It seems as if there is just about every form and manifestation of water to be had around here, at some point or other.
To take an extreme example, we had some weather yesterday evening. A friend sent me this clip of the scene at the Rialto Bridge (I don’t know who made it, but I absolutely wish I’d been there). All that’s missing are a few spawning salmon and a hungry bear.
And then there is The Drainpipe.
Lino is obsessed by this drainpipe, and I can’t say I blame him. I’m not qualified to suggest a different setup of the pipe, but if somebody had wanted to find a solution I bet they would have.The reason isn’t so much the pipe, in itself, but how blithely it makes itself at home over a rather worthwhile plaque. Seems rude — that’s what the issue comes down to. It’s the kind of thing I’d have been worked-up about, back before obsession-fatigue set in. (Translated by me): “Restored the aforementioned two rooms by reason of Domenico Marchio Celsi by his heirs in the year 1686.” I suppose it looked just fine for 300 years or so, then progress intervened. As it does.This unhappy sight is out there for anybody to see — how embarrassing — who takes a short-cut down a very small and narrow side street near us. Does it seem wise to order a new street-level door made of iron in a place where salty water is almost guaranteed to soak it? “Gosh, look at that,” Lino said. “Wow.” Or let me put it this way: Seeing that there are methods for removing rust from marble, does it seem wise to leave it this way at the entrance to an apartment that’s rented to tourists? First impressions and all.
Not made up — the door leads to one of the thousands of rentable apartments in town.The house next door was not stricken, as you see — the entrance is higher, which always helps, and the door is made of wood. Not perfect either, considering how wood swells when wet, though I don’t know if that happened here. And something regrettable happened to the stone step and its underpinnings. That’s a thing about Venice — even when everything is bone dry, water still has the last word.There are plenty of signs still visible of the damage caused by the hideous high water of November 12, 2019. This is in our doctor’s office. You see how intelligent the builders were in placing the electrical outlets up so high. They may have thought they were exaggerating, but not really.
People sometimes ask me how deep the water is in the canals. And I always ask, “At high tide, or at low tide?” And they go, “Ummmmm…..”.The extreme low tides in winter went on longer than usual a few months ago. As long as you have enough water to keep the boat afloat, you’re fine — but only if you’ve figured out a way to climb onto (or off) your boat in a way that doesn’t threaten you with bodily harm.Our boat, second from the bottom of the frame, presents an unreasonable challenge at low tide. Life, limb, and the pursuit of happiness — in this situation, you can either plummet onto the boat from the fondamenta, or on your return you can attempt to scale the wall with no tools at all. I finally bought a rope ladder.This is a simple, classic Venetian boat called a sandolo; it can be bigger or smaller, but this is the essential shape of several everyday boats. Just setting the scene here, giving a sense of scale to clarify the next photographs.Let me present one of my own favorite fixations: How the boat-builder made such a rookie mistake as to put the water-draining hole (“ombrinale”) where the water doesn’t flow. It’s easy to see the rainwater that has collected on the bow; the boat is intentionally stored tilting forward in order to aid the drainage.But in this case, the water has collected upstream, if you will, and has no way to drain out by itself. You can see the hole helplessly sitting by itself on the right side of the wooden barrier, and the accumulated water sitting equally helplessly on the other side. It’s like Pyramus and Thisbe. Let’s say anybody can make a mistake (the worker never read the plans? Had never encountered a boat before? Or water? Or gravity?). All that needed to be done to solve the problem was just to cut another hole on the upstream side. But as you see, here we are.
Mask-makers are impressive artisans, even though all their skill and talent are devoted to making something frivolous. Here is Mario Belloni at Ca’ Macana. Read more in my article about masks for “Craftsmanship Quarterly.”
Worthy causes abound, I’m happy to say, as we’ve discovered over the past few months.
Not to pick favorites (she said, picking a favorite), but there is a fundraising effort called “masquerAID” underway in Venice, organized by a group of Venetian mask-makers (mascareri) in order to raise funds for the purchase of surgical masks for the Red Cross volunteers. (Full disclosure: One of the organizers is a colleague and friend. But don’t let that sway you.)
Among the many things in its favor, it’s helping (A) health workers and (B) Venetian artisans. (B) is especially valuable, due to the now near-total lack of customers since the virus obliterated tourism.
Here’s the plan:
masquerAID
carnival masks for medical masks
Safeguard the artisanal production of traditional masks by donating medical masks to the Red Cross
MasquerAID – carnival masks for medical masks is a project of a nonprofit association funded by a group of Venetian professionals and friends to offer a contribution to the city of Venice in the wake of the COVID-19 crisis.
