Venice: I am not making this up

Back to work

September 5, 2015 13 Comments

We had some boffo days at the end of August and beginning of September.

Hello. Maybe you remember me, I’m the blogger about Venice who doesn’t make anything up. I am fully aware that I have set a new record in silence, and I’m sorry about it, but I had lots of good reasons, including having to finish a colossal project (which will be revealed at the appropriate moment, which isn’t now). I have been living in a parallel universe complete with galaxies that have long numbers instead of names, and have not had enough brain, or whatever energy is actually made of (electrons? crush-ons? four-hours-of-sleep-a-night-ons?) to do anything else.

But there is possibly a deeper reason for the silence. I have temporarily run out of interest in Venice. At least I hope it’s temporary.

Why is this? Because I have become the glass into which the famous one drop too many has dripped. Several drops. Too freaking many drops.

Here is what I mean:

The tram. Another massive public project, full of problems and costing too much.

Ten years have been devoted to the building of a tram that goes places in Mestre and now, finally, is concluding at Piazzale Roma. Naturally this has been done to the sound of teeth: Those of the highly inconvenienced public (gnashing and grinding) and those of the builders, politicians, and Superintendent(s) of Architecture and Landscape (gleaming with satisfied smiles).

This is merely the latest version of a story that just keeps getting retold, like bodice-ripper novels in which only the names and locations change: Estimates of time and cost blown to flinders, a vehicle which, new as it is, breaks down at odd moments for all sorts of reasons that are explained in the “Don’t Do This” chapter of the textbook on how to build a tram. Derailments, losses of power, miscalculations of angles of descent which mean the tram would ram itself nose-down into the ground at certain points unless the geometry gets fixed.

Now the bill, so to speak, is coming due. The budgeted cost: 163.7 million euros. Real cost to date: 208 million. Unforeseen delays, extra features added on later, the usual litany of an expensive public project. Wait, I think that’s redundant. There will be investigations, of course. The tram people can explain everything.

So much for the tram itself, which frankly, I happen to like. When it’s working.

This is the “shelter.” It’s not that it’s ugly that fascinates me, it’s that somebody thought this fulfilled the needs of people in a windy rainstorm, which are not uncommon here. And what about shade in the pounding heat of summer? I’m just not seeing it. Bonus points: It’s only sort of original — one almost exactly like it was built in Alicante, Spain in 2006, and has even won awards, perhaps not voted by anybody who actually uses it. (Photo not by me, but uncredited where I found it.)

But the tram’s new “shelter” in Piazzale Roma (105 feet / 32 meters long) is an entire other subject, the latest in a series of phenomenally ugly constructions which have been approved and executed in the spirit of “Because we’re the city and we can do what we want.” The purpose of this construction is to protect what appears to be about 50 people from the rain while waiting for the tram, as long as there is totally no wind. The more I look at it, the more I can’t understand how it could be considered functional, whether beautiful or not.

But by the way, it isn’t beautiful. But no matter. As so often has happened, the project documents clearly came out of the office of the Superintendent of Architecture and Landscape (who you might have thought was required to protect and defend the fabric of the most beautiful city, etc.) covered with big bright stamps that say “We like this!” “This is good!” “Let’s do this ASAP!” “Can we do more of these?” This has happened so many times since I’ve been here. Say what you will about the Calatrava Bridge — for all its problems, and preposterous cost overruns, at least it’s functional. You can adjudicate beauty on your own time.

As you can see, this shelter (I don’t know what else to call it at the moment, though it doesn’t look very sheltering) answers to the nickname given by the first Venetians who saw it: the “big black coffin.” It’s made of three sections of steel which weigh a total of 18 tons. I cannot understand why something that big that weighs that much has to exist anywhere in Venice; even Tennessee Ernie Ford knew enough to stop at Sixteen Tons.

Traffic in the Grand Canal: Remember the fatal accident by the Rialto Bridge two years ago? We’ve jettisoned one mayor, used up a commissario, and now have another mayor. Nothing has changed. Everything is just the way it was. Remember all those new regulations that came out a few months ago that threw a few amateur rowers into a swivet? Regulations are so wonderful, especially when you have no way to enforce them, like not having one policeman for every boat. Don’t watch this space for news of the next fatal accident, because I’ve stopped caring about the traffic. Let everybody do what they want, which is exactly what they are doing. Rock on.

