This is just to set the scene, the mood, the atmosphere.
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but I’m sending out this information anyway. Short version: Cover your hand whenever you enter your PIN number at the ATM here.
A good friend has told me of her experiences tracking pickpockets who are tracking you. She’s one of many who’ve taken an interest in nabbing them, and I applaud her wholeheartedly. Seeing that she lives on the doorstep of the Piazza San Marco, she’s perfectly situated for maximum sightings. If she can’t intervene in time by shouting, she takes a photo and sends it to the Carabinieri. That’s the drill.
Back to you.
Everybody knows that they have to be super-careful of their wallets when out and about. I always advise visitors to not carry too much cash, and to separate their credit/bank cards from their wallet.
You still have to be super-careful, but the reason for it has accelerated. Because the thieves operate in teams, she told me. Their “work,” if we want to put it that way, goes like this:
One person — whom you will never see, just assume that person is there — watches you enter your PIN number at the cash machine. If you haven’t covered your hand, he or she will immediately memorize that number.
The next person in the team of thieves follows you and he/she, or whoever is next in line in the light-fingered relay, steals your wallet the old-fashioned way. They take your bank/credit card to an ATM, enter your PIN number, and withdraw as much as they can. Many banks here have limits on how much can be withdrawn in a day, but the limit is sometimes rather high. My friend told me of someone who discovered that 1000 dollars had been removed from his account in the time it took to report the theft and block the card.
So much about Venice seems designed to give thieves the advantage: Crammed spaces, lots to look at, and you not paying attention. You can’t do anything about the first two, but it’s up to you to handle the third. Pay attention to your wallet, and your PIN number. No need to be unduly alarmed. Venice is not unlike Antarctica or the Naruto Whirlpools: Things go better if you’re prepared.
Newspaper headlines have to do two things: Be short, and make you want to buy the paper. You’ve got to have emotions about whatever it is, and Lord knows there’s no lack of emotions around here.
Be careful, though, not to draw the wrong conclusions or make wild assumptions when you have more feelings than information.
Case in point: This simple but fraught headline on today’s announcement board at the newsstand.
It contains nothing but emotional words: “Moto ondoso gondola capsized two boys saved.” Anyone here has only to read the words “moto ondoso” to brace themselves for the worst. This term refers to the chaotic waves caused by the ever-increasing motorboat traffic, and obviously is never good. Moto ondoso has recently reappeared — yet again — in the forefront of Venetian minds as the clearest and most present danger to waterborne vehicles and their passengers. The city itself is being victimized, too, pounded all day by the impact of the thrashing water. So we see “moto ondoso” and instantly we intuit danger, and knowing nothing more we assume that the gondola had people in it (tourists, probably). Perhaps the passengers were the two boys? Boat overturns, people being “saved” = nearly avoided drowning, is my quick assumption. What other danger would they need to have been saved from? All this is what the telegraphic headline implies.
The very brief story in La Nuova Venezia basically said that two 18-year-old boys were towing a gondola between the Bacini and San Pietro di Castello on a wide canal known as the Canale delle Navi, known also as a stretch of water becoming increasingly wild with the wakes of every motorized vehicle known to Venice. They were bringing the boat to the squero for repairs.
Some water entered the gondola, courtesy of a wave, and more followed. The boat became yet more unstable, and before long the combination of internal and external liquid pushed the boat overboard, so to speak. The article says that the boys fell in the water, but didn’t explain how. Waves and some variety of panic could have done the trick.
A passing boat rendered immediate aid, the firemen were called, as were the local police. The story will undoubtedly develop with claims and counterclaims (there seems to be some talk of a big tourist launch that was speeding). Allow me to shake my two raised fists and bellow “Curse you, moto ondoso!”
But I thought I’d reflect for a moment on the fact that towing a boat here isn’t as simple as you might think. I have participated in numerous transfers of rowing boats under tow, and you quickly discover that, even without waves, you need to pay attention. It’s not unusual to see motorboats towing some Venetian boat from the area of the race eliminations at very high speed, and some of those boats flip over too.
This was Lino a few years ago towing an eight-oar gondola and two normal gondolas. We were returning from a big event in Nafpaktos, Greece in which Venetian boats were major participants. Each boat here has some people aboard, which may well not have been the case of the unfortunate boys.
We know nothing about how this operation was being carried out. Was the gondola tied by the bow or the stern? How fast were they going? How long was the rope linking the two boats? Was there wind? In the early afternoon they would have been going against the tide; was that a factor? Don’t think I’m trying to defend the waves, I am just saying that this is a tricky undertaking for anyone who may not yet know some of the fine points. If one of the boys had been sitting in the gondola, using the oar as a sort of rudder to keep the boat from slewing around, that would have been a huge help. Or you can usefully tie a length of chain, or some deadweight object, to the stern to act as a sort of sea anchor keeping the boat from skidding around. The boat wants to fishtail because it is already riding on the swervy crest of two waves that are the wake created by the motorboat itself.
