egret | Venice: I am not making this up

Tourists want beautiful glass, so this shopowner sometimes has to dust everything, or wash it with Windex, or whatever she’s doing. The visitors I’m talking about aren’t interested in glass, though.

The story about making money off tourists has taken a few turns since my recent post. It would probably be more accurate to call the following characters “short-term visitors” rather than tourists, because their purpose in being here does not resemble in any way whatever the typical tourists are seeking.

First, there are what journalist Elisio Trevisan, in his report for the Gazzettino, calls “beggar-commuters.” We are now learning that an increasing number come to Venice from various Eastern European points on what you might call, not a vacation, really, but a sort of brief work-abroad project. They come on the cheap Flixbus (which is great, by the way), set themselves up as beggars, eat at the community soup-kitchens, sleep in doorways, and can make as much as 100 euros per day. They manage to wash up at some public source of water before the return trip (the bus driver won’t let them board otherwise) and go home to their families with enough to live on till the next trip becomes necessary.

Then there are the regular thieves. They too are coming from elsewhere; they also are not exactly tourists, but tastes on vacations vary. Some people take a break and go surfing, or look at the Mona Lisa, or run with a batch of bulls, while these intrepid pilferers come to Venice to steal for a while. According to Carlo Mion writing in La Nuova Venezia, they come over from Lombardy, the region next door, and are usually organized by family or clan.

This egret, who seems to have adopted our riva, is also on the hunt, but not for money. He’s looking for anguele (ang-WEY), the Mediterranean sand smelt (Atherinus hepterus). I imagine that anguela mothers are warning their spawn about him the same way I’m warning you, though I suppose their main advice would be “Dive! Dive!”

The Carabinieri have been studying them and their systems. They are basically from the Balkans and eastward (Romania, Croatia, Serbia, Bulgaria, and also a contingent of Roma). They dress in a credible way; the women wear panama hats and big scarves (to cover their faces from surveillance cameras), daypack hoisted on their chests and with a city map in hand (to cover their busy hands). Also, they look very touristy this way. Favorite targets: Americans, Koreans, Japanese. During one brief shining period there were also cash-laden Russians. In any case, a clever faux-tourist can gather as much as 300 euros in a day.

In one recent case, it was 700 euros. Two Bulgarian women lifted the wallet (that also included her documents such as passport, I assume, and perhaps also credit cards) of an 80-year-old American woman. The victim wasn’t aware of anything amiss, so I don’t know who raised the hue and cry. In any case, the filchers were taken away by whichever uniformed officer was on duty. The hearing is scheduled for the end of July — “in theory.” That doesn’t sound encouraging. In any case, whatever happens, they will be back. Or their friends and relatives.

Years ago there was a spate of street gamblers playing the shell game around the city, especially on the Accademia Bridge. (This sort of thief has not reappeared so far.) I read in the newspaper that one day lightning-fingers managed to milk a gullible player of $5,000. It’s not funny in any way, but I have to admit that, at least in this case, that the victim, as well as his trickster, must have become a LEGEND in that Serbian family. Every couple of months somebody will want to hear uncle tell the story again of that time in Venice he peeled the money off the tourist and that’s how come they’re living in such a nice house, with a garden and two cars. A boisterous toast to uncle and tourist.

I hope this is the last time I’ll be droning on about the situation. So just take every precaution, and then take some more.

Venice: Worth seeing. Your valuables: Worth keeping.

Just looking

February 5, 2015 6 Comments

I walk out the front door and sooner rather than later I notice things that make me ponder. Sometimes I ponder deeply and fruitlessly, and sometimes I do Ponder Lite and just absorb the beauty.

Here are some recent places and things that made me look twice:

It was 6:01 AM on the 5.2 motoscafo from the Giardini toward Piazzale Ro,a. I was surprised to see so many people already in transit, but gobsmacked to see how the man in the aisle had organized himself for the voyage. In all these years I have never seen this solution to standing-room-only. While it's true that I have seen other people and their luggage take up the same amount of space, and it's true that he is not blocking the aisle (though I cannot grasp why this human bear wouldn't remove his backpack. does it make him feel safe? Smaller?). There is nothing WRONG with what he's doing, it's just — It was 6:01 AM on the 5.2 motoscafo from the Giardini toward Piazzale Roma. I was surprised to see so many people already in transit, but gobsmacked to see how the man in the aisle had organized himself for the voyage. In all these years I have never seen this solution to standing-room-only. It’s true that I have seen other people and their luggage take up the same amount of space, and it’s true that he is not blocking the aisle (though I cannot grasp why this human bear wouldn’t remove his backpack. Does it make him feel safe? Smaller?). There is nothing WRONG with what he’s doing, it’s just outlandish. My trying to imagine what the ride would be like if everybody decided to bring their own chairs doesn’t help me feel any better about this. And yet I still can’t say why.

A few weeks ago there was quite a flurry of activity at one of the entrances to the Giardini. A few men in full gear labored all day, and part of the next day, to install a brace on this tree worthy of the Leaning Tower of Suurhusen. The amount of effort and money dedicated to bracing this plant is entirely praiseworthy, but I withhold my praise because while I agree that plants have as much of a right to live as komodo dragons and Hungerford's crawling water beetle, it also seems that they could just as well have cut the tree down and planted a young one. This isn't the Treaty Oak or the Endicott Pear Tree. — A few weeks ago there was quite a flurry of activity at one of the entrances to the Giardini. A few men in full gear labored all day, and part of the next day, to install a brace on this tree that could perhaps have been more useful on the Leaning Tower of Suurhusen. The amount of effort and money dedicated to supporting this plant is entirely praiseworthy, but I withhold my praise because while I agree that plants have as much of a right to live as Komodo dragons and Hungerford’s crawling water beetle, it also seems that they could just as well have cut the tree down and planted a young one. This isn’t the Treaty Oak or the Endicott Pear Tree, though perhaps someone somewhere thinks that if it can be kept upright, eventually this tree will achieve some status worthy of the Guinness Book.

Your average feral rock pigeon is kind of loathsome, but this bird seems to have been created by a Persian calligrapher.

And speaking of birds, in addition to the usual egrets I discovered that there was a swan stretching its wings. Wild swans are among the many species of bird that depends on the lagoon more than any of us do, and I remember one winter morning when we were out rowing when three of them flew over us, very low, and I could see their necks undulating slightly and hearing a curious low sound which I thought came from their throats, but which I now learn was the air passing around their large, majestic wings. — And speaking of birds, in addition to the usual egrets I discovered that there was a swan stretching its wings. Wild swans are among the many species of bird that depend on the lagoon more than any of us do, and I remember one winter morning when we were out rowing when three of them flew over us, very low, and I could see their necks undulating slightly and hearing a curious low sound which I thought came from their throats, but which I now learn was the air passing around their large, majestic wings.

The game is on, Watson -- here, the traces of hopscotch, known in Italy as "campana"or "mondo" ("bell" or "world"). Nice to know there's something other than soccer going on here. — The game is on, Watson — here, the traces of hopscotch, known in Venice as “campanon” (“big bell”). Lino says boys play it too. Nice to know there’s something other than soccer going on here.

At certain vantage points, the rising sun makes some excellent reflections.

Reflections are almost better than the thing being reflected. Some philosopher can probably explain that.

Now tourists are robbing tourists?

Just looking