May 1 was a national holiday, here and in many other countries, and it’s generally known as International Workers’ Day. So in honor of workers everywhere, we also did not work that day. We went out for an early morning row, and were amazed to be met in the Bacino of San Marco by a very fine, and very unexpected, feathered friend.
We have often seen a pair of swans in the northern lagoon, beyond Torcello, and also on the Brenta river near Malcontenta; one time we counted nearly 50 floating in the distance near Sant’ Erasmo. Lino told me that when he was a lad, some birds that we now commonly see in the city, such as cormorants, egrets, and seagulls, never came to town. You’d see them only in the distance, he says, if you saw them at all. Now they’re everywhere.
But the swans weren’t to be seen anywhere. About 35 years ago, Giampaolo Rallo, now president of the Mestre Pro Loco, then a naturalist at the Natural History Museum, noticed that there wasn’t a swan to be found in the lagoon, “not even if you paid it,” as one account put it. So he got what he calls “this crazy idea” to bring back the swans. On April 13, 1984, the World Wildlife Fund (WWF), together with the Gazzettino, launched a drive to find individuals willing to sponsor (fancy word for “pay for”) pairs of swans — not a small contribution, considering that a pair cost the equivalent of $315 today.
Over a period of two years, up to one hundred couples were acquired in the Netherlands and placed in the “fish valleys” of the southern lagoon. “It was a great cultural work,” Rallo explained to a journalist from La Nuova Venezia in 2019, “because we had to teach the respect of all the great waterbirds — I’m thinking also of the flamingoes. But there was real enthusiasm in the city for this initiative and there were important signs, such as the participation of Federcaccia Venezia” (the hunters’ association) “which bought a pair and made their volunteers available to watch over the swans to prevent anyone from disturbing or wounding them.” Who would hurt a swan? Well, hungry people a few generations back had no problem with trying to get these spectacular creatures on the table.
Today there are a thousand swans in the lagoon, and are sometimes seen even in Mestre’s modest waterways. A breeding pair named Silvia and Peter live near the lagoon at Caorle, and are awaiting the hatching of their eleventh brood of cygnets.
My most powerful memory of swans was a moment that was not, and anyway could not have been, photographed. It all happened so quickly.
Years ago, we were out rowing near the island of Santo Spirito on a deep grey morning in winter. Suddenly a trio of large birds flew toward us — three swans — flying so low it seemed we could touch them.
I had never seen swans flying, much less so near. As they passed overhead, their long graceful necks undulated slightly, and a barely discernible murmuring sound came from their throats.
Swans may be beautiful when they’re doing nothing, but when they fly they are magic.
One month ago today the Big Water (“l’Acqua Granda,” as the disaster of November 12 was immediately dubbed), struck Venice, and I hardly know where to start my report. Theoretically I could have done this sooner, but when you have had ten inches of water in your house, even temporarily, it gives new meaning to the word “aftermath,” which is now synonymous with “exhausting,” “irritating,” and “stressful.”
The videos and news reports will have long since covered the general details, but I’ve found that putting things back together after a natural disaster is an experience all of its own. I won’t say it’s worse than water in the bedroom, but it’s not a whole lot better. Profound respects to any readers who may have endured similar, but worse experiences — avalanches, eruptions, typhoons, or earthquakes. You have had it much worse. Now, back to me.
On the positive side, all this a great reason to buckle down and get rid of tons of accumulated things which had, indeed, been slowly taking over our nonexistent space. So there is that. (However, see: “tiring,” above.)
I had just arrived in Virginia on November 11, as fate would have it, and on the 12th was reveling in the first day of my annual three-week R&R, when the lagoon rose up to smite Venice. Yes, Lino had to deal with wind, water, and general desperation all on his own. This entailed getting as much as he could raised or placed as high as possible in time, as per normal, notably the books on the lowest bookshelves, and the floor-level bottom drawers of the chests in the bedroom. But “in time” was suddenly dramatically redefined.
He is a veteran of acqua alta, having lived through many lesser ones and also the famous one of 1966. But what made this one different was not only the height — 187 cm above mean sea level, which covered some 80 percent of the city to one degree or another (1966 saw 194 cm) — but the ferocious wind. It must have been something like a hurricane, because not only did it make the water rise incredibly fast, but also created crashing waves that wrought havoc all along the exposed southern edge of the city. “I was looking out the door, watching the water rising,” Lino told me; “I turned around for a second, and then all of a sudden it was in the house almost up to my knees.”
