Venice: I am not making this up

Empty stage set

March 8, 2020 12 Comments

I would bet you money that every single person who has come to Venice in the past 200 years has said: “It looks like a stage set.” I’ve heard lots of people say it, as if it were an astonishing discovery. I heard myself say it, on my first trip here. I thought I’d said something original.

But empty stages, I’m here to tell you, aren’t interesting at all.

Walking to the Rialto Market yesterday morning was not a very pleasant experience. There were some people outside, here and there, but a promenade that I once would have savored as a delicious interlude of stolen calm was a wander across a disconcerting dreamscape; despite the gleaming March sunshine, it felt like we were walking through one of those vaguely ominous black and white Eastern European films from the Sixties.

Just some people taking their shadows out for a walk.

Including us, and a flag pole. And trash bin.

Suddenly we saw a young couple having breakfast in the screened-in porch of the Pensione Wildner on the Riva degli Schiavoni – Honey look! Tourists! They were the only ones in the entire room, and I can’t say how I resisted taking their picture. Maybe I was afraid of scaring them away, like a barely glimpsed Javan rhino in the wild. (But if they’re in Venice these days, it’s probably impossible to scare them.) We passed a friend, a professional photographer, who was going toward San Marco, and I almost yelled “Tourists! On the Riva Schiavoni! Two of them!” as if he’d want to snap their picture for the Gazzettino before they escaped. This is not good at all.

Fun facts from the Gazzettino:

A review of 21 communes in the Veneto at the highest risk of hardship from the disappearance of tourists puts Venice at #16 (NOT #1), right after Livinallongo del Col di Lana (mountains) and right before Eraclea (beaches). The top six are all around Lake Garda, which depends a great deal on German tourists.

Speaking of Germany, the epidemic started there, it’s just been stated, and not Italy (so we can throw away our leper bells?). Just telling you for the record.

Vaporetto ridership is down 40 per cent. Actually, this is delightful for those who are still riding, but don’t say that to the ACTV officials who are beginning to consider cutting back on service. Yesterday morning we were on the #1 coming back from the Rialto and there were 13 people aboard, including us. Two (not one, but two) ticket inspectors got on, and went down the aisle, as required, checking if everybody had a valid ticket. It seemed just a little extreme; I’d say we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel here, if the fine on one freeloader is going to keep the ACTV afloat.

In point of fact, a large part of the mountains of money from the vaporetto tickets are spent on the land buses; lack of tourists paying 7.50 euros per ride means that red ink will soon be leaking onto the accounting pages. The books are already a little bloodstained by the cost of the damage from the acqua granda of November 12: There are 9 vaporettos and 22 docks needing more or less major repair or reconstruction, (20,000,000 euros).

Also, every night 95 vaporettos, 300 buses and 15 trams are disinfected. That’s not free, of course — what is? Not that I have sympathy to spare for the ACTV, but I’ve only ever noticed the problem of too few vaporettos for too many passengers. It’s a surprise to find myself thinking, even briefly, about too many vehicles and not enough riders.

Stage-managing this city has always been a challenge. But now we not only have no audience, but hardly any actors, either. This is some spectacle.

Sitting on an empty stage, waiting for her cue. As are we all.

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Today in virus central

March 5, 2020 7 Comments

What’s wrong with this picture? It’s not that there are no people, it’s that there are no fishermen on the fondamenta, snagging the seppie. The seppie are coming in now and there’s nobody welcoming them with hooks and buckets. That’s how bad things are getting to be.

I was all set — eager, even, sleeves rolled up — to weigh in on some important points about Venice as revealed by the current absence of tourists. But developments in the past two days have led me to reconsider the timing of those points. The situation here is not improving.

Schools will be closed for another week, theoretically reopening on March 16. Masses are still forbidden, and some sporting events are being held, but without spectators. We have been instructed not to shake hands, or even consider hugging or kissing any of our friends — so much for those hearty greetings in passing in via Garibaldi. Something called the “Wuhan shake” has been proposed as an alternative (touching opposing feet), or bumping elbows. I suppose those would work if your sense of human interaction is incomplete without some physical contact, but I think they would only make people feel awkward and self-conscious. Maybe after a few generations that would wear off.