Here the foreground gondola has been allowed to skew to the right; the people aboard weren’t paying attention. As you can see in the gondola behind it, each of the two men aboard are holding oars to use as a sort of rudder. The right pressure just before the boat begins to wander off course keeps it in line. If there were more waves here, it would be clearer how vulnerable the already-low left side of the gondola is to taking on water.Here I am with a friend, each of us working with our oars to keep this caorlina on the straight and narrow. It’s not just the gondola; any Venetian boat wants to wander off course when it’s being towed.
Of course we don’t want waves, and we don’t want boys falling in the water all of a sudden. I’m certainly ready to blame moto ondoso for every bad thing on earth. But towing a boat is like driving in the snow. Things can happen.
Another view of the boats moving around. You really need to anticipate the boat’s tendency to slither out of line, otherwise you’ll wear yourself out hauling on your oar way too hard. Lino has towed as many as nine boats by himself. Naturally that’s the Expert Level, because the person driving the motorboat has to be extremely sensitive to the motion of the boats behind him or her. When the towed boat pulls in one direction, it exerts pressure on the motorboat to veer off in the opposite direction. There are just any number of factors to keep track of, and everything is moving all the time. At least here there weren’t any waves.
The Biennale: A thing, and people looking at it, photographing it, pondering it, or discussing it without pondering.
For a thing that essentially doesn’t interest me, I seem to be unable to resist mentioning it. Each year the prologue (fancy word for “the few days preceding the opening”) to the Biennale changes the neighborhood rhythms, not to mention the scenery, as participants, journalists, and assistants of all sorts and levels permeate our corner of Castello. Saturday the sun was finally shining, and there was an atmosphere of a pleasant kind of updraft out and about.
The Biennale — this year it’s dedicated to Architecture — will run from May 20 to November 26. Whether I personally like it or not is absolutely immaterial to everybody, including me. It Is. And if you think art (or this year, architecture) is the point, you may be mistaken. When the city government hits “total” on the municipal calculators six months later — yes, half of the entire year — it’s clear that the Biennale has become one of Venice’s main sources of income.
Venice has survived for centuries by selling things, and this international event is the latest in the very long sequence of commercial activities and products. Basically, Venice now sells itself, or what I call Being in Venice. The subcategories are “looking at things,” “eating food,” “sleeping somewhere.” Sub-subcategory: “getting around in vaporettos and taxis and big lumbering tourist launches or on foot clogging streets and bridges.” Any visitor to Venice is part of this dynamic — the Biennale just concentrates it in a spectacular way. My comments are not opinions. Having an opinion on the Biennale would be like having an opinion on gravity.
Setting the scene: the fondamenta di Ca’ di Dio in front of the Arsenale vaporetto stop. It’s an excellent position and if I had time I’d try to find out how much it cost the artist to use this space, because it must be one of the most desirable locations in the city. Sharp-eyed readers will remember last year’s gold cube…
Opening day is May 20 and it will run to November 26. It seems like it just closed and yet somehow here it is again. Last Saturday the neighborhood had a sort of swirly atmosphere. Not entirely unpleasant – at least you see some new people and discover whatever is trending in the world of fashion. One hopes that some of these outfits do not represent actual trends.
I actually like this; just thought I should let you know.There seems to be no angle at which this piece looks bad. Excellent work, Mr. Roggi.
As usual, though, the title of the work is beyond gnomic. Here is the tag, you can work it out however you like. The subtitle, which I think belongs to the group of three pieces, translates as “The seed of rebirth.” The primary word is an arty rendition of “genesis.” At least I think it is.Here the airborne couple is part of a quite fabulous olive tree.
“The Roots of Rebirth.” If you pass by, I hope you will admire not only the roots, but the gleaming little bronze olives scattered among the leaves.This is the third work of the trio of Genesys. You have to look hard to find it.That little golden golf ball (fine, it’s bronze and it’s not for golf, I know that) is called “The energy of life.” And speaking of things that aren’t, this isn’t architecture, either. So the “Biennale of Architecture” is open to all sorts of definitions, or definitions don’t matter, which also works, I guess.We certainly needed the downpours of the past few days, but nobody calculated the drainage situation on the fondamenta. We now discover that it is not reliably flat. Could we imagine this puddle as part of the work of art? Why not?