The awning only hinted at the awesomeness of the store that was: — The awning’s modest list only hinted at the awesomeness of the store that was: Housewares, Detergents, Perfumes, Gardening, Camping, Hardware, Trinkets. The name itself meant “Big Store.” But monuments crumble all the time, so what’s one more?

The Bottegon is gone. This strikes way too close to home. Stores close with alarming frequency here, usually as a result of spikes in the rent that are impossible to pay by selling books or pork chops or kiwi fruit or even sporting goods and gear (Andreatta, in the Strada Nova, had been in business since 1883. As of March, it is no more). I’ve seen all kinds of stores close since I’ve been here — hair salons, butcher shops, toy stores — and what follows is usually a bar/cafe, restaurant, or shop selling “Murano glass” made in China, Carnival masks (often made in China), touristic gewgaws and souvenirs (made over there too). Nothing against China, but it’s not Venice.

I don’t know precisely how long the Bottegon was in business; I knew that it occupied a large space that was once a movie theater — you could see the big empty window above the cash registers where the projection room used to be.

You have to understand, this wasn’t a mere store. It was a Noah’s Ark of almost everything required for human life, at least a pair of each so they could repopulate the earth with hair conditioner and thumbtacks and toilet paper and moth repellent and floor wax and all kinds of electrical wire. Except for food and clothing, you couldn’t think of anything that you couldn’t find there. Paint, hair color, mops, ladders, toothpaste, lightbulbs, potpourri, makeup, doorstops, toothpicks, shelving, salad spinners, detergent. It was impossible to go in there and not come out with what you needed. It was crammed so full, up to the top shelves of a very high ceiling, that you sometimes had to ask for help even to locate your item. Then the choice would baffle you.

Then things began slowly to change. They moved the cash registers to the front of the store, the area that you used to have to traverse like a jungle explorer, occasionally climbing over things. They glammed up the shelves, widened the aisles, cut back on a lot of products, and began to add items you’d never have thought of buying there. Olive oil, potato chips, wine. It was weird — there are two supermarkets right across the street. It was like watching Zelda Fitzgerald studying ballet at age 27, imagining she was going to be a star: depressing, and smelling of doom.

People used to stand in line at the registers, eventually there was almost nobody in the store. In a brutal about-face, they never had what I needed anymore. Eventually it stopped being a store and became some old friend with a lingering illness that you just couldn’t visit anymore.

So I’m glad it’s out of its misery. From what my neighborhood source told me, you could have written the cause of death in one word: “Debts.”

A moment of silence.

Happily for me, soulless consumer that I am, I don’t have to worry, because via Garibaldi has two pharmacies, and two supermarkets, and even two bakers. And there is indeed a sort of Bottegon down by the vegetable boat which has already been taking up the slack. I have no idea what it’s called, but it’s small and crammed and has almost everything the old store had. So I’m okay. But I still don’t understand why they had to let the other one die.

Maybe it’s going to rise from the ashes as a restaurant. We certainly need more of those.

Complaints about everything: These never stop, and most of them are completely justified. But I’m tired of reading them and hearing them and even uttering them myself.

So I’ll be looking for something new to share, but it might take a little while. I’m going to have to find one of those three-day cleanses, but for my brain.

Even three floors up, the pink bows announcing the birth of a girl stand out, and make me smile.

"Welcome Anna." I do! — “Welcome Anna.” I do!

A few streets over, another little girl joins the team.

Valentina! Wow! You can play power forward!

At the end of August we still had heat, but it was leaving gallons of dew on the streets overnight. This was not rain.

The difference between the sunny and shady sides of the street is rarely quite so vivid.

And this was "good morning" two days ago, a greeting we heard via a large ship's horn even before we looked outside. Early autumn fog is so normal that they call it the "brume settembrine," the September mist. — And this was “good morning” two days ago, a greeting we heard via a large ship’s horn even before we looked outside. Early autumn fog is so normal that they call it the “*brume settembrine*,” the September mists.

