Venice: I am not making this up

Venice: Let the New Year begin

January 3, 2011 1 Comment

As I may have intimated, we didn’t plan on being in the Piazza San Marco at the stroke of midnight, and we in fact stayed home until midnight when we walked out to the waterfront to watch the fireworks over the Bacino of San Marco.

In the nabes they were still sweeping up on Monday morning. Here, a little petardo carcass.

This isn’t to say that our neighborhood was empty — au contraire. There were plenty of kids out, and assorted adults, and the kids, at least, were intent on making things explode. Here these variations on the firecracker are generically called petardi (a petardo here is not something you would be want to be hoist with, even if it was your own) and they make a seriously loud bang and leave black smears on the street.

The first things to be called “petard,” I discover, were not used for entertainment. They were small bombs used to breach walls and blow in doors. The term derives from Middle French and/or Latin, from the word invented long before gunpowder to mean “fart.”

Cleaning the Piazza on January 1, 2009 was complicated by snow. But the job eventually got done.

But turning to more serious detonations, you probably know that Thomas Carlyle famously said that “The three great elements of modern civilization are gunpowder, printing, and the Protestant religion.” My calculation is that there is an inverse relationship between the quantity of gunpowder in a place or time and the quantity of civilization represented thereby. I understand that fireworks to mark the birth of a new calendar are common in many places and cultures and are loaded with symbolic meaning. I only wanted to remark that I myself don’t regard pain and mutilation as being especially civilized, no matter what else your culture may have discovered or invented.

Here is the New Year’s morning balance sheet from the merrymaking that involved things that go boom in Italy:

Many of the high-water walkways were stacked out of the way, to leave room for the throngs. On the third morning after New Year struck, these two bottles and their glasses are still here. I love the fact that the celebrators decided to put them inside the fencing. This required a high level of good citizenship.

500 people wounded (four of them seriously, and 68 under the age of 12), and one person killed, almost exclusively by fireworks of the homemade variety, some of which could create explosions rivaling those we read about occurring in foreign marketplaces. It’s too bad that my first reaction when I read that was “Great! Only one person died!” It’s nothing to be pleased about, especially when I learned that he was killed by a stray bullet when he went out in the courtyard with his friends to watch the fireworks. Guns are becoming a new way here to make noise and threaten life to welcome the next 12 months.

And various people have lost eyes and hands. It’s the same every year.

At San Marco, at least, there were no damaging cannonades. The mass celebration there seems to have gone without any particular hitch (or lost dogs). The reports describe its dimensions:

60,000 people went to the Piazza to drink Prosecco (or whatever they brought), watch the fireworks, and share a kiss at midnight. I’m not going to try to calculate how tightly these people were packed together; the Piazza is big, but not unusually big, and I can imagine that once they locked lips it took some time for there to be enough space to unlock them again. Concerning the clip below, unless you’re a total crowd-and-fireworks maniac, skip to the last two or three minutes. Just a suggestion.

As for trash (here the Countryside Code doesn’t apply — people don’t mind leaving their footprints and garbage behind), there was plenty. To festivize properly seems to require discarding material, kind of like the solid rocket boosters falling away from the Space Shuttle at T plus two minutes.

One of the wagons is about to drop its contents into the barge.

At 2:30 AM the trash collectors took over — 120 of them, filling 140 garbage “wagons” (or 104, the accounts aren’t consistent, but anyway, 40 wagons were loaded in the Piazza alone), the contents of all of which were dumped into 40 garbage barges. By 5:00 AM the Piazza was clean again and I give everybody loads (two bargefuls) of compliments.

What was left behind in our little hovel was not smashed bottles or busted firecrackers, but there are still large amounts of great food sitting around, including homemade cake and cookies, which are going to make that New Year’s Resolution — you know the one I mean — that much harder to fulfill.

But I’m feeling hopeful about virtually everything at the moment, which is an inexplicable but very welcome byproduct of starting a new year, not to mention a new decade, and I’m going to try to make it last as long as I can. The feeling, I mean. Not the year.

Events, History

Venetian New Year’s Eve

January 2, 2011 No Comments

Fireworks anywhere look great, even if they're not over Venice.

If you had been here, you could have done any or all of the following to celebrate the Night of Saint Silvester, as it is also known here.

You could have ingested a festive dinner at Harry’s Bar for a trifling 500 euros ($662) per person. It was marked down at the last minute from 1,200 euros ($1,590) because times are hard. I’m not sure how much profit they made at that price considering that the menu covered champagne, caviar, truffle ravioli, tournedos and so forth. Maybe they downgraded from Beluga to Sevruga. That’s what we’ve certainly done.

