. The morning after was full of wailing, as you would expect, and among those wails were angry voices saying that if MOSE had ever been finished on time (like, at least ten years ago) and in working order (this will always be doubtful), the city would not have suffered this appalling disaster. The rough translation would be “Hey — those floodgates you all have been blowing smoke about for the last 30 years? This is EXACTLY the situation they were intended to protect us from. So where the f*#k are they already?”
Quick reply: “We’re on it! June! They’ll be done in June!”
So, good news: Being a major public work, its construction has not been blocked by the quarantine, though health security for the workers –staying at least one meter apart, in a tunnel under the water — is not easy. And at the Lido/San Nicolo’ site, they don’t have protective gear at all. But on we go.
Did I say “June 30”? That’s when the installations are supposed to be complete. Will they be working? Unlikely. They’re not going to be declared fully functional, ready for prime time, let’s cut the ribbon, until December 31, 2021. The mayor is livid, and has generally made it known to the administrative body, the Consorzio Venezia Nuova (CVN), that this fall Venice is going to be facing high water again, and the gates better the f*#k be ready by then.
You know what’s coming next: Money. We have none, and yet rivers of money keep flowing to all sorts of offices and individuals. One million euros have been spent so far on the “super-commissioner” assigned to oversee MOSE with her office/staff (engineers, lawyers, tech wizard, press officer).
Money also has to be found to pay the salaries of the 250 employees of the CVN and two associated entities. And money has to be found to repair the many problems on the construction up till now, including modifying the special basin to allow ships to enter at Malamocco if the gates are raised. The current basin, which cost 360,000,000 euros, not only was damaged by a storm in 2015, but has been found to be too small.
Yes indeed, there is still more: The original project plan stipulated that the 78 gates have to be replaced every five years (five years after they begin working). But there are gates that have already been lying underwater for more than five years — in the case of the ones at San Nicolo’-Treporti, since 2013.
But before replacement, there must be maintenance: cleaning, scraping off the heavy encrustations of barnacles and other clingy creatures, probably tasks aimed at gears and hydraulics, checking the condition of the tubes that carry the compressed air that powers the raising of the gates, etc. The cost of maintenance? Now projected to be 100,000,000 euros per year. No, wait — it actually says “at least 100,000,000 a year.”
The news today reported that 40,000,000 euros have arrived in the city’s coffers of the 84,000,000 earmarked by the state to repair November’s devastation to the city and pay indemnities to businesses damaged by the acqua alta. This is excellent news and comes none too soon, but then I look at the numbers. It costs more to maintain the gates than it does to repair the city?
Now we hear about the cost of the consultants. I suppose every project has consultants, though it’s not clear to me why, if you’ve already got professionals on the job in every category, you need to hire more. A list was published in the Gazzettino on April 2 detailing monies spent in 2014 and 2019 in three areas: Administrative, Legal, and Technical. “Administrative” includes three (3) special administrators paid 240,000 euros each.
In 2019, what with one thing and another, 3,000,000 euros were spent on consultants. And about 2,000,000 of those were spent on lawyers. So many things have gone wrong for so long that evidently you couldn’t have too many, and they all cost money. One lawyer was paid 900,000 euros (admittedly he had plenty to do; he was employed by the Consorzio, which was batting away lawsuits from suppliers and other offended parties like King Kong fighting the airplanes).
I may have said this before, but it’s worth repeating: MOSE was supposed to save the city, but looking at these numbers, I’m beginning to think that somebody needs to save the city from MOSE.
Piazza San Marco, where the city and lagoon meet when the tide rises above 85 cm above mean sea level. MOSE isn’t intended to prevent ANY water from coming ashore, just water above 110 cm. That is, if it is ever completed, and the city can find the money to keep it in working order after all the consultants have been paid.
Even though we are occupying a fairly small physical area, I’m making an effort to keep my brain and eyes open. Funny things are not impossible to find.
A day or two before The Ordinance took over the entrance to the detergent/housewares/cosmetics shop, there was this urgent announcement: “There’s no alcohol. For anybody who asks, A FINE! 1 spritz.” What a refreshing breath of the air of the world that used to be. There’s no alcohol because evidently the desire to disinfect has caused a run on that too. So far, so serious. But imposing a fine in the form of a spritz? That belongs to the years of yore, when the spritz was the generally agreed-upon prize or penalty for anything. Does anybody even remember what a spritz is? I used to know… Now it sounds just about as foreign as “A FINE! 1 plate of flambe’d flamingo tongues.”We had only stepped outside our house for some sunshine when Lino noticed something droll. On the right is our Italian flag, hanging unceremoniously but not without respect on the kitchen shutter. And above, on Donatella’s clothesline, are two bathrobes and a towel……which if you don’t insist on perfection you can recognize as echoing the colors of the national flag just below. It’s a distant echo, true — the red and the green are startling Day-Glo relatives of the official hues (which as you know are Philippine Green, Fire-Engine Red, and Anti-Flash White). And Lino also pointed out that the towel should have been in the middle. But I’m ready to give her ten extra points — and a spritz — for hanging out these exact three pieces, even if she hadn’t given any thought at all to the national flag.What’s so funny about this scrap of the neighborhood? I have been bemused by this ever since we moved down here 15 years ago. It’s the progression of the structures. The bridge is the widest of the elements; at some point a house was built that occupied half of the bridge. That just baffles the hoo out of me, but in a tug of war between a house and a bridge, I suppose compromise becomes inevitable. Moving ahead, we see that the next building has staked its claim to half of the street. This little trick of cutting things in half had to stop there, or there wouldn’t have been any street left.I’m sitting on the fondamenta after lunch, and a banana peel is doing the dead man’s float. Quarantine really opens your eyes, and sometimes way more than necessary.
