Venice: I am not making this up

Look me in the eyes

January 9, 2015 6 Comments

Muhamed Pozhari (La Nuova Venezia, no credit line given).

The year has started with a spontaneous act of courage which has heartened many people, especially those whose default opinion of humanity is not lovely at all.

It was December 31 — New Year’s Eve, around 3:00 PM. Muhamed Pozhari, a 25-year-old illegal immigrant from Kosovo who kept body and soul connected by day work as a mason, was pushing a handtruck loaded with bags of cement from Piazzale Roma to Rialto.

As he began to horse the heavy load over the bridge spanning the rio dei Tolentini, he heard cries. A man, soon identified as Maurizio Boscolo, 63, had fallen in the canal. Theories were contradictory but it seems that he slipped while attempting to recover his 20-euro banknote which had somehow wafted into the water. Boscolo was (understandably) flailing around, with few or no results. It didn’t look good.

According to reports, various passersby stopped passing by and stood there, looking. I can understand the stopping; I can’t understand the standing there. (One report says that at least one person began to take photographs, but I have completely shut my mind to that, especially if it’s true.)

“I was crossing the bridge when I saw the man who had slipped and fallen in the water,” Pozhari later recounted. “He was looking me in the eyes, desperate. Everybody was standing there looking and I felt like I had to do something. I jumped in to save him.

“The water was very low and he was sinking in the mud. I tried to pull him up but in doing that I was also sinking in the mud. Then two people came to help.”

Muddy, freezing, soaking wet, the two men were hauled ashore. Pozhari no longer had his cell phone or his ID or his money, because he hadn’t stopped to take them out of his pockets before plunging in. Boscolo, however, no longer had his 20 euros or, not long afterwards, his life.

The excitement was now divided between the victim and the savior. Some people offered Pozhari money, which he refused. Staff at the nearby Hotel Papadopoli asked him to come in and have a hot shower, but he refused because he didn’t want to have to start answering awkward questions about his identity and all. However, an architect whose studio was nearby, Pozhari later related, induced him to come inside, where he accepted a shower and a change of clothes, and some pocket money.

Then Pozhari went home, back to the mainland where he was staying with friends. I suppose he intended to just disappear again into his under-the-radar world, complete with post-trauma insomnia, except that that night he began to feel ill. Freezing temperatures and possible mouthfuls of canal water and, I imagine, also emotional stress, were having their effect. So he went to the Emergency Room, where he was kept overnight in observation. He must have been feeling seriously bad, considering how eager he had been hours before to avoid awkward questions, the kind of questions they also ask on hospital intake forms.

When he eventually learned that the man he’d tried to save had died, he began to cry. In any case, he hadn’t been able to sleep “for two nights,” he said. “But if I hadn’t tried to do something, I’d never sleep again.”

Not meaning to trivialize tragedy, but you would be amazed at how many tourists slip on the steps in front of the Palazzo Ducale and get fished out by the gondoliers. Not made up. This kid isn't looking for anything, but the temptation to move closer to the water seems to be irresistible. — Not meaning to trivialize tragedy, but you would be amazed at how many tourists slip on the steps in front of the Palazzo Ducale and get fished out by the gondoliers. Not made up. This kid isn’t looking for anything, but the temptation to move closer to the water seems to be irresistible. My advice: Just don’t.

Now the story takes a happy turn. He’s been in Italy for five years; three years ago he applied for an immigrant permit (permesso di soggiorno) as a political refugee. His request was denied, and he was marked for expulsion, but he decided to stay anyway, which explains his need to remain invisible to people in uniform.

But now, in the space of not even two weeks, his application for a permesso for “humanitarian reasons” has been granted. Furthermore, a friend and fellow Kosovaro has stated he’s ready to give him a full-time job and stand as guarantor for him in any way that might be necessary.

Many studies have been conducted to analyze heroic actions, why one person will jump into the water fully clothed to rescue someone while another stops to take a picture. But one thing strikes me: Pozhari’s comment that the victim was looking him in the eyes.