Naturally all this was happening at night, and naturally almost all of our electrical outlets are at floor level, so he was going through all this in the dark with no heating. (Yes, candles and flashlights were at hand.) Then, when the tide turned, he spent three hours sweeping the muddy water out of the house, then cleaning the layer of fine slime from the floor.
But he was happy about one thing; “I saved the computer! I saved the computer!” he told me on the phone, in the way people in the old days must have said “I saved the cow!” The refrigerator, though, did not survive, even though we had long since set it up on five-inch beams of wood. The washing machine is fine, though, which is a great thing because whatever clothes and towels got soaked with seawater sat there for a week, busily mildewing, till I got back.
Immediate response came in various forms. Banks suspended the usual commission for ATM transactions by non-account holders because so many cash machines were dead. Also, mortgage payments were suspended till the end of the year, which could have been really nice except that we had just made the last payment on our 15-year mortgage in October. Yep — as soon as the house was totally ours, it went under.
Our only tangible loss was the 300-euro refrigerator, so not only can we not complain, there isn’t much point in running the bureaucratic obstacle course for potential reimbursement for that. Those for whom there is a point would be businesses whose power tools are kaput, for example, or the young couple at Osteria di Valentino. Of course they had already installed their appliances up to safety at 140 cm, but 47 additional centimeters (18 inches) inflicted damage worth 40,000 euros: two large refrigerators, a large freezer, the dishwasher, the deep fryer…
But at least their fryer was empty. The trattoria up the street hadn’t emptied the oil from their fryer in time, and the pressure of the water busted some valve and out came all the oil. So the owner had water, mud, AND oil on his floor.
Not to worry! He went to buy some big bags of sawdust, the time-honored medium for glop removal. Not only were there none to be found (everybody got there first?), sawdust is now forbidden, he was told, in places where food is being prepared because the eponymous dust might contaminate the food. “I’ve used sawdust for 30 years!” he said. Well, that was then. Now we know better?
And speaking of damage, I took a walk along the Riva degli Schiavoni this morning. The damage from the waves is ugly, extensive, and probably will be here for quite a while. I suppose there is a Plan being devised as to the order and importance of interventions, but by the look of it at the moment, people are already getting used to things this way. Maybe we’ll find ourselves like those unfortunate earthquake survivors who are living in containers five years after the last aftershock. Or maybe five minutes before the next quake. Not sure how the thought process works.
Prompt announcements of municipal reimbursements for damage caused some excitement: 5,000 euros to private citizens, 20,000 euros to businesses! But happy visions of the city councilors handing out bags of cash have been dashed.
Let’s say the funds are there, which I don’t actually know. What I do know is that there are too many problems and tempers are rising. The deadline for claims is too short (December 20), there is intense confusion on how to complete the claim forms, wrong information is being given out, what receipts are required, what sort of experts (too few, anyway) are able to prepare the necessary estimates on repairs and replacements. It’s turned into a sort of bureaucratic high tide all on its own. Of 2,900 claims submitted so far, only one in three has met the criteria for approval. And who can say when the reimbursement would finally be made? Some people who are owed money from disasters of various sorts from years ago are still waiting for the check. Or bag of cash, or whatever. I realize that frivolous and exaggerated and unsubstantiated claims are not to be encouraged, but creating problems while attempting to solve problems doesn’t sound like progress to me.
The fireworks on Saturday night for the annual festa of the Redentore were in the top five I’ve ever seen in my life — beyond spectacular — full of new designs and gorgeous combinations, an exhibition that ran almost 15 minutes over the usual 30. It was thrilling.
There was a thunderstorm at 9:30 for a while that made it unclear whether the show would go on at 11:30 as usual, or if all those little bombs would still be combustible if lit in front of what might have been only a scattering of drenched, diehard boats. Also, restaurants all along via Garibaldi were forced to implement their disaster procedure, staff racing to clear tables and carry them inside (the customers were figuring out their own strategies, some of which were “Well hey, let’s just keep on singing in the rain”).
But the rain stopped, the people took heart, and the pyrotecnics proceeded.
Sunday morning dawned bright and shiny, and as we strolled we came upon one of the most eloquent demonstrations I’ve ever seen of what taking your boat to the Redentore means. It’s the aftermath that reveals the truth about you and your boat.