Venice relies almost entirely on tourism and in the ongoing global crisis, when all activities have been in lockdown, many small artisan workshops are facing the threat of permanent closure.
The concept of our initiative is to underwrite a selected group of mask makers by enabling them to continue to ply their trade and overcome the most critical phase of the emergency as tourism has come to a standstill. MasquerAID – carnival masks for medical masks will provide the selected artisans with an opportunity to make income for the next two months. At the same time, proceeds will fund the purchase of medical masks helping the volunteers of the Red Cross engaged in fighting the pandemic on the front line.
A precious exchange using the carnival mask, symbol of lightheartedness, joy and beauty while working towards the greater good of our community: supporting these treasured and unique artisans and at the same time helping the Red Cross.
If you love Venice as we do, and wish to contribute to preserving the most precious gems and the soul of this irreplaceable world heritage site, please give generously and receive as a token symbol of our gratitude a traditional mask that has been made by our local craftsmen.
There are three individual mask designs available according to the size of your donation. All three have been inspired by the original “medico della peste”, the famous mask medical doctors used to wear at the time of the black plague: the long beaks were in fact filled with medical spices as a form of protection from the disease. These three masks will be a symbolic icon we use to spread a positive message worldwide, while at the same time be our symbol of gratitude and appreciation to you for your help.
On the basis of Solidarity and Beauty, please support Venice, support the people who work here and support the recovery from the ongoing state of emergency.
Donate towards medical masks and receive our special Corona Doctor Mask!
DONATIONS LEVELS:
FOLLOWER: For a minimum contribution of 25 € you will receive our special gift of a handmade miniature of the plague doctor mask in leather
FRIEND: For a minimum contribution of 100 € you will receive an exquisite, small, handmade papier maché mask
SUPPORTER: For a minimum contribution of 200 € you will receive a beautifully crafted, life-sized handmade papier maché mask
BENEFACTOR: For donations of 500 € or more, you will receive a beautifully crafted, life-sized, handmade papier maché mask. In addition, your contribution will support and promote the work of all the artisans involved in the project.They will contact you and thank you personally.
* all proceeds go towards the purchase of medical masks and to the production of artisanal masks in equal terms
Even a small donation could help MasquerAID Maschere Per Mascherine reach their fundraising goal. And if you can’t make a donation, it would be great if you could share the fundraiser to help spread the word.
Made by Carlo Setti for a theatrical production and based on real people (not the one with pencils stuck into his cranium). Papier mache’ molds are made inside out — not something you learn in a day.Fantasy runs wild at Kartaruga, where Francesca Cecamore can make anything she can imagine, or that a customer asks for.
Enjoy this moment from a few days ago, because you may never see it again. A lone person rowing his sandolo (the type normally used by professional sandolistas) toward the open lagoon, or possibly to the boatyard. He may be thinking he’d better be ready — who knows when a customer might suddenly appear?
During the past week or so life has finally “re-opened” after lockdown, and the process has felt strangely like the way you felt the first time you tried to skate.
Put another way, everything is still a little awkward.
I’m not saying this is ideal. Just saying it had become normal.
So we’ve been upgraded now to Normalcy 2.0: Shorter lines at the supermarkets, at least occasionally, and sometimes no lines at all (I do not understand this — under quarantine the lines stretched for miles. Have people stopped needing to eat?), but you still must wear a mask and gloves when you enter. Masks are required only in enclosed spaces where maintaining social distance is difficult, though many people, including me, are still wearing masks out on the street. More people are outdoors, of course — the end of lockdown and beautiful weather guarantee it. Cups of espresso are available everywhere. I must be dreaming.
Our favorite little restaurant finally re-opened, so we celebrated the other evening by stopping for dinner; we were the only — perhaps even the first — customers, happily munching undercooked pizza because we were so glad to get back in the groove, and also helping the owner do the same. She’d been closed since December, thanks to the apocalyptic acqua alta of last November 12 (anybody remember that?)
This sign didn’t stay up long, but was worth noticing: “Turn off the virus! Turn on your business!” This company uses ozone as disinfectant. The process evidently offers several advantages over other methods, especially in restaurants and salons where the odor of bleach or other chemicals is unpleasant.On the subject of signs, you recall that all the death notices during quarantine stated that funerals were very restricted (only closest relatives, no Mass, etc.). This is the first indication of some remediation: “On April 1 she was lost to the love of her dear ones” (standard), but it then continues: “Not having been able to celebrate the religious function on the occasion of the funeral, the Holy Mass of intercession will be celebrated at the Basilica of San Pietro di Castello Saturday June 13 at 11:00 AM.” It’s interesting that this was put up more than a week in advance.