And back to clouds again. Or is this a smoke signal, which says "Please come save us before we all lose our minds"? — And back to clouds again. Or is this a smoke signal, which says “Please come save us before our powers of reason abandon us”?

Venetian-ness

Bibs and bobs

July 6, 2015 2 Comments

Most things have to get from A to B by boat here, at least for part of the trip. Here somebody's garden is being taken down the Grand Canal. A garden, or one heck of a lot of windowboxes. Or centerpieces. Or corsages. — Most things have to get from A to B by boat here, at least for part of the trip. Here somebody’s garden is being taken down the Grand Canal. A garden, or one heck of a lot of windowboxes. Or centerpieces. Or corsages.

It’s not as if I have nothing to say — I’m sure I have, somewhere — but the summer heat has hit (upper 90’s, F) with humidity to match, and my brain is otherwise occupied in keeping my vital functions going.

There remains one vital function I can manage on my own, and that is the devouring of ice cream. Happily, the newspaper publishes several articles each summer which not only state that ice cream is one of the best possible foods to consume in this heat, but that doctors confirm that it is NECESSARY to eat it, that it’s GOOD FOR YOU, that it’s PRACTICALLY A HEALTH FOOD. I don’t write these articles, but I could if asked to.

Just think, he could have been eating puree'd banana peel and dried goji berries, but he instinctively knew that ice cream was better for him. Kids are amazing. — Just think, he could have been eating kohlrabi with kelp flakes, but he instinctively knew that ice cream was better for him. He’s obviously destined for a life of Ironman triathlons.

So here, having decided to avoid any brain-intensive topics, I am just going to give some of those glimpses of the sights (I spare you sounds) to be noticed when walking around the neighborhood. Just think, you’re also spared the temperature, which is just about the same inside as outside, except when inside is even hotter.

I’m going on vacation tomorrow, so will not be not making anything up for about six weeks. I intend to return totally bursting with wonders to relate, or at least bursting with the intention of doing so.

We all know that big cruise ships enter and leave Venice and that this bothers some people. But that's not why I'm showing this picture. What interested me was to see the tugboat astern, which initially was directly behind the ship as it entered the lagoon. As the ship (moving at the speed of a tired two-year-old, otherwise known as 6 knots per hour maximum speed, though this is a delicate calculation if the ships is going with the tide). That's 6.9 mph/ 11 kmh. — We all know that big cruise ships enter and leave Venice and that this bothers some people. But that’s not why I’m showing this picture. What interested me was the tugboat astern, which was directly behind the ship as it entered the lagoon. The ship is moving at the speed of a tired two-year-old, otherwise known as 6 knots maximum (6.9 mph/ 11 kmh, though this is a delicate calculation if the ship is going with the tide). In any case, at this point the ship needs to make a moderately sharp left turn to proceed up the Giudecca Canal, therefore the tug moves starboard and simply pulls the stern of the ship, turning it just enough to position the ship correctly for the home stretch.

Perhaps you can see the taut line connecting the two vessels. I wonder if knowing that there is a tug at the bow and another astern might influence the general public’s notion of how far out of control such a ship might conceivably go?

This maneuver is made in the wide space where www.veniceonline.it is printed. Just to give an idea of the geometry.

In the rio de Sant'Ana, there are stretches of cement slabs, slightly tilted down toward the center of the canal. This was a simple means of reinforcing the wall at whatever point the city realized that reinforcement was needed. No problem there, so far, except that the cement makes it impossible to drive a piling vertically into the mud next to the wall to which you might wish to tie your boat. So therefore..... — In the rio di Sant’Anna, there are stretches of cement slabs underwater, slightly tilted down toward the center of the canal. This was a simple means of reinforcing the wall at whatever time the city realized that reinforcement was needed. No problem there, so far, except that the cement makes it impossible to drive a piling into the mud next to the wall, a piling to which you might wish to tie your boat. So therefore…..

