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Onward to Phase 2

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General Giorgio Emo Capodilista is following orders: If you go outside, you must wear a mask. This sort of frivolity would have been unthinkable two months ago, but maybe by now we’re all getting used to living with the virus.

There’s something in the air, and it’s not pollen — it’s the sensation of imminent liberation from lockdown, at least for some.

Even as the brain repeats the refrain put out by radio and newspaper and online news that “This is going to be a gradual process, programmed in stages over the entire month of May, subject to immediate revision or revocation if the numbers of infections begin to increase,” the atmosphere is quivering with anticipation.

It’s also quivering with confusion, because unlike two months ago, when all this began, not everybody seems to be on the same proverbial page.  Information is coming from the federal government, the regional government, and the city, in the voice of its somewhat overwrought mayor.  After eight weeks of only essential businesses being allowed to stay open, the owners and employees of the less-essential businesses have been driven to the edge.  In fact, many small business owners are planning various protests for Sunday (in Mestre and elsewhere on the mainland) and in the Piazza San Marco on Monday, May 4.

The restaurant/bar/cafe’ owners are howling to reopen — at the moment, they must wait till June 1 — even though I don’t quite see how, at least in the Historic Center, they are going to begin to recoup their losses when there are no tourists to fill their seats, tables, and cash registers.  And even if and when there are tourists, the new regulations require tables to be positioned two meters (6.5 feet) apart; this obviously will slash the number of customers being served.  Hair salons are not to allow anyone in the shop without an appointment (no hanging around leafing through magazines), and stylists and clients will have to wear masks and gloves.  Disinfecting the premises — chairs, tables, even floor, for all I know — will be a major daily undertaking.

But more on the business situation later.

Disinfection continues, leaving its mark. Frequent spraying goes on: pavement, campi, railings, and vaporetto docks.
The person in the white suit wields the spray-wand, in this case drawing from a large tank on a nearby boat.
The boat and men were working their way along from stop to stop.
The large white cube contains gallons of disinfectant.
Far from the boat, he carries his little tank with him as he walks his beat, spraying disinfectant on the railings of bridges and canals.  I try to stay upwind.
Outside the pharmacy “Al Basilisco” (of Dr. Baldisserotto), just as you find at the entrance to the Coop, a bottle of hand sanitizer is ready for use. “Attention: Before entering, disinfect (hygienize) your gloves.”  I’m all for it, but am waiting to see if somebody is going to say it would be advisable to then pull on another pair of gloves over the first pair, and so on….They say there’s no such thing as being too prudent, but we’ll see.
At the entrance to the second pharmacy in via Garibaldi (Dr. Polito) are more instructions that experience has evidently rendered necessary: “No more than two persons/clients inside.  Enter the pharmacy equipped with mask and gloves.  DO NOT remove the mask when you’re in the pharmacy.  Respect the one-meter distancing.  No more than 1 or 2 persons inside.  Thank you.”  Do not remove the mask when you’re inside?  Do people still not grasp what the mask is for?

We are all trying to make sense of what we’re going to be allowed to do beginning on Monday, May 4.  Here is what we know so far.

In no particular order, we can: Stroll or run or bicycle farther afield than the previous limit of 200 meters from your house, maintaining at least one meter of space between you and anyone else.  No more than two adults, “and children” (number unspecified), are allowed to be out together.  In other words, no coming out in herds.

You can visit friends or family without having to prove verifiable necessity — that’s quite a change — but the number of participants must remain small.  It doesn’t help much that “family” is now defined as including “congiunti“; literally, it means “joined,” but indicates a second level of relative or relation.  Your spouse is your spouse, your “congiunto” could be your boyfriend whom you haven’t seen in at least a month.  There was an invigorating, if brief, exchange on the radio two days ago in which the speakers attempted to discern the boundaries of the congiunto: “If he’s your new boyfriend, how long will you need to have been together?”  “Could somebody you met a week ago qualify?”  “Is there a difference if I go to see him, instead of him coming to see me?”  And so on.  Madness.

Basically, the central concept remains: Groups are hazardous to everyone in them.  Avoid them.