What’s notable about this death notice? It’s not that Egidio has moved on (at 98 years old, it’s not exactly noteworthy). It’s the statement at the bottom, where the funeral details are usually printed. I translate: “The funeral will be celebrated in private form, according to the orders in effect by the Ministry of Health.” That means no friends, friends of the family, friends of friends; the rule is to limit the funeral to the strictest and closest immediate family members and THAT’S IT.

Wait — now things are getting serious. The first virus victim in Venice is somebody I know! Danilo Carraro had the eyeglass shop in Calle de la Mandola, and he was a very good guy. He was also one of the last — perhaps the last? — of the members of the Querini rowing club who belonged to its most florid and glorious days. I would have gone to his funeral, but as noted, only family members allowed.

So much for the people who are here. But plenty of people are not going to be here — cancellations are flooding in (sorry). A potential tourist’s fear of being infected is realistically complicated by fear of not being able to return home. “Rooms are down to just 20-30 per cent occupancy,” said Claudio Scarpa, director of the hoteliers’ association, “and some are down to zero.” Ten hotels in Venice are beginning to consider laying off staff (with unemployment benefits, as appropriate), and perhaps even closing — temporarily, one can hope.

The airports of the Veneto region (not only Venice, but also Verona and Treviso) have registered a 30 per cent drop in passengers; Israel, Jordan, and South Korea have forbidden flights coming from the Veneto. Evidently people departing Italy are now regarded as hazardous material, and people wanting to go Italy aren’t much more appealing. I saw a photograph of the departure gates for flights to Italy at Sheremetyovo airport in Moscow — all the personnel were wearing hazmat suits, completely covered, as if they were dealing with a bioterrorist site. Gad. I’m starting to feel like some sort of leper.

But I still didn’t get a sense of how serious the situation was becoming until the astonishing news came yesterday that the Biennale (this year dedicated to architecture) is being sliced in half. It usually opens in May and runs to the end of November, and provides ponderous amounts of money to the city’s economy. Now, instead of opening on May 11, it will open on August 29. In 2019 the Biennale counted some 600,000 visitors (roughly 3,000 per day), plus several thousand journalists, all of whom needed to eat and sleep in some manner, and pay for same. A mere three months isn’t going to do much for the city’s coffers, though by now I guess we should say it’s better than nothing. The prospect of “nothing” is also sobering.

All those terrible things we got used to saying about tourists? I think a lot of people would love to have the chance to say them again.

The morning is still reasonably busy on via Garibaldi, but we’re not at a level I’d call “bustling.”

Updates on the church notice-board: “The pastoral visit SUSPENDED postponed to a date to be decided.” The patriarch of Venice, Francesco Moraglia, was scheduled to visit the churches in this part of the city over the next few days, and a lovely program had been set up. But he could hardly plan a big parish visit if he’s forbidden people to gather for mass.

Notices are just popping up everywhere. These two documents are taped at the entrance to the Coop supermarket.

I translate: “Let’s collaborate together” (just go with it) “for the protection of our health. In the interest of everyone’s health, we invite you to avoid crowding, with particular attention to the service counters” (this refers to the prepared food cases and cold cuts where you order individually), “to the cash registers and the busiest departments, maintaining at least one meter of distance from other persons. In case the number of people doesn’t guarantee the respect of this indication, a system of providing access according to groups may be instituted. A responsible collaboration for the prevention of Coronavirus. In compliance with the Decree of the President of the Council of Ministers of 1 March 2020.”

“Let’s collaborate together for the protection of our health. The cooperative has taken pains to make disinfectant gel available at the checkout counter for members and clients. The possible absence of this product is determined by the difficulty in finding it on the market.”

A friendly wave from at least one meter away from you.