...the aforementioned pilings are driven in at a slant. Not a monumentally big deal, except that it means that the canal has now been narrowed because the boats are floating more toward the center of the canal and less right along the wall. When the tide is low (which it is, twice a day) and sometimes very low (at certain periods in the year), the boats inch even further toward the center. — …the aforementioned pilings are driven in at a slant. Not a monumentally big deal, except that it means that the boats are floating more toward the center of the canal and less right along the wall. When the tide is low (which it is, twice a day) and sometimes very low (at certain periods in the year), the boats inch even further toward the center, which narrows the canal’s available space for traffic.

And speaking of fondamentas -- which we sort of were -- you may have seen low rectangular panels of some material (here it's plastic) attached to the metal fence. And you may have wondered what they were for. They're to prevent anybody sweeping the street nearby (the trashman? just maybe? or some really efficient domestic worker) from sweeping the undesired dust and whatever into the canal or -- oops -- actually, into your boat. It has happened often enough that individual boat owners have Taken Precautions. — And speaking of fondamentas — which we sort of were — you may have seen low rectangular panels of some material (here it’s plastic) attached to the metal fence by a canal. And you may have wondered what they were for. They’re to prevent anybody who may be sweeping the street nearby (the trashman? just maybe? or some really efficient domestic worker) from sweeping the dust and detritus into the canal or — oops — into your boat. It has happened often enough that individual boat owners have Taken Precautions.

Here is another version, slightly further on. A couple of leftover laths work just as well. No more sweepage!

I discovered yet another wonder about the very same few feet of fondamenta: the Istrian stone paving its edge. Not only is it beautiful (obvious, in the case of Istrian stone), but why was it laid in this extraordinary manner? Did the city run out of perfectly rectangular blocks? (Answer: Sure, I guess.) What I really love is how they made the masegni paving the street fit in. This has instantly become one of my favorite things in my immediate surroundings. — Toward sunset I discovered yet another wonder about the very same few feet of fondamenta: the Istrian stone paving its edge. Not only is it beautiful (it’s Istrian stone, after all), but why was it laid in this extraordinary manner? Did the city run out of perfectly rectangular blocks? (Answer: Sure, I guess.) This has instantly become one of my favorite things in the neighborhood.

The garbage collection organization will come pick up heavy, awkward objects if you phone and make an appointment. This usually means seeing things like refrigerators, old air conditioners, dead washing machines, outside the owner's door with a sign attached saying when it's forecast to be removed. Today I see that it's collect-old-TVs-and-computers day just outside our door. — The garbage collection organization will come and remove heavy, awkward objects if you phone and make an appointment. This usually means seeing things like refrigerators, old air conditioners, dead washing machines, outside the owner’s door with a sign attached saying when it’s forecast to be removed. Today I see that it’s collect-old-TVs-and-computers day just outside our door. That…that IS a computer, that little boxie-thingie in the middle?

Venetian History

The great conspiracy remembered

June 15, 2015 2 Comments

Cesare Peris holds the replica of the banner borne by Tiepolo’s escadrille — it was the man carrying the flag who took the hit from the falling marble mortar. The image on this banner depicting the fatal event is clearly a modern addition.

I have already recounted most of this story elsewhere, but it’s worth recalling because it is one of the milestone episodes of Venetian history. Also because today is the anniversary of the attempted coup, on June 15, 1310, to overthrow the Venetian government.

Not to begin a whole other train of trivia, but while we may be inclined to cheer the defeat of the three conspirators because we like how Venice turned out, it’s worth knowing that in 1310, as John Julius Norwich relates, Doge Pietro Gradenigo was the most detested man in Venice.

Certain typically arrogant actions of his had driven Pope Clement V to excommunicate the entire city-nation, which led Venice to the brink of commercial collapse. An unwinnable war with the aforementioned pope consisted mainly of Venetian defeats, and increasing numbers of the doge’s enemies were convinced that Gradenigo’s policies were bringing disgrace and disaster on everyone. Anger, tension, and fear were seething through the city, and a series of decrees intended to contain the discontent was, paradoxically, bringing the city to the verge of civil war. It was quite evident to several young patricians that it was time for a very big change.

The attempted coup by Bajamonte Tiepolo, Piero and Marco Querini, and Badoero Badoer failed for a number of reasons, one of which (surprising to me, and especially to the plotters) was lack of popular support at the crucial moment. I don’t understand this part very well, but it’s a story well worth reading in more detail, though not here.