Speaking of definitions, one of the primary points of all these works is to entitle your work or show, as far as possible, in the most cryptic possible way. Yes, the word means something; no, it’s incomprehensible here. That’s what makes it art, you peasant.
The vaporetto-dock posters are a festival of code words. “Renewal: A Symbiotic Narrative”. I will be wondering about it till November. You can see it at the pavilion of the People’s Republic of China.“Consenting Cities”It says “Still,” but I read “rhinoplasty.” Titles that lead you nowhere leave you to make up your own wild stories. The leaning tower of sinus? Someone pushed a ziggurat up my nose?We’ll all be looking up “diachronic” now, to find out what such an apparatus might be. Or look like.Radials? I’m briefly intrigued by a group or enterprise going by the name “Sbagliato.” It means “mistaken,” or simply “wrong.” Probably not intrigued enough to go see what Radials might be, though.
More architectural items are being set up in the two little parks along the fondamenta dei Sette Martiri.
It’s too soon to know what the creator of this item has titled it. No, I am not imagining a pig in a python.I will be interested to discover if there is a work of art beneath the tarpaulin, or if this is the work. Either one is fine with me. I’d have titled it “Diachronic,” but it’s already taken.It wouldn’t be the Biennale without some extraordinary performance piece out in the road on the way home. Better yet, a piece that is being filmed. If the performance doesn’t make you curious, you’ll almost certainly pause to see what the crew is up to. Please admire the important microphone. You should know that the only sound to be heard was the random blackbird call, and people walking by, talking. A dog barking, maybe. Was that part of the performance? So many questions.We see a man, evidently Muslim, in the position of prayer, next to a rolling suitcase. His hands wear fingerless gloves. Something about immigrants, I guess? The silence reveals nothing. Two solid minutes of it. Art? I guess so. We can’t call it diachronic, anyway.
I am working on a longer post — several, in fact — but meanwhile nibble these few morsels.
This is the apotheosis of Easter eggs in Venice, everything displayed in the glorious window of Drogheria Mascari at the Rialto Market. Most smaller pastry and chocolate shops offer some variety of eggs, as do all the supermarkets. Size, variety, glamor (cost, too, of course) all come into play when you’re deciding on the essence of Easter delectation. The price also reflects, to a certain extent, the value of the little doodad hidden inside. Did I mention they’re hollow? They are. Busting them open, shards of chocolate flying across the table, livens up the post-lunch torpor.This year our intrepid neighborhood pastry wizard underwent some important experience. A challenge? A request from somebody’s grandchild? A way of telling the public he just isn’t going to be forced to spend his remaining years turning out mere eggs or bells or any other chocolate cliche’? Behold the chocolate rat! I suppose he could have done an ascending dove, or a gamboling lamb, or a hundred little marzipan chicks, if he’d wanted to stretch his skills. But I clearly have underestimated this man, whom I have seen smile exactly once over the past 20 years. Stand by for news from the Melita pastry shop, where something epochal is underway. (Notice the horizontal line dividing the egg into equal halves. That’s the seam by which the egg is closed around the “surprises,” or tiny gifts, inside the oval.)The sheet of chocolate supporting the creature deserves admiration, though I can’t conjure a reason for the little silver nubbins. I honestly thought it was a beaver, at first glance. The Easter Beaver would be an animal that deserves more consideration, in my view. But a rat is also good. For Venice, maybe even better.This is the menu outside the Ristorante Giorgione on via Garibaldi. The prices are toward the high end — not excessive, but not bargains, either. It would appear, though, that no money was allocated in the budget for the display menu. I have never seen a menu in this condition. Unless it was created for the Biennale, thereby qualifying itself as a work of art, I have no idea how something like this could ever have been (A) made and (B) displayed and (C) displayed every single day. If there were any way one could bring to the owner’s attention how exceptionally bizarre this creation is, I might try it. But the owner obviously thinks this is fine.
Nothing to do with food, but this glimpse touches the same nerve as the Giorgione menu, along with everything else that just somehow doesn’t work for me. My brain says, “They needed a window, they made a window, everybody’s happy.” My eye says “Noooooo…”. The new resident above the former Negozio di Legnami (lumber store) didn’t bother removing its lovely frescoed sign. That would have cost money. Just slice out what you don’t need and on we go. Sharp-eyed readers will realize that this isn’t in Venice; we came upon it in Bassano del Grappa, a lovely town a mere hour away that I highly recommend.
Oh look — it’s peaceful coexistence. So it’s not a myth?Me here, you there — sure, we can do this.I like some fashion with my flounder. The passera di mare (Platichthys flesus), or European flounder, used to throng the lagoon. At some point the gilthead bream got the upper hand, and you hardly see this fish anymore. I’m glad the survivors still have style.
