Venice: I am not making this up

Anybody remember MOSE?

April 8, 2020 8 Comments

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.

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Determined to smile

April 5, 2020 18 Comments

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.

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Now it’s masks and GLOVES

April 4, 2020 5 Comments

The fruit-and-vegetable boat had to be creative to meet the new requirement of establishing a clear entrance and exit, but they managed just fine. It’s a curious sensation to be there without being smushed against the railing by 25 other people and having to somehow remember when your turn is. The sign says “Beginning of the line for the boat. Only 2 persons at a time.” Massimo and Luca have been wearing latex gloves since this thing began, but today was the first time they wore masks.

By now everybody knows that anyone venturing outside should be wearing a mask. But masks have been dang hard to come by over the past week or so. One of our two pharmacies didn’t have them (sold out); the housewares/cosmetics store was selling them, one to a customer, for 2.50 euros (steep!); and the free masks that the evening news report had said would be available at the newsstands weren’t to be had even for ready money. I know I said they were supposed to be free, but if they don’t even exist, that’s a minor point.

Well, I finally nabbed a package of masks at the pharmacy — they said it was the last one — then this morning there was a big sign at the newsstand stating that 5 masks would be given with each purchase of La Nuova Venezia (the other newspaper). Naturally I bought the paper, got the masks, and so we’re set for a few days, considering how little we go out. Lino has taken to calling them “muzzles.”

But now gloves have entered the scene. A new decree was broadcast last night, another pump of the brakes to slow this virus down: Masks AND SINGLE-USE GLOVES ARE REQUIRED of anyone going into a store, or intending to buy anything outside, as well. This is obviously required of the sellers, too. Furthermore, the shop or sales area must have one (1) entrance and one (1) exit, clearly marked. And, of course, the usual one-meter distance between the limited number of people permitted to be in the store together.

There were a few notices at the entrance of the detergent/housewares/cosmetics store. On the orange sign: “To enter mask, scarf and gloves.” On the yellow sign: “According to the ordinance you must use a mask or scarf and single-use gloves. Those who don’t have them just ask for them.” The idea wasn’t that they intended to give away free gloves forever, but they were being kind and/or savvy in supplying some for this visit only — in my case, so I could go in and buy gloves. Virtually every shop had some sort of sign alerting their customers to the new rules, but they didn’t express themselves in the same way. This was starting out strong, leading with “the ordinance.”

So today the neighborhood was peopled by individuals with faces concealed by all sorts of coverings — crinkly green paper, fuzzy white paper, some cloth, in assorted configurations. But not everybody wants to accept the reason for the mask, just as not everybody (looking at my brother-in-law) has accepted the reason for the car seatbelt. I’ve seen people pull the belt across their chest and just hold it in their hand, without attaching it. I have never grasped what they thought they were doing, but evidently they think windshield-face is preferable to doing what someone tells them to do, even if it’s for their own good.

Case in point: Sergio P, a very good guy whom I’ve rowed with on various occasions. This morning, as I was walking home along the fondamenta, here he came. We stopped to exchange hellos. My voice was muffled, but his was not because, like a number of people I’ve seen, his mask was hanging around his neck, below his chin. (People do this with dog muzzles, too. “Yes,” the implication is, “my dog has a muzzle.” The law says the dog has to have a muzzle. Your point being?)

Maybe I looked at him funny, because he said “The mask is down because I’m smoking.” Of course that’s logical, as far as it goes — you’ve got to be able to get the cigarette to your mouth. But logic ends there, because if the mask is there to protect your lungs from the virus, why did you move it so you can wreck your lungs with smoke?

I didn’t ask him this.

So: Gloves and masks it is.

The bakery next door to the detergents took a slightly gentler approach: “Dear clients for the sake of courtesy enter with gloves and masks. Thank you.”

The wine ship was slightly starchier: “Notice to our kind clientele to be equipped with gloves and masks to enter. Thank you.” No invoking The Ordinance, but they didn’t say “please,” either.