In any case, they weren’t merely three young bloods who wanted to try their hand at ruling the world. They were the ones who bubbled up to the top of the political pot as it was in the process of boiling over.

Now it’s June 15 again, 705 years later. And it has come to pass over a certain period of time leading up to today that the Mutual Aid Society of Carpenters and Caulkers (full disclosure: I am a member), under the aegis of Cesare Peris, its “gastaldo,” or president, exhumed the very banner carried by Baiamonte Tiepolo as he was charging through the city toward the Doge’s Palace.

Not only that. This banner, which had been slumbering somewhere in the Museo Correr, needed fixing. With funding from a sponsor, the Caulkers commissioned (A) the restoration of the old silk banner, which by now was not in very sparkly condition, and (B) a replica of the banner, with a few small modifications. And to undertake this work, art restorer Anna Passarella, in Padova, was engaged; she in turn engaged a squad of high school students at the Marco Polo-Liceo Artistico (high school of art) in Venice. Yes, this task was accomplished by 15- and 16-year-olds. If that isn’t sufficiently noteworthy, let me add that one them is a direct descendant, I was told, of the fateful doge Gradenigo. Not made up.

On Side B of the flag are the symbols of the sponsors, including the group that made it.

This morning the banner was unfurled in Campo San Luca, carried in procession along the main route used by Tiepolo and Querini (attacking and then fleeing), with a pause at each important place along the way during which costumed trumpeters fanfared and a costumed crier read the story, step by step. Too bad his voice was never loud enough to be heard over the chaos of the herds of tourists crushing their way through our group, but it was quite nice that he was reading in Venetian, and then in English.

The whole ceremony took about an hour, and then the banner was taken away to safekeeping.

I suppose that thousands of tourists will now go home thinking Venetians carry banners around the city, with trumpet fanfares, every day.

Actually, that’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard, but next time we ought to do it at 6:00 AM, before Venice-Mart opens its doors for the day.

The trumpet corps waiting for their cue. Members of the Mutual Aid Society of Carpenteres and Caulkers, dressed in white polo shirts, are also awaiting developments. — The trumpet corps waiting for their cue. Members of the Mutual Aid Society of Carpenters and Caulkers, dressed in white polo shirts, are also awaiting developments.

The trumpets sound, and we're ready to start the walk of shame. — The trumpets sound, and we’re ready to start the walk.

The audience was very enthusiastic, but we hadn't gotten to the bottlenecks yet. — The audience was very enthusiastic, but we hadn’t gotten to the bottlenecks yet, hence we were all still friends.

The Long Trek begins. — The Great Trek begins.

We pause on the bridge for another fanfare and another chapter in the tale.

This is the Mercerie, where things began to get interesting for them, and, in a less life-threatening way, also for us.

The apex of the experience was here, just before passing under the Clock Tower at San Marco, at the point below the “old lady”‘s house from which her marble mortar fell and turned the tide of history. No one knows to this day if she did it on purpose or if it was an accident.

Her name was Lucia (or Giustina) Rossi, and I'm convinced her daughters had nagged her for years to bring that mortar inside before she killed somebody. — Her name was Lucia (or Giustina) Rossi, and I’m convinced her daughters had nagged her for years to bring that damn mortar inside before she killed somebody.

Then Cesare Peris (left) and a colleague set the flag outside the windows of what had been the old woman's apartment. I wish you could have heard everyone singing here: The trumpets played the Hymn to San Marco, which everyone sang with great fervor. Then Cesare cried "Par tera e par mar!" (by land and by sea) and everyone bellowed "SAN MARCO!!" We repeated this three times. It was totally thrilling. — Then Cesare Peris (left) and a colleague set the flag outside the windows of what had been the old woman’s apartment. I wish you could have heard everyone singing here: The trumpets played the Hymn of San Marco, which everyone sang with great fervor. Then Cesare cried “Par tera e par mar!” (by land and by sea) and everyone bellowed “SAN MARCO!!” We repeated this three times. It was totally thrilling.