A few tourists have begun to appear, which ought to be the best indication that the worst is over. And yet, although I know that the city needs a certain quantity of them in order to survive, seeing them inspires the same dread as seeing the water in the glass on the dashboard in “Jurassic Park,” quivering from the heavy tread of whatever dinosaur was approaching. Yes, I have just compared tourists to saurian predators. Funny how you think you want something and then it turns out you really didn’t.
And so one of the prime features of Normalcy 1.0 is still active: The slob tourists. Some people were hoping that now, seeing that the decks had been cleared, the city could attract the elite tourist (how many times have I heard this dream? About as often as I hear how we’d spend the millions we’d win in the weekly lottery, and with the same probability). Of course we want tourists like Grace Kelly and Cary Grant, but instead we get two German men who went swimming in the Grand Canal a few days ago.
Odd, in that this stunt is usually the specialty of drunk American boys in the hottest depths of summer. But who can search the intricate pathways of the touristic brain? And this pair was not the first to succumb to the lure of the canals. On May 26, back in the early days of Phase 2 when travel was just beginning to be permitted within the Veneto, two young women from near Vicenza were seen lounging in their swimsuits on a fondamenta in Cannaregio, enjoying the sun and evidently anticipating a little dip in the rio degli Ormesini. Offended locals alerted the police, who came to explain the situation to them and impose fines (250 euros / $282) on each of them.
As for the German men, their being 40-something adults complicates the equation, as well as their not being intoxicated, as does their sang froid in answering a bystander’s question as to what the heck they were doing with another question: “What the hell does it matter to you?” (freely translated). Yes, they managed to have their little swim, and I hope it was everything they’d dreamed of because they were nabbed, each fined (450 euros / $508) and marked as forbidden to return to Venice.
So refreshing, so expensive, so … illegal. (galileusweb.com)
It’s something to ponder: Back in the olden days of last year, the loutish tourist (turista cafone) seemed to appear as the occasional freak in the midst of the masses. You think, well, when there are 50,000 visitors a day, it’s probably inevitable that a few boors will slip through. But evidently the boors are free spirits who have no need of concealing themselves. I’ve begun to wonder if there could be a factory somewhere that manufactures these people and sends them at random around the world. Do they have homes and jobs and normal lives? I just cannot picture them in some regular place, like regular people.
Why am I going on about this? Because it seemed like we wanted tourists to come back. Now I, secretly, am beginning to rethink that. Of course businesses want them, I understand and respect that. More about that in a later post. But on a personal level, I’m going to confess that despite the many uncomfortable and inconvenient aspects of lockdown (starting with the fear of falling ill, or maybe dying, and ending with the total lack of cafe’s), I’ve already begun to feel a guilty little tremor of nostalgia for the peace and the quiet.
Yes, I realize I could find all I want in the Gobi Desert. But I like the canals as much as everybody from Germany and America and Italy and Belgium…..
In fairness, these visitors are from the Veneto, by which I mean there is some typical tourist behavior that is not unique to foreigners. I know this because the city was full of families and groups that sunny Sunday afternoon (May 31), as the restrictions on travel within the Region had just been lifted.Along the Riva dei Sette Martiri, there were couples and family groups just walking along, enjoying the sunshine.The vibe was somehow like a really relaxed “Su e Zo per i Ponti” (scheduled for April 19 this year, but obviously canceled). It’s an event that is a great excuse for groups, families, clubs, etc. to get out for the day, explore Venice, benefit a charity, totally clog up many narrow streets, etc. It always seems like a party, which is very nice. I’ve never participated because I go up and down the bridges all year long.
The vaporettos have reached their standard configuration now, with red labels indicating the places you are not permitted to sit. So this person is standing. It’s wonderful.And on the other side of the same boat, I watched this lady just plunk herself down on top of the miraculously invisible red label, and make herself comfortable. She was not a tourist; I’ve always said that plenty of Venetians can be just as uncivilized as foreigners.
As it happens, I saw the same thing happen on the big #1 coming down the Grand Canal yesterday, but I intervened.
The interior of the cabin is organized with three seats facing three seats, etc. and in that case I had the free seat in the center of one row, but the seat facing me was red-labeled. The window seat was occupied, and the aisle seat was free. A woman enters with her young son, who might have been eight or nine years old. She parks her shopping trolley in the aisle, parks her son in the seat next to it, and parks herself in the forbidden seat in front of me. (Beat. Beat. Beat.)