And yet, the transcendent Arrigo Cipriani, owner, scion, and namesake of this legendary establishment, has not only made it sound as if he has slashed prices more drastically than a tire/mattress/car salesman, he also made it known that in spite of the hard times, almost all the tables were already taken, so you had to book fast. I guess I understand that. Make it sound like a sale and people automatically think they’re saving money.

After you had reveled in your Lucullan repast, you could have gone around the corner to the Piazza San Marco not only to watch the fireworks but create your own (metaphorically speaking) by throwing in your osculatory lot with all the other couples thronging the piazza who have been primed by weeks of publicity to come here to kiss each other at midnight.

It’s the third year that this experience has been offered and it was an immediate success; it is now referred to as a tradition. Four thousand lips beating as one.

Two years ago a family from Milan lost their golden retriever in the crush and the city was plastered with their appeals for months, complete with photo (was her name Molly? Lucy?). Eventually she was found, which kind of surprised me, but not how long it took. Considering how many dogs there are here, she must have been having the best time of her life.

Then there will be the homemade explosives set off around town. Usually here they aren’t big or dangerous enough to blow away arms and put out eyes and all the rest of what happens in Naples and other places addicted to New Year’s ordnance.

Speaking of things going crash and boom, Lino remembers when people here still marked midnight by throwing out the window everything they wanted to get rid of. “Everything!” he repeated when I asked for examples. Dishes. Glasses. Chairs. Toilets. (I did not make that up.) He says that people in Rome and Naples still do it. I’m making a note of it on my “Not To-Do” list. Right next to my note that says “Wear black fishnet stockings, hard hat.”

Otherwise, though, he says that, until the Seventies, New Year’s Eve wasn’t regarded as an event to celebrate in any particular way here. “At midnight, all the ships in the port blew their horns. Otherwise, people just went to bed like any other night.” Making their own pyrotechnics.

Wherever you were, I hope your celebrations were just what you wanted, no less, and certainly no more.

Happy New Year!

Venetian Curiosities

Thieves and murderers

December 29, 2010 2 Comments

On Christmas Eve, Luca Zaia, president of the Veneto, received a visit — not by the Spirits of Christmas, but by four hooded men who broke into his country house looking for money. (He wasn’t there.) They pretty much trashed the house looking for a safe to steal; when they finally found it, it was empty. No happy ending for Mr. Zaia, at least not yet, and probably not for the four men, whenever the carabinieri succeed in interpreting the film from the security video cameras.

A view of Mr. Zaia's rural refuge (photo: Gazzettino). — A view of Mr. Zaia's rural refuge. (Photo: Gazzettino).

On the same day, thieves also broke into at least five other houses in the same area, and plenty of other places, I assume, and stole things. But all robberies are not created equal. Even I have to admit that, if not on a moral level, at least on a curious-human level, the theft of a Picasso from a palace is somewhat more interesting than the theft of some money and a few high-tech electronics from a suburban villa. And the fact that this misfortune struck an Important Person obviously deserves a few columns.

A few columns? For two days we’ve been served whole roasted articles about this event, as if it had never happened before, or that it somehow was worse for him than for the suburban villa-dwellers.

He, bless his shellshocked little heart, has given vent to some extreme emotions and opinions which, while you can understand them, lead you to wonder why he never had or expressed them in other cases in which he was not personally involved.

In fact, he was quoted yesterday as saying (and this looks great in a headline): “He who steals is like he who kills.”

Excuse me? Is he not clear on the essential nature of death? Because the Veneto is full of people every day — alas — who literally are killed, get buried or cremated, and leave behind suffering families and huge holes in their hearts and lives which can never be filled. There is a reason why the death penalty is considered justifiable for punishing murderers, but not thieves.

Mr. Zaia has had a fine time fulminating about robbery and retribution (which would make a great title for a novel, by the way. Where is Dostoyevsky when we need him? Oh sorry — he died of a lung hemorrhage, and not from having a couple of delinquents steal his cufflinks) — as I say, Mr. Zaia has given himself over to ranting, throwing out platitudes such as “Zero tolerance!” and “Fist of iron!” Now that it’s happened to him, thievery suddenly matters?

Oliver Twist is wounded during a burglary (George Cruikshank). I imagine Mr. Zaia would have liked this approach.