I once read of a German fighter pilot during World War II who shot down a number of British planes in an aerial battle, and seriously damaged another. As the German approached to deliver the fatal blow, the two pilots locked eyes. The German flew away.

An article in Scientific American entitled “How the Illusion of Being Observed Can Make You a Better Person” (by Sander van der Linden, May 3, 2011) explains that “Humans (and other animals) have a dedicated neural architecture for detecting facial features, including the presence of eyes. This built-in system, also known as “gaze detection,” served as an important evolutionary tool …. What’s interesting is that this system largely involves brain areas that are not under voluntary control. Experiments have shown that people are unable to inhibit responses to gaze even when instructed to.”

I’m not saying that I think that Pozhari wouldn’t have leaped if Boscolo’s eyes had been closed. After all, it wasn’t the eyes that conveyed the information that he was in danger of drowning — anybody could see that. But they did convey desperation, and Pozhari couldn’t not respond.

So in a strange way, now that I think about it, Boscolo saved Pozhari.

Venetian-ness

The last holiday gasp

January 7, 2015 7 Comments

The tree has served its purpose, and now it's on to the mulch-mill, or wherever trees go to be reincarnated. Of course this isn't the correct way to dispose of your spare timber. When Lino was a lad, nobody had trees -- they had broth with tortelliniand were thankful to have that. When trees began to be used, they were disposed of in the same way as much of the other trash: out the window into the water. Nowadays you're supposed to work it out with the garbage collector, but as you see, that's too troublesome for some people, who'd rather haul it to the curb, so to speak, and just leave it. — The tree has served its purpose, and now it’s on to the mulch-mill, or wherever trees go to be reincarnated. Of course this isn’t the correct way to dispose of your spare timber. When Lino was a lad, nobody had trees at Christmas — they had broth with homemade tortellini and were thankful. When trees began to be used, they were often disposed of in the same way as much of the other trash: with a splash. Nowadays you’re supposed to work it out with the garbage collector, but as you see, that’s irksome for some people, who’d rather haul it to the curb, so to speak, and just leave it to its fate.

The high tide of the holidays has washed over the calendar, the budget, the crumpled handful of tomato-stained to-do and to-buy lists, and as the tide retreats into the new year, I thought I’d give a tiny review of the two weeks (it seems so much longer) just past.

After so many holiday seasons here, I don’t have much to say that’s new. Christmas, New Year, and the ineffable Befana have passed in orderly single file, and here we are, facing the next 12 months. The holidays don’t end on New Year’s Day, they drip on for another few days till the day after Epiphany, which my calendar says is dedicated to St. Raimondo de Penafort, who must be the patron saint of children going back to school.

The panettoni are now on sale at drastically marked-down prices (2 for 7 euros? You could stock up now for next Christmas!). But anybody who has managed to finish one is glad to see the box disappear. My own experience is that I love the first two wedges, and after that it's an increasing struggle to get through it. This person is happier than I am, because we've got two more in the gift pile and you know nobody is going to want one, even as a gift. Yes, I know: If only all problems were this innocent, not to mention easy to resolve. — If the panettone is gone, can the box be far behind? Obviously not. Hardly anything says “party’s over” like a busted panettone-box. The panettoni are now on sale at drastically slashed prices (2 for 7 euros? You could stock up now for next Christmas!). But anybody who has managed to finish one is glad to see the box disappear. My own experience is that I love the first two wedges, and after that it’s an increasing struggle to get through it. The person who left this dismembered box is happier than I, because we’ve still got two more panettoni in the gift pile and we can’t fob them off on anyone, even as a gift. Yes, I know: If only all problems were this innocent, not to mention easy to resolve.