“Why are you looking at me?” she asks. “Because you’re sitting in a seat with a red label.” She then rebuts, not unpleasantly but with complete conviction, that she has to sit there, she has no choice, because something something son something aisle. I say “The seat has a red label, you’re not allowed to sit there.” More reply. “So,” I say, “if everybody just does whatever they feel like, there’s no point in having the labels, is that right?” And I get up and walk over to Lino across the aisle, and just stand until another seat opens up.
Later, when I explained why I had been standing there, he said “Wrong! You should have told me!” (Unchain the Lino!) Or I could have gone to tell the marinaio, who ties up the boat at each stop, and he would have come and enforced the rule. They actually count how many people disembark at each stop, and count the same number of people boarding, after which they close the barrier.
I’ll keep these options in mind for my next experiment in the new order of things. Glad to know I’ll have backup. The new normal is looking kind of interesting.
Walking home, I see this. But what is it? A man with a … lamp? If life were normal, I’d immediately have understood it to be some piece of modern performance art as part of the Biennale. I say “performance art,” because the art wouldn’t have been the lamp. It would have been the man in a boat, floating around with a lamp. Nowadays, though, invoking the Biennale is obviously impossible.Mystery solved: It’s moving day, and he got stuck with the torchere, or a cult object from some indigenous Amazonian tribe. Something too valuable to have been loaded onto the other boat with everything else. The fact that whoever it is has finally been able to move in is a great sign of the return to normal life.This is our normal: Rowing out in our boat to the Great Hunting Grounds where Lino seeks clams. It’s like meditation or something for him, he totally loses track of everything. You must imagine the thought balloon over his head: “Just one more…..”.
The “Serenissima” takes the lead in the corteo, bearing trumpeters and assorted officials (mayor, patriarch, high-ranking military officers, etc.) from San Marco to the church of San Nicolo’ on the Lido. There all the boats pause to witness the tossing of the commemorative ring and laurel wreath into the water, with appropriate benediction. This year the event was scheduled for May 24, but there will be no boats.
May is a special month to many people, for many reasons. I believe a million poets have made that observation.
For me, the month of roses and gobies and European flounder (there is definitely a poem in there waiting to be lured out), has always been one of the most stressful in the whole year. I would begin dreading May in February, because of two enormous, hence exhausting, annual events that involved Lino and me: the festival of the Sensa (Ascension Day) and the Vogalonga. (“Involved” means planning as well as execution; Lino is part of the Committee of the Sensa, and I would work in the registration office of the Vogalonga for the two weeks leading up to the event.)
Then I would participate in both events — the boat procession, or corteo, for the Sensa, proceeding from Venice to the Lido, and the Vogalonga, which when everything went well would take a good five hours. Things did not always go well; one year it took us seven hours to complete it, due to contrary wind and/or tide, some less-than-prepared rowers in our boat, etc. That’s not a complaint, just a statement. These things happen and you just grit your teeth and carry on. Apart from the rowing itself, we’d see many friends only once a year for the Vogalonga, so any empty spaces in the calendar or the energy of that weekend were filled with convivial (fancy word for “running far into the night”) gatherings in apartments, restaurants, boats, etc.
But this May is abnormal, melancholy, bizarre, because both events have long since been canceled, taking all that annoying confusion, exhaustion, and tension with them. And I’m still not happy! Because this is weird!
The Sensa has been reduced to the commemorative mass at the church of San Nicolo’ on the Lido; it will be attended by the usual personages, but there will be no boats, no tossing of the wreath or the ring, and no races. Why? Because GATHERINGS ARE FORBIDDEN. People would want to GATHER along the shore to watch, and the rowers would certainly be gathered in their boats (forbidden), and the boats would be gathered, and just no.
The corteo was always wonderful, so I’m putting in a few photos of past editions, seeing that we won’t be on the water on Sunday.Apart from the challenge of social distancing inside the boat, there would be no point in distancing the boats. Trying to get as close as possible to the “Serenissima” is part of the fun.
I suppose some private boats could form a procession, each one rowed by the permitted maximum of two people, but that would be even sadder than no boats at all. I told Lino I thought it would extremely cool if every boat club would send their big representative boat, but instead of a full crew each one could be rowed by two people (even the boats that are set up for ten, or 12, or 14 people) or — even better! — rowed by just one person. He said he didn’t think there were that many individuals capable of rowing a big boat by themselves, so there goes that little inspiration. Also, only I have this sort of crackpot idea.