Any seadog with a shred of foresight — let’s even posit that he/she doesn’t drink — might have considered consulting the updated daily forecast of the tides (height and depth of) so usefully provided by the Tide Center of the Comune of Venezia. Italian language skills not required. I appreciate that after a festive evening, which might have begun at 3:00 PM, one’s thoughts on caring for one’s boat might turn more naturally to preventing its floating away than toward its dropping a few feet straight down.
This owner was extremely lucky in one way: At this moment, the tide had already begun to rise, which meant that although the boat was still hanged, it wasn’t drowned as well. Because it isn’t the hardest thing in the world for the rising water to begin to go over the gunwale of the boat and peacefully and efficiently fill it up. I have seen this and it is not a happy sight; you can bail out the boat, but the effect of salt water on your submerged engine is a catastrophe. Those horses will never run again.
What everybody loves about Venice (among many things) is how old it is. And that is indeed a thing to love. I imagine all those amazing designers and builders and artists working away centuries ago, believing that their handiwork would last for, oh, maybe ever. And because they were first-rate craftsmen, it turns out that most of them were right.
You might say that MOSE is also going to last forever, but not in a good way. I don’t write updates on the continuing calamity that is the world’s most preposterous project because I’m bored by the mendacity, magnitude and monotony of the problems. Everything has gone, is going, and will be going, wrong with this thing until Jesus comes back, so updates are pointless. In fact, I’ve begun to suspect that the whole thing started with a bunch of drunk people sitting around one summer afternoon on some rich person’s yacht or private mountain, who decided to break the boredom by inventing a game in which the winner is the one who finds a way to waste the most money on the most pointless enterprise in the history of the world. If you can call it “winning.” Bonus points for environmental damage, or if somebody dies.
But the latest headlines have barged into my brain and made me think about it again, if only briefly, and my thoughts are not lovely. I can sum it up for you: Yet more things have been discovered to be screwed up, and fixing them will cost lots more money. This has become the refrain of the Marching Song of the MOSE Squadron, while the bass singers set the jaunty rhythm “Money for me, money for me, money for me…..” And as you read, consider (as I have) that if I had done the calculations, it’s obvious they would have come out all wrong. But I am not a civil engineer (I’m hardly civil at all) and I do not have a piece of paper from some institute which implies that I have studied how to do this work. But we must face the fact that the perpetrators of all this have such certificates.
Here’s the headline on September
MOSE, the gate of the lock at Malamocco has to be redone.
I will translate the main points in this and the following article:
The gate on the lock basin (“conca“) at Malamocco has to be redone. After the 400 million euros already spent, another 20 million will have to be invested for the “lunata,” the semi-circular breakwater shaped like the moon which protects the ships from waves and current as they position themselves to enter or as they exit.
The lock, you may recall, was dug to permit the passage of ships between the Adriatic and the lagoon whenever the floodgates are raised. But evidently every good idea contains the seeds of its own destruction, if you play it right. It was constructed in 2007 by the Consorzio Venezia Nuova (by means of the mega-company Mantovani) and designed by Technital ten years ago, which Vitucci recalls as “the golden age of MOSE, when money poured in without limits and without too much control.” But even then the design was clearly flawed, for which almost everybody involved is now paying the consequences.
Inadequate. Even though the breakwater extends 1300 meters (4,265 feet), its basin is too small for the latest generation of container ships, making it too risky for the big ships to attempt to enter the lock. Other than that, the “mobile” parts of the lock — the gates — cannot function because the water exerts too much pressure. The persons making those calculations might have been interrupted by a phone call, or the arrival of a pizza; anyway, it doesn’t work. This problem was discovered in 2015 when the gate gave way in the first storm. Urgent interventions are now in the hands of a Belgian company.
But not to worry! The president of the Magistrato alle Acque, Roberto Linetti, says that fixing it will only cost 18 million euros because the foundations are still good. And meanwhile, they’ll be able to add a few meters to allow the ships to pass. So you see? In the end, it was a good thing the gate didn’t work.
Infinite. Or “unfinished.” Or “unfinishable,” perhaps. What now bears the tired title of the “MOSE scandal” consists, as Vitucci lists it, of: “Bribes and consultants, off-the-books payments and always-positive evaluations rendered by friendly experts, extra costs due to the lack of competition and the necessity of accumulating “black” (untraceable) funds to pay the bribes. But also there have been obvious errors, such as the lock. What was intended to be a structure to prevent penalizing the port activity when the floodgates were up has been shown to be, at the end, the umpteenth useless big project.