This is a cry for help. It may also demonstrate a buyer who seriously misjudged demand, and/or let himself be convinced by a price that was even more drastically low. I'mi imagining the seller saying something like "Buy 2,000 panettoni and spend only 50 cents each." I wonder if there's a dead panettone dump somewhere, a mountain of rejected Christmas confectionery. I hope never to know. — This is a cry for help. It may also demonstrate a buyer who seriously misjudged demand, and/or let a producer beguile him with a price that was even more drastically low. I’mi imagining the seller saying something like “Buy 2,000 panettoni and you pay a mere 50 cents each.” I wonder if there’s a dead panettone dump somewhere, a mountain of rejected Christmas confectionery. I hope never to know.

How to beguile the dead-air space between New Year’s and Epiphany? The old-folks’ club of Castello East, which undertakes some very charming initiatives for the neighborhood kids, came up with a new idea this year. On Epiphany Eve (last Monday), they arranged for some of the carnival rides which are here for their annual two- to three-month stint, to open at 10:00 AM, and they were free for children up to 11 years old. I think it was a very likeable idea, even if not very many kids made it out into the sunshine from their festive lairs (fancy way of saying “beds”).

This is the usual method of advertising local events -- just type it up, print it out, and stick it on a wall somewhere. — This is the usual method of advertising local events — just type it up, print it out, and stick it on a wall somewhere. It says: “Elder Group Castello-East, Monday 5 January 2014 The group of elderly in collaboration with the operators of the carnival-rides on the Riva Sette Martiri offer a turn on all the rides, cotton candy and candy to children not older than 11 years old. From 10:00 AM to 12:00. Whoever wants to contribute candy or chocolate is very welcome; just come to the group’s headquarters.” I took a bag of candy to the clubhouse, my tiny contribution to the revels. I’m not responsible for anybody’s teeth.

Kids in sugar shock before noon. free candy and cotton candy, too. Just what played-out parents and grandparents want: Kids in sugar-shock before noon. — Free candy and cotton candy? Just what played-out parents and grandparents want: Kids in sugar-shock before noon.

I realize that the modest turnout was probably due to sheer sloth on the part of the kids. But I also think there was another drawback: Sunshine. I'm convinced that half, if not more, of the fatal fascination of these rides is that you indulge at night, when the lights are at their most dazzling and you're out late in the dark. Taking a ride in the daytime is like somebody giving you an apple as a treat when you really want a deep-fried Mars bar. — I realize that the modest turnout was probably due to sheer sloth on the part of the kids. But I also think there was another drawback: Sunshine. I’m convinced that half, if not more, of the fatal fascination of these rides is that you indulge at night, when the lights are at their most dazzling and you’re out late in the dark. Taking a ride in the daytime is like somebody giving you an apple as a treat when you really want a deep-fried Mars bar.

Boatworld

Bring on the Santas

December 26, 2014 3 Comments

Yes, Virginia, those are Vikings masquerading as Santa Claus. Hide the chickens and the cow.

Before we leave the subject and the scales and bones and gift-wrapping of Christmas behind, one last glimpse of holiday merriment. I wasn’t there, I’m sorry to say — I was sorry to say it the day it occurred, too, which was December 21.

The event: A “corteo,” or boat procession, in the Grand Canal, composed of anyone who wanted to row as long as he or she was dressed as Santa Claus (or “Babbo Natale,” as he’s known here).

The reason: First, because it seemed like a fun thing to do. Second, because it seemed like an amusing occasion for the Coordinamento delle Remiere (the association of rowing clubs) to give a prize and a big round of applause to the dwindling group of hardy souls who have rowed in all 40 Vogalongas. I say “dwindling” because in May there were 24 such persons, and on Santa Sunday there were 22.

The special bonus: Fog. Fog and just enough wind to make the air feel even sharper. But would this deter anyone willing to pull out the boat and pull on the red-and-white outfit? Obviously not.

Because I was busy elsewhere, Lino armed a modest sandolo and headed for the lineup joined (happily for Lino and I think also happily for the others) by Gabriele De Mattia, a former rowing student of his and ex-cadet of the Francesco Morosini Naval School, and his girlfriend, Francesca Rosso. She had never rowed before, but Lino soon took care of that.