The fishmongers, though, can’t quite bring themselves to order their clients around: “A notice to our kind clientele to enter 2 persons at a time equipped if possible with gloves and masks. Thank you.” “If possible”? That sounds dangerously like a loophole they invented.

The bakery shop around the corner earns the prize for haiku-like succinctness, with the rules written on a bag typically used to hold your bread order: “Obligatory enter with mask and gloves.”

Venetian Events

Life as she is lived

March 29, 2020 6 Comments

This isn’t our window. Could be anybody’s — or everybody’s — at this point, now that “out” has become “in.”

We are at the beginning of Week 4 of detention, and we are holding up remarkably well, all things considered. The memory of the way life used to be has begun to fade slightly, like an old fax on thermal paper, if anyone remembers those.

Our exercise regimen is simple: An early-morning walk ten times over the bridge outside our house (five minutes), and the same around 5:00 PM. I go up the street to get the Gazzettino. After lunch, if there’s sunshine, we sit on the edge of the fondamenta at the end of our little calle for a half-hour — not exercise, I know, but real-world air — replenishing our vitamin D stores and seeing humans passing on the other side of the canal at a very safe distance. Yesterday, being Saturday, there was a continual procession of people with shopping trolleys, sometimes one person even had two — it was like the migration of the wildebeest all headed toward the Prix supermarket. We heard the thudding of the overloaded trolleys on the return descent of the bridge all afternoon.

Sitting outside is like vacation; I call it “going to the beach.” As soon as the weather really warms up I anticipate doing this in my bathing suit. (I made that up, though shorts and a tank top could work.) Meanwhile, I make do with workouts via YouTube, like everybody. If I don’t get sick, I may come out of this in the best shape of my life.

Yesterday morning around 9:00 AM I was making my way down via Garibaldi from the pharmacy — finally scored some masks; they seem a little sketchy, but they’re certainly better than nothing. It was the last pack they had.

I counted 31 people in line (more than one meter apart) waiting to enter the Coop supermarket. In the Old Days I would have predicted that some enterprising individuals would have begun to offer their services as stand-in-line-for-you-ers, for a small consideration. But now I realize that the longer the line, the happier people probably are: More legally permitted time outside. Who needs to be in a hurry anymore? Hurrying is becoming a quaint, old-timey custom, like carving butter molds. Have to wait an hour to get into the store? Great! Who the hell wants to be rushing home?

(If anyone cares, I personally haven’t reached that point, after a lifetime of honing my skills to avoid lines. I went to the Prix supermarket at 8:00 AM on Friday specifically to avoid standing in an eternal line on Saturday — supermarkets closed Sunday again — and I went right in. Now that I’ve written that, it will never happen again.)

Doctors and nurses are beginning to die. Appeals have brought in extra doctors from Russia, from Cuba, from Albania. Thank God these countries had some extras available, but when it’s their turn to begin running short I have no idea what they’ll do. Call these people back home, I guess.

The nursing homes are on super-lockdown. We have two elderly relatives in the same facility, and nobody is permitted to enter the front door, not even the closest relatives (think: only son). If he’s bringing clean clothes to his ailing mother, the staff will open the door just enough to let him pass the bag to them, without touching anyone.

If you want to talk to your ailing mother and she doesn’t have a cell phone (not made up), you have to have found somebody on her floor who has a phone. I wanted to talk to Lino’s phoneless 91-year-old cousin on the ground floor, and my only option was to call her friend from a few rooms down the hall. At least now she understands why we’re not coming to see her anymore; she deserves to know we haven’t abandoned her en masse.

Robberies are down. No surprise there — everybody’s at home. Also: Let’s imagine you’re a thief on his way to break into somebody’s house. The police stop you and ask where you’re going. What are you going to say? “To work”? Try that and they will, as required, call to verify this. But instead of calling your boss at Universal Tool and Die Co., or whatever, they’ll have to call who? Your victim? There’s a funny sketch in here somewhere, but I’m not the one to find it.