Waste. The lock is far from being the only problem — there are the collateral “major works” connected to MOSE, each one of which is its own little one-act tragedy. The “jack-up,” the large “ship” which cost 50 million euros for transporting and moving the gates constructed by Comar and Mantovani, remains anchored at the Arsenal and has never been used because it doesn’t function, despite the repairs that have been made. There is also the damage to the seawall at San Nicolo’ on the Lido, which collapsed a few days after it had been tested. Tens of millions of euros thrown into the sea, as Vitucci (and probably many others) puts it. Damages will need to be paid for all those, too, but it’s not clear by whom.
But wait! There’s more! Is anyone wondering how the various components are managing to resist encrustation and mold? I can tell you! But before I do, pause to marvel at the astonishing presence of salt in seawater, not to mention algae and all sorts of cretures which insist on attaching themselves to things. Who could possibly have known, or even guessed at random, that the Adriatic contains salt and water?
The headline in the Nuova Venezia on September 7, 2017, on a story written by Alberto Vitucci:
Mold and degradation, the MOSE gates are already blocked.
“The encrustation is increasing; the paint is already old. And without electricity it’s impossible to raise the barriers. Mold and degradation in the corridors of the caissons beneath the lagoon. And the gates, exposed for six months to the weather and salt at Santa Marina del Mare, have to be repainted.
The installations. The latest problem is the delay in building the electric plant to raise the gates. MOSE needs energy to raise the gates because it doesn’t exploit the natural energy of the sea and waves. … Unlike the sequence of events at San Nicolo’, where the power plant was installed first, at Malamocco it was decided to position the gates on the lagoon bottom before the power plant was built. Result: For several months the gates have lain on the bottom but it’s impossible to test raising them.
Corrosion and fouling. The first inspections revealed corrosion and encrustation. The lack of electricity has prevented the correct ventilation underwater where the cables and systems pass, not to mention the workers. The walls are covered with a layer of mold 5 centimeters (2 inches) deep. MOSE is a system conceived to remain underwater, and without maintenance, the problems multiply, such as the corrosion of the hinges (of the gates) that was reported several months ago. What to do? The Consorzio Venezia Nuova announced a competition for bids on the construction of the systems. Two groups won, the Abb Comes of Taranto and the Abb Idf of Brindisi. But the proposal to realize some temporary systems to move the gates wasn’t approved. It would have cost 14 million euros, so just let the gates sit underwater, blossoming.
Several months ago, the gates underwater at Treporti began to show accumulations of barnacles, mussels, and crabs — sea-dwelling creatures which were not exactly unknown before the work started.
The paint is peeling. Because there is no electricity or apparatus to install them, the 30 gates that were supposed to be lowered into the water have been waiting for months on the construction site of the caissons. The delay is due to the non-functioning of the “jack-up.” (Some gates were constructed in Croatia and brought across the Adriatic from Split.) During these months, the workers have battled the weather and the seagulls, which have begun to nest in the gates, as follows…..
MOSE: Even the seagulls are stripping the paint.
Information from the article by Alberto Vitucci, La Nuova Venezia, 29 April 2017
It turns out that the beached (so to speak) gates sitting at the construction site are a very attractive home for nesting seagulls, sort of like LeFrak City for waterfowl. But their guano is damaging the paint, and eventually corrodes the metal too. The birds stab at the peeling paint with their beaks, trying to strip it off (boredom? sport? snacks?). Protective tarpaulins have been spread over the gates, but large spaces have been left open for work on the hinges, so ….
Bring on the scarecrows! (I mean gulls): Deafening recordings of frightening sounds. They tried an amped-up donkey braying because an ethologist said that birds are afraid of it. Birds, sure, but not gulls, who fear almost nothing anymore. Next, a high-volume dog growling. Nope. In the end, the only thing that works is a cannon firing blanks, so cannonfire is now periodically heard in the lagoon, followed by the wild flapping of hundreds and hundreds of wings of birds that soon return.
How long will all this be going on?
The timetable. According to the latest schedule — after deadlines passed from 2011 to 2014, then 2017, then 2018 — the work will be finished by 2021. Four (or five or ten?) more years of astonishing stories to come. And I haven’t even said anything about the subsidence of the lagoon bottom beneath the caissons due to the powerful force of the tides (tides? there are tides in the sea? what??) which appear to be distorting the position of the gates…..