You can train or practice your individual sport, even at your club’s center, but no teams.  No congregating.

Parks will be reopened, at the discretion of each town’s respective mayors, so children can get out and play.  But no groups!

Residents who have a second home elsewhere in the Veneto (we’re allowed now to travel between towns, but it is still prohibited to cross regional borders) will be permitted to go there to check on its condition, just to make sure that the house isn’t about to collapse or rot away before your eyes.  No, you can’t take your spouse and kids and dog; in fact, you can’t even stay overnight.  No being clever and turning your little inspection trip into your family’s traditional ox-roast, clambake and Highland Games.

As I try to adjust ever so slightly to a normal view of life and the world, however tentative or experimental, I have become obsessed with the company that advertises on the radio every day at noon.  It describes their fabulous kitchen redesign capabilities in the most soothing way (I guess they realize we’re all a little on edge), sprinkled with words like “hope” and “dream” that make it sound as if they are able and ready to make your life — they say “kitchen,” but they obviously mean “life” — so gorgeous and so wonderful that you will not believe you’re even still you.

And every time I hear these extravagant claims I ask myself if there is anyone who has time, or money, or desire, to think about their freaking kitchen right now.  Apart from the cost, it would seem to me that after two months of being compelled to cook twice a day — no matter how thrilled you must be to have perfected your sourdough bread or Poulet Paul Gauguin Retour de Tahiti — the last place on earth you want to think about now is the kitchen.  If I didn’t have Lino as the cook supreme here, I’d already have turned ours into a pinball arcade.

It’s 7:00 AM at Sant’ Elena and a seagull has already bagged at least one seppia. They’re coming in now, and they may be pleasantly surprised not to have to run the usual gantlet of fishermen along the waterfront. This one evidently had an entire winter’s-worth of ink stored up, ready for battle, but all his ammunition wasn’t enough.  (How do I know it was a seagull?  Because the seppia’s “bone” was lying a few feet away.)
Further up along the Riva dei Sette Martiri, more signs of epic struggle.  At least the animals have enemies they can actually see.

So are we beginning to scent the breezes of freedom, comfort and joy?  Not so fast.  Even on the verge of Phase 2, warnings abound, and if infections begin to increase, back we go into lockdown.  This has been made abundantly clear.

Even clearer than the now-world-famed water in the canals. I wish there were something interesting down there, now that we could finally see it.
Occasionally you can see an old tire, but I was dreaming of something more amazing.  Anyway, the water’s kind of low this morning, which mitigates the thrill of seeing as far as the bottom.

REVIEW CHAPTER:  If you’re not convinced that the risk remains, here is oncologist Dr. Paolo Ascierto speaking to overexcited readers of La Repubblica: “Unfortunately the virus is still circulating, and the levels of infection are identical to those of weeks ago.  The numbers have improved only thanks to isolation….it’s clear that every day it’s possible to become infected, above all if you don’t use the mask and don’t maintain social distancing.  We’ll be out of the emergency only when we have a vaccine that, however, won’t be here any sooner than a year.  We still know very little about the virus.  How long will someone who was infected remain immune?  We don’t know.  The mask doesn’t protect us but the others, so if we all wear it, we’re protected.  A concert?  Without a vaccine, we’ll watch it from home.”

Here is Dr. Angelo Pan, head of the infectious diseases department of the hospital of Cremona, one of the hardest-hit in the epidemic wave that began in Lombardy on February 21.  “This virus is a schifezza (skee-FETS-ah — nastiness, disgustingness, filth) like I’ve never seen and never thought to see,” he told HuffPost (translated by me).  “I never call it Covid-19, I call it schifezza…. This isn’t flu we’re facing … We have the sensation that this schifezza triggers new problems.  The infection leaves traces that we still have to deal with….” (not only on the lungs, but the heart, liver, kidneys, and brain).

Ranieri Guerra, adjunct director of the WHO, defined it as “a monster.”  “He’s right,” Dr. Pan agreed.  “It’s a genius of evil, capable of having different faces and causing different problems.  Its capacity to ‘put on makeup’ (disguise itself) and adapt itself to its environment makes it the worst we’ve had to deal with in decades.  I don’t want this problem to be underestimated elsewhere, because it is still dramatic.”