Halfway across the Piazza San Marco, turn right, and we stopped on the Ponte dei Dai, across which Querini and his conspirators fled toward the Rialto Bridge. There were crowds then, there are crowds now. At least it wasn't raining today, like it was back then. — Halfway across the Piazza San Marco, turn right, and we stopped on the Ponte dei Dai, across which Querini and his conspirators fled toward the Rialto Bridge. There were crowds then, there are crowds now. At least it wasn’t raining today, like it was back then.

We stopped atop the Rialto Bridge, which, being wooden, was easy for Querini to burn on his race back to his palace. Because of vast restoration work on the bridge, the traffic has become even more crushing. This is the best I could do for a photo. Naturally nobody could hear anything that was being said. — We stopped atop the Rialto Bridge, which in 1310, being wooden, was easy for Querini to burn on his race back to his palace. Because of vast restoration work on the bridge now, the traffic has become even more crushing. This is the best I could do for a photo. Naturally nobody could hear anything that was being said.

Down the Rialto Bridge and back to Campo San Luca. Oh yes, I love Venice in the summer. Only for Querini and Tiepolo would I ever have come to this part of the city today.

As the gonfalone of San Marco was raised at the end of tne ceremony, the standard of the Carpenters and Caulkers came to the fore. If you didn't like the color red, you'd have had to stay home today. — As the gonfalone of San Marco was raised at the end of the ceremony, the standard of the Carpenters and Caulkers (Carpentieri e Calafati) came to the fore. If you don’t like the color red, you’d have had to stay home today.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, a gonfalone of San Marco was raised in Campo San Luca. Lack of wind left it in a somewhat woebegone state. But we sang and shouted again, and I, for one, went away happy. — An unfortunate absence of wind left the gonfalone in a somewhat woebegone state. But we sang and shouted again, and I, for one, went away happy.

The cimiero, or crest, which crowns the standard of the Mutual Aid Society of the Carpenters and Caulkers. If Querini or Tiepolo had had a handful of these tools, the story might have ended differently. Just a theory.

Nature

Springing and summering along

June 8, 2015 1 Comment

For the past few days there have been extremely low tides, June being the second period in the year (after January) in which this phenomenon occurs. As normal as it may be, I always feel strangely happy to see the underpinnings of the lagoon as such close quarters. — For the past few days there have been extremely low tides, June being the second period in the year (after January) in which this phenomenon occurs. All this area would normally be covered with water, to some depth, however modest. While it doesn’t surprise me anymore, I still feel strangely happy to see the underpinnings of the lagoon as such close quarters.

The next morning we rowed along the edge of this exposed prairie. I noticed a yellow motorboat sitting definitively on the ground; its owner, somewhere nearby, was obviously counting on having lots of time to dig clams before the tide came to float his boat away. — We rowed along the edge of this exposed prairie. I noticed a yellow motorboat sitting definitively on the ground; its owner, somewhere nearby, was obviously counting on having plenty of time to dig clams before the tide came to float his boat away.

The next morning we rowed along the edge of the huge prairie, in the middle of which a yellow motorboat was definitively sitting. Its owner was obviously counting on having plenty of time to dig clams before the tide rose enough to float him away. — As you see.

Next Sunday Venetians will go to the polls to vote in a runoff election for the new mayor. Yes, a year has passed since the Good Ship Venice ran aground and was put under a temporary administrator who managed to get her off the rocks and pump the bilge, but who had no power to plot the new course.

Whichever of the two candidates wins will then proceed to dive — a graceful swan? armstand back 3 somersault 2 1/2 twist tuck? — into a mar di lacrime, or “sea of tears,” as they put it here. To continue the liquidy metaphor, our brains have been soaked in campaign promises, which, now that I think of it, would be a good way to learn some basic Italian. The phrases are so simple, and so repetitive.

Washing one’s brain has one good thing about it — it might remove the mental stains splattered by the politicians in the course of what they consider a typical day. An example: Giancarlo Galan, former governor of the Veneto Region, has spent much of the past year on house arrest for taking bribes and other forms of corruption, jail time served in his luxurious villa on the mainland. Does he feel remorse? Certainly he would feel it if he thought he’d done anything wrong. But as he doesn’t, he’s ready to return to Parliament as soon as his stint is finished. Yes: Convicted felons get to go back to work for the government.