So the three of them spent the morning rowing, and Lino was awarded a red pennant, such as those given to the winners of races here, with his name on it, and everybody was happy. Especially when the sun finally came out.

So a big shout-out to Francesca, who when she wasn’t rowing, was taking pictures. If she hadn’t been there, you all would just have had to imagine it. As would I. This is better.

Floating around while waiting for the official start ("official" being whenever somebody said "We're ready, let's go"), this batch of Saint Nicks had time to make sure their reindeer was comfortable at the bow. — Floating around while waiting for the official start (“official” being whenever somebody said “We’re ready, let’s go”), this batch of Saint Nicks had time to make sure their team of reindeer was comfortable at the bow. It appears that one of them is either trying to get in, or attempting to disembark.

No reindeer, caribou, or moose were harmed in the making of this boat. But I would like to see the paperwork on those beards.

How very "Be Prepared" -- they brought their own tree, in case somebody needed a place to put their presents. — How very “Be Prepared” — they brought their own tree, in case somebody needed a place to put their presents.

Here is Gabriele, rowing away. It wasn't snowing, but evidently there were interludes of unusually aggressive fog-flakes, or drops, or crystals, or something. — Here is Gabriele, who clearly had forgotten nothing despite a year into university life. It wasn’t snowing, but evidently there were interludes of unusually aggressive fog-flakes, or drops, or crystals, or something.

It's the invasion of the Kris Kringle-Snatchers, heading upstream to the Rialto Market where something hot to drink must be waiting. — It’s the invasion of the Kris Kringle-Snatchers, heading upstream to the Rialto Market where something hot to drink must be waiting.

Not strictly Venetian, but any boat bearing a Saint Nicholas is welcome at the party. If this boat were to capsize, they'd all be bobbing around like Yuletide buoys. — Not strictly Venetian, but any boat bearing a Saint Nicholas is welcome at the party. If this boat were to capsize, they’d all be bobbing around like Yuletide beach balls.

And speaking of the party, here was the entire regiment waiting for the prizes and refreshments. Did you know that in the Germanic tradition, it ws Odin, king of the gods, who left presents in the boots left by children by the chimney? — And speaking of the party, here was the entire regiment waiting for the prizes and refreshments. Did you know that in the Germanic tradition, it was Odin, king of the gods, who left presents in the boots that children left by the chimney? Not that I’m trying to rank Saint Nicholas, just trying to add to the holiday atmosphere.

History

Picture this

December 24, 2014 4 Comments

This is the Scalzi Bridge, linking the fondamenta of the train station to the fondamenta of the rest of Venice. Today we know it as a gracefully arched marble bridge, but from the mid-1800s to the early 1930s, the bridge looked like this. (as did the Accademia Bridge). — This is the Scalzi Bridge, linking the fondamenta of the train station (left) to the fondamenta of the rest of Venice. Today we know the bridge as a graceful marble arch, but from the mid-1800s to the early 1930s, the bridge looked like this (as did the Accademia Bridge).

Now here is something different you can do on Christmas afternoon, if you’re not watching football and your family has allowed you to live. You can look at oldish photographs of Venice.

Not quite as old as the photograph above, but the last 50 years has produced an immense trove — some 80,000 images — of places all around Venice, and some 7,000 of those are now online. They belong to the Urban Photographic Archive of Venice.

These photographs weren’t made for any aesthetic reason, but as sturdy visual records of all sorts of projects, restoration, maintenance, new public works, and so on. Prose, not poetry.

In case anyone imagined that Venice has been encapsulated by time, like the proverbial black spitting thick tail scorpion in amber, a random scan of these pictures will show how much change has been going on here since the Sixties.

So go have a look at the Album di Venezia, click on the red words in the center that say “Archivio Fotografico Urbanistica Online,” and on the page that comes up, click on the red rectangle that says “Sfoglia l’album,” and go to it. As per frequently, there is no English translation. So working out the words ought to amuse you for a little while.

By then it will be time for another piece of pie, and you’ll have something to talk about that doesn’t involve pigskin.

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