End of review.  Do not say that nobody told you.

On public transport, passengers must use mask and gloves and the maximum number of passengers will be limited to 30 persons on buses and 350 on trains.  This rule has already caused excitement in Naples, because when the bus is carrying the maximum permitted, it is required to skip the next stops.  But in one case, the driver continued to halt and let more people climb aboard.  Other passengers rebelled, yelling at the driver that he isn’t allowed to do this.  Astonished commentators could only say “In Naples?”

Limiting the number of passengers will obviously require more buses and vaporettos to be in service.  Well, one would assume, unless everyone needs to plan an extra hour for transit in case they have to wait for the next one.  (At the moment, the vaporettos run every 20 minutes, as opposed to every 12 minutes for the #1.) We saw a vaporetto pass this morning with about 20 people clustered in the central zone that is the entrance and exit combined.  Public transport vehicles are now required to have one door for entering and a different one for exiting.  Good luck with that with the vaporettos; I know from experience that there are people who perceive the  boarding/disembarkation point as being exactly in front of me.  Like on the subway, but somehow worse.

This morning I noticed that the impending easing of restrictions has been misinterpreted by some blithe spirit.  No, sir. Don’t let anybody take off your mask until orders arrive to the contrary.

The reckless will undoubtedly continue to push the boundaries.  A few weeks ago, a man was stopped at a checkpoint and asked where he was going in his car, and why.  “I have to go visit my mother,” was the reply.  Who could object to that?  Nobody, except that he forgot about that verification process the officers have to conduct.  They called the number he would have had to give them, and someone answered:  “Who?  She’s been dead for a month.”

On we go.  A few days ago, a man was promenading along the Fondamenta degli Ormesini in Cannaregio, dressed in snowy-forest camouflage (to conceal yourself in Venice) but without a mask.  The vigili (local police) stopped him and conversation ensued, as did a ticket for a 400-euro fine.  The man lost his mind, yelling all sorts of abuse at them and repeatedly calling them “Ignorant!” because they fined him for breaking a city ordinance while “People are dying of hunger because they have no work!”  There isn’t a discernible link between masks and hunger, but there is a good one between masks and insulting a public official, so in addition to the fine he now has been cited for a penal infraction.

This clip was forwarded to me from a friend via WhatsApp; I don’t know the source, but I think it has been circulating fairly widely.

Meanwhile, over in Milan, a man was driving along till he reached a checkpoint.  The Carabiniere on duty asked his reason for being out, and the man replied “I’m a nurse and I’ve just gotten off a 20-hour shift in the hospital.”

The Carabiniere stood back, saluted, and said “Thank you for all that you’re doing.”

It would have been touching except that the man was not a nurse, and drove away giggling.  You think that’s dumb?  He video’d the whole thing.  You think that’s dumb?  He put it on his Facebook page.  Probably many people saw it, but the most important viewer was a friend with a conscience, who reported the affair to the Carabinieri.  See above: Fine and a citation for insulting a public official, which will almost certainly see him in court and, depending on how jauntily the man defends himself, perhaps even in the cooler for a while.

And so we trek onward toward the wonders of Phase 2, armed with four masks offered by the city government.  A recorded phone call from the mayor alerted us that they would be on the way, and he took the opportunity to thank us for our cooperation.  Two days later the package was in our mailbox.  I wonder if a new mask will work the same magic as new shoes.  Or kitchen.

The Comune of Venice has acquired 600,000 masks, which they are giving away to residents.  This packet of four masks appeared in our mailbox two days ago; we’re already two months into daily mask-wearing, but as the old saying here goes, “I vovi sono boni anca dopo Pasqua” (eggs are also good after Easter).  Never let it be said that I looked a gift mask in the mouth.  And thank you, Mr. Mayor, for giving us this chance to remember that you are soon going to be running for re-election.
Written in English, stamped in Chinese. Good thing there are pictures.

 

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Venetian Events

Nobody stops San Marco

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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.

 

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The Easter after-effects

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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.

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Acqua Alta, MOSE

Anybody remember MOSE?

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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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