My only defense is to run away. I flee to the lagoon and I make no apology. Technically, the season is still spring, but the sun wants to get going on summer right away and has made an excellent start. Temperatures in the low nineties (F) or low thirties (C). Hot, by any scale. Breeze. No clouds. Dream weather for going to the beach or — my personal favorite, as everyone knows — drying laundry.

It’s also ideal weather for fleeing. Here are some things I’ve noticed over the past week or so.

Low tide makes hunting for canestrelli, or scallops, somewhat easier, even though they are extremely well camouflaged by a shell color which totally mimics the sandy bottom. Lino managed a tidy little haul, which he proceeded to bread and fry the same evening. Delectable. — Low tide makes hunting for canestrelli, or scallops (Aequipecten opercularis) relatively easy, even though they are extremely well camouflaged by a shell color which totally mimics the sandy bottom. Lino managed a tidy little haul, which he proceeded to bread and fry the same evening. Delectable.

An inch of water is enough to keep the eelgrass moving in one direction with the falling tide, like tresses of some wort. And a few denizens appear on the surface, like this tiny crab. Crabs are a good sign; where there are crabs, there will also be plenty of other fish who nosh on them. When you pull in a net, it's normal to see some half-gnawed little crabs. and if you go fishing for eels, soft-shell crabs ("moeche") are the perfect bait. — An inch of water is enough to keep the eelgrass moving in one direction with the tide, like tresses. And a few denizens appear on the surface, like this tiny crab. Crabs are a good sign; where there are crabs, there will also be plenty of fish who nosh on them. When you pull in a net, it’s normal to see some half-gnawed crabs. and if you go fishing for eels, soft-shell crabs (“moeche”) are the perfect bait.

Unhappily, this female moeca is now defunct, awaiting either some adventurous nosher, or mere disintegration. — Unhappily, this female moeca is now defunct, awaiting either some adventurous nosher or mere disintegration.

We pulled our boat onto the dryish grassland to investigate what appear to be megaliths (or miniliths) from the Evora complex, but which we knew were exposed fan mussels (Pinna nobilis).

A good example; they burrow in the sediment and open their shells slightly to consume whatever food might have come by. — A good example; they burrow in the sediment and open their shells slightly to consume whatever food might drift by.

What really intrigued me, though, were the few mounds of spongy material here and there. Lino knew immediately that they were the eggs of sea snails ("garusoli," or "noni"). And this mound was far from dormant. Most of the creatures were showing some signs of life, and one was atop the mound, evidently laying more. — What really intrigued me, though, were the several mounds of spongy material here and there. Lino knew immediately that they were the eggs of sea snails (“garusoli,” or “noni”). And this mound was far from dormant. Most of the creatures were showing some signs of life, and one was atop the mound, evidently laying more.

There's even a fan mussel nearby. I don't see that it can be much use, but maybe it's waiting to eat something. Nature, red in tooth and shell. — There’s even a fan mussel nearby. I don’t see that it can be much use, but maybe it’s waiting to eat something. Nature, red in tooth and shell.

The rising tide approaches, beginning to submerge all these wonders.

And has begun to lift our boat. Time to continue on our trip to Sant' Erasmo to buy vegetables. — And has begun to lift our boat. Time to continue on our trip to Sant’ Erasmo to buy vegetables and check the progress of the season ashore.

For one brief interlude, the tamarisks, artichokes and poppies were all in bloom.

Although tamarisks produce what may be the least interesting flowers yet, they do have their own strange appeal. Especially when they begin to dry up and blow away, covering the nearby water with pale beige mats of old blossom. — Although tamarisks produce what may be among the least interesting flowers, they do have their own strange appeal. Especially when they begin to dry up and blow away, covering the nearby water with pale beige mats of old blossom.

This is a small tree producing the even smaller plum known locally as “suchete.” For reasons I can’t explain, the Venetian word for zucchine is also “suchete.” Be careful when you’re looking up recipes.

A chickens and her chicks. What could be more springlike than this? — A chicken and her chicks. What could be more springlike than this?

Unless it's the duckling next door. — Unless it’s the duckling next door.

Here's to blossoming everything. — Here’s to blossoming everything.

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