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A look behind the virus

March 3, 2020 4 Comments

Not to trivialize people’s concerns, but I wanted to show that flowers are blooming just the same. Miniature iris! Who knew?

I had no intention of writing anything about the coronavirus and its current effect on Venice, but a friend passed along a comment that pushed several buttons, so to speak, so here goes.

First, about the virus: Schools are closed for the second week, masses continue to not be celebrated in any churches, sporting events are either canceled or postponed to some vague not-far-but-not-near future. I have heard some references to the city being a “ghost town,” but that may be a bit exaggerated. True, late yesterday afternoon via Garibaldi was almost empty, as was the supermarket, but then again, it was cold, dark, and raining. I could hardly justify my being outside, much less wonder about anybody else.

This morning, warmer and sunnier, saw plenty of locals out and about, at least in our neighborhood. Obviously I can’t speak about the city as a whole, but by the same token, the “ghost town” person was most likely referring to the area that he or she frequents. There weren’t many children around, which is odd, considering that they’re not in school, but I presume the parents are keeping them inside. There seemed to be less boat traffic than usual out in the bacino of San Marco, but still, our morning promenade, which went as far as the Ponte dei Greci, took us past several places where workmen were toiling away. So I can’t say that everything has ground to a halt.

On the Ponte de la Veneta Marina, these men were chipping away the old mortar and planning, I assume, to apply something new and sticky. Much as I admire their dealing with the stone banister, the steps of the bridge itself have been crying out for help for years. Anyway, here we had business going on as usual.

A noticeable number of restaurants and some bar/cafes are closed, but this didn’t strike me as exceptional — in fact, I might not have noticed it if we weren’t all mentally on red-alert status. The period between Carnival and Easter is always very quiet; it’s an ideal time for the owners to go on vacation, or undertake maintenance work, precisely because there are relatively few tourists. There being even fewer due to contagion concerns doesn’t mean that the virus has prostrated the city.

Yes, restaurateurs have been reported as wailing and gnashing their teeth about the drop in business. (An ordinance has imposed a three-foot distance between tables, which does make the atmosphere slightly less welcoming.) But merchants and restaurateurs are evidently born tearing their hair and yelling “Business is terrible!” I’m not saying that this is not a difficult period for them, it’s just a refrain that is so common, for one reason or another, that it has acquired echoes of wolf.

In any case, I think the ghost-town comparison may be felt more by non-residents who aren’t able to visit museums, or who see their favorite bar or pizzeria closed. Anyone who has ever come to Venice in late winter/early spring expects to find breathing room, whether it’s three feet in every direction or not.

About the buttons to which I referred in my opening statement (pushing of, effect of) — I will explain them in my next post.

I knew that the churches are still open, even if mass isn’t celebrated. (And very quiet and empty they are, too.) But I didn’t expect to see precautions reach this level: No more holy water in the stoups. And don’t think you can just moisten your finger in what’s left in the bottom. Nope. No touching and that’s it.

Events

Carnival, been and gone

February 26, 2020 16 Comments

These are certainly not the most elaborate costumes I saw, but the glowing parasols are the point.

Carnival (or Carnevale, if you prefer) isn’t something I gorge on every year; I tend to take a few little nibbles around the edges. And this year wouldn’t have been any different except that a former colleague from National Geographic, photographer Tomasz Tomaszewski, said he was coming with a friend to make pictures, and asked if I could give a logistical hand.

For three intense days (Thursday to Saturday) we wandered around — if you can call eight miles a day “wandering” — and it turned out to be surprisingly entertaining. This doesn’t mean I can’t wait till next year to do it all again, but either the quality of the costumes was higher than in some years past, or I’ve changed in some indefinable way, or something.

I hope you enjoy these snaps, because the story of Carnevale 2020 has not had a happy ending. Northern Italy (specifically the regions of Lombardia and Veneto) are in the tightening clutch of the COVID-19 epidemic. On Sunday there were only 20,000 revelers out of an expected 100,000.