Don’t think it’s crazy to suggest rowing the boats alone — all gondolas are rowed the same way, no matter how big they are, and all of the rowing clubs’ ceremonial boats are gondolas. Here is Lino in Greece on an 8-oar beauty. For him it was nothing even remotely resembling a big deal. He went out that morning on his own because it made him feel happy. He loved that boat.
But back to reality. The limitations on rowers would make it impossible to form a corteo. Here is the list of regulations from our boat club; notice that using the boats requires booking a time slot to ensure that only the rowers going out are permitted to even be in the clubhouse. Fine, it was just a fantasy.
“It is forbidden to use the changing rooms and showers in the club. Boats may go out with one rower. Boats with two rowers can go out if they respect the minimum distance of two meters between them in the boat. More than two rowers can go out without respecting the distance requirement EXCLUSIVELY if they are family members who are living together. Use of the mask is OBLIGATORY (worn in the correct manner, that is, covering the mouth and the nose) before and after rowing (one boards and descends from the boat with the mask on). Booking the time of going out and returning will be made EXCLUSIVELY on the WhatsApp group of the club, allowing 20 minutes between exit and return time in order to avoid meetings (overlapping, running into other people, however you want to put it) in the clubhouse. If on return you find that another boat is preparing to exit the club, wait at a distance till the other boat has departed. Seeing the situation, to guarantee the safety and health of all members, the Council of Directors will look at the recorded videos to ensure that all the members respect these rules. Anyone who goes out MUST, on return, wash the club’s boat and oars with water and bleach-based soap provided in the club.”
The Vogalonga — this year would have been the 46th — was scheduled, as always, a week after the Sensa — May 31, to be precise. It has never been canceled, even in the worst weather. A pandemic is clearly so much worse than weather. Besides, no one can travel, the hotels are closed, and just to review the basics: Gatherings of people are forbidden. If some 2000 boats in the water don’t constitute a gathering, then we need a new definition.
So the two big events that made May matter have been expunged and left only its husk ready to fall off the calendar just like March and April have already done. What an ignoble end to a once-princely month.
Happily, spring is proceeding with its usual nonchalance, bestowing any number of special gifts (do they still qualify as gifts if you count on getting them every year?). Blackbirds singing at dawn and at sunset, the limetrees just beginning to waft their delicate perfume along viale Garibaldi, the first magnolia on the tree next to General Emo Capodilista. The signs of the season haven’t failed us.
And we’re well underway with the artichokes (their moment is almost over), and fresh peas and asparagus. The fruit is in that awkward stage between winter and summer — we’re bored to death with apples and bananas, but the first cherries are expensive and flavorless, the apricots should be ashamed of pushing themselves forward so aggressively because they are definitely not ready yet, and some vendors are offering melons, for Lord’s sake. Everybody knows that melons were put on this earth to save your life in July and August; in May you might as well just sell photos of melons, the taste would be the same.
Fish, however, are having their moment. “Quando la rosa mette spin’, xe bon el go’ e el passarin.” When the rose puts out its thorns, the gobie and the flounder are good. Seppie belong in this category too, but it doesn’t rhyme.
Lino, who has fished all year long all his life, tells me this: “The go’ are always in the lagoon. The passarini lay their eggs in December and go out into the Adriatic; they come back in between March and April. The seppie begin to come into the lagoon in March. In May and June the gilthead bream, striped seabream and sea bass come in to lay their eggs….” I know things are proceeding according to plan because we have seen little swarms of fingerlings in the canal several times.
Roses are everywhere. Check.The go’ (Gobius ophiocephalus) are taking over the fish markets just now. Check. They’re excellent when fried (as are so many things…) but we always cook them for a classic Venetian risotto which literally nobody makes anymore. Do not believe the rare restaurant that claims to serve them – Lino hasn’t found one yet. Even I have detected impostors. These are so easy to prepare that I can’t imagine why anyone would want to fake it.The passarin (Platichthys flesus luscus) used to be abundant; Lino has slain and consumed what must have been tons of them. Fried, in saor, simmered (their broth makes a delectable risotto), this is just a wonderful fish. I’m showing a stock photo because they have virtually disappeared from the fish markets. I have heard that the gilthead bream muscled them out of the lagoon, and it’s true that the bream have become a fish-market standard by now.I have read that seppie are probably the most intelligent invertebrates. I respect that, even if they do look like Mr. Magoo.“Bovoleti,” or little snails, are making an early appearance. They’re always sold in the fish markets, even though they are obviously a land animal that is harvested in the fields. I say they’re premature because they will be bitter as long as the artichokes are still being sold. In June, their flavor improves.Let’s hope it’s a sign, and not just a meteorological cliche’.