Correct answer: Mais oui, mon capitaine. Being a politician, no experience can be left unexploited for political gain, and being on the extreme right of the political spectrum, he would naturally be calling down brimstone on criminals of every sort.

Not that I’m defending criminals, but committing crimes is what they do and you should make some reasonable effort to prevent it rather than declaring jihad after it happens. When I lived in New York, I experienced break-ins in two different apartments. In the second, they carried off jewelry and a large load of recent wedding presents, and a whole set of family silver. (In case you think I didn’t know how to protect my stuff, in the second instance the thieves had obtained the keys.)

So Mr. Zaia has a large, beautiful, obviously expensive house in a fairly isolated position in the country, which clearly was empty on Christmas Eve. The security system consisted of video cameras. What do you think could possibly happen? He claims that the Code of Country Life has always meant trust in one’s neighbors, peaceful coexistence, leaving the keys in the car, whatever.

He didn’t consider the possibility that some passersby might not be neighbors, and may not have been informed of the Code. So now he’s mad.

Me, I’d be embarrassed for people to discover I was so naive. But as I say, if you’re a politician, you tend not to say “How stupid could I be?” That would set a Dangerous Precedent.

So what we’ve heard for two days is the sound of the doors of the horseless barn being closed. It is, as always, a very silly — regrettable, but silly — sound.

Venetian Food

Christmas addendum

December 27, 2010 4 Comments

I left you with images of raw fish and a gnomic reference to the Christmas Forcola (not to be confused with the Great Pumpkin). I think you deserve to see how they came out.

This is what the risotto made from the go' looks like. Perhaps you can intuit from the look of it that the last step is to add butter. How could it not be great? If this dish was to found on any Venetian table other than ours, I would be very happy to know it. — This is what risotto made from go' looks like. Perhaps you can intuit from the look of it that the last step is to add butter. How could it not be great? If this dish was to be found on any Venetian table other than ours, though, I would be very happy to know it.

And this is the grilled eel. True, it doesn't look dramatically different than when it was raw, but I think it tasted a whole lot better.

The Christmas Forcola. For me, the only thing cooler than decorating it would be to row it in this state. But I know beyond any doubt that the mere suggestion would be thrown down the well of Discarded Americanate. In any case, I like to think that the forcola enjoys being used for something, anyway. — The Christmas Forcola. For me, the only thing cooler than decorating it would be to row it in this state. But I know beyond any doubt that the mere suggestion would be thrown down the well of Discarded Americanate. In any case, I like to think that the forcola enjoys being used for something.

One of the best Nativity scenes I've yet discovered, here in the church of San Biagio. It has many imaginative touches but two flaws which concern me.

We have all the fundamental components here except for one thing. Where's the manger? I tried to convince Lino that a hayrack could be serving the same purpose, but he wasn't buying it. He was also not so keen on the fact that Mary is holding the Baby Jesus when he's supposed to be lying in the manger. But if there isn't one...... — First flaw: We have all the fundamental components here except for one thing. Where's the manger? I tried to convince Lino that a hayrack could perhaps serve the same purpose, but he wasn't buying it. He was also not so keen on the fact that Mary is holding the Baby Jesus when he's supposed to be lying in the manger. But if there isn't one......

For my part, much as I love this domestic scene (two bonus points for the laundry hanging out to dry), I can't get past the fact that there is a pig. I don't insist on the manger, but I can't see any justification on this earth for there being a pig. I must speak to the priest. — Second flaw: Much as I love this domestic scene (two bonus points for the laundry hanging out to dry), I can't get past the fact that there is a pig. I don't insist on the manger, but I can't see any justification on this earth for there being a pig. I must speak to the priest.

But while his/their imagination was running wild, it came up with a very nice addition to the traditional cast of characters: Fishermen, with net and fish. In the upper left corner is a small waterfall, which adds a nice sound to the atmosphere. I'm not convinced that fishermen are likely to be out at night in the way the shepherds were, but I'll still go with it. After all, they've put in a pig. A couple of fish can't matter, especially when you remember its symbolic value. — But while their imaginations were running wild, the designers came up with a very nice addition to the traditional cast of characters: Fishermen, with net and fish. In the upper left corner is a small waterfall, which adds a nice sound to the atmosphere. I'm not convinced that fishermen are likely to be out at night in the way the shepherds were, but I'll still go with it. After all, they've put in a pig. A couple of fish can't matter, especially when you remember their symbolic value.

Returning from the perplexing sacred to the reassuringly profane, a batch of Santas have asked to wish you all a good night. I let them stay up just this once.