In fact, the curtain fell on Carnevale two days early – Sunday nght at midnight, to be precise. I don’t know that this has ever happened, but missing the culmination of festivities on Tuesday (Martedi’ Grasso) has certainly made the scheduled participants unhappy. The 12 Marias are in tears because now we’ll never know who was the fairest of them all.

That’s just the beginning. The governor of the Veneto has decreed many decrees prohibiting events or places of any sort where people might gather in groups larger than (insert small number here). Until March 1 the schools, universities, and museums are closed. There will be no masses celebrated in church, even on Ash Wednesday, not even in the basilica of San Marco. Sporting events are all canceled.

But let me share a look back at a few sunny days when Carnival was fully fledged and nobody was worrying about anything more important than where to finally find a place to sit down.

Trailing clouds of glory, this couple proceeded at a stately pace beneath puffs and cherubs. The stately pace was more or less imposed by the weight of the costume (some of them went up to 26 pounds, or 12 kg), and walking slowly also made it easy for photographers to snap away. The most elaborate costumes made many stops on the stroll around the Piazza because almost all of this activity was undertaken precisely to be photographed. Just like the casinos want you to steal their ashtrays (I was told once…), people dress up here to be photographed. You can’t possibly offend them by asking. Or not asking and just going ahead, shooting away, which is more common.

Photographers were swarming like freaking locusts.

All it took was for one person to start shooting and there was a sudden rush from everywhere and the wild fluttering sound of camera shutters. It was like seagulls attacking a slice of pizza.

She was only pretending to play but it looked like she was having a grand time.

I give her credit for willingness to walk around with an entire fabric-store supply of material draped on and around her, but it makes me feel tired and slightly smothered just looking at her.

It seems slightly Zen to come all the way from Tokyo to sit by yourself, but perhaps her cavalier was out getting her cigarettes or something. Tomasz is immortalizing her and her cigarette holder; she told him that she had made the costume (or had it made; in any case, it wasn’t rented, as many people do to simplify matters).

There were far too many 18th-century-Mozart-Casanova-Marie-Antoinette costumes roaming around for my taste, but this French couple took it to a whole new level. They (or she) makes the costumes, and she told me that they changed their outfit every day — wigs and all. I secretly called her Melisande, but her real name is Charlotte and she comes from La Rochelle. She and her friends — two men were in tow — drove to Venice with their steamer trunks loaded with this glorious garb.

She was too perfect. Perhaps she was listening for the distant rumble of the tumbrels?

Speaking of French, this squadron was a sight to behold– three admirals, home from the fleet after a vigorous few months of bashing the English (I imagine).

These cafes are expensive, but if you can find a seat they’re the best place to give your costume a rest for a while.

If there’s anywhere the standard period costume really looks good (apart from the Caffe’ Florian, I mean), it’s in a gondola.

She needed a better position than a mere cafe table and she got it atop the balustrade of the entrance to the campanile.

I began to yearn for simplicity, the way you yearn for a pickle after a hot pastrami sandwich. These two Italian ladies were just what I needed.

Dotted nylons and sparkly sneakers — that’s her Carnevale outfit and I really like it.

Then this vision rose from the sea, a magical naiad combining fantasy, glamour, and dazzling simplicity. Even the pose was perfect.

This extraordinary headdress is all reef — coral, algae, shells.

The pictures were all of Venice and water. If we have to have acqua alta, could more of these creatures appear, please?

I forgot all about Melisande when I lost my heart to Ondine.

At the Rialto, another breath of non-18th-century air. Very few elements involved (not like the mountain of material with the white silk roses), but all the better for that. Finding a great hat that wasn’t a tricorn isn’t deeply difficult, but you have to realize that that’s really what your outfit needs.

I entertain myself by noticing reflections, and this one of the basilica’s facade was a nice change from the parade of people.

You can only look at so many costumes before your eyes seek something drastically different. Here’s a shop at the end of a long sunny street with people apparently walking through it. Photographer Tomaszewski, or his shadow, has paused at the right to look at something. Or nothing. His eyes might have been getting tired too.

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