Reports written the day after said there were 150 (or even 200) boats in this gathering. It was really fun to see everybody out again, not to mention the doctors, etc. on the fondamenta in front of the hospital.
Last Sunday morning there was quite the boating event, after three months without either boats or events. Everybody was more than ready for it.
Seeing that the city is on the verge of complete reopening after the three-month lockdown, the moment was right for the “Vogada de la Rinascita” (Row of the Rebirth). The morning afloat was emotional (the worst is over, we hope; the day is glorious; finally we’re all out rowing again) and a tangible way of expressing group gratitude to the medical personnel of the hospital, as well as a gesture of respect to the victims.
The event was organized by the Panathlon Club, Venice chapter (fun fact: Panathlon International, now numbering some 300 chapters scattered across 30 countries, was founded in Venice in 1951), with the collaboration of the Comune.
We were there with two sandolos from the F. Morosini Naval Military School, where Lino teaches Venetian rowing. Cadets and passengers are looking good on the way from the school to the Arsenal (Lino astern, a friend on the bow). Going with the tide just added to that happy feeling. (I was on the other boat, obviously.)The boats began slowly to assemble in the Great Basin of the Arsenal. Allow me to draw your admiring attention away from the boats for a moment to the enormous Armstrong Mitchell hydraulic crane, installed here in 1883. At the end of the 19th century there were nine of these behemoths in the world, but this is the only one left and is designated a historic monument by the Superintendency of Archaeology, Fine Arts and Landscape. It could lift up to 160 tons of weight, primarily naval artillery and sheets of steel for the cladding of battleships.At the head of the procession, departing from the Arsenal, was a gondola carrying Luigi Brugnaro, the mayor, in the bow, and making a video amidships is Giovanni Giusto, president of the Coordinating Association of Rowing Clubs as well as the municipal delegate tasked with keeping up with Venetian rowing. Be cynical if you want to, but seeing the mayor rowing (and he did the whole thing) was unusually cool.The “local police,” otherwise known as the “vigili,” have their own sandolo Buranello. There was an effort a while ago to reinstate their once-normal patrols of the canals by oar-power, but I think that rapidly faded away.
The corteo departed the Arsenal at 11:00 AM, and we all wended our way toward the hospital, where we stopped and gave the traditional “alzaremi” salute to the assembled doctors, nurses, and other medical personnel gathered on the fondamenta. Much clapping, many smiles. Much noontime sun scorching our skulls.
We weren’t practicing social distancing, but it just so happened that we were in an open space at that moment.
After executing the “alzaremi” twice, people just sort of hung around for a minute or so before the corteo got moving again. I’m seated astern with what looks like an oar in my lap. Of course it’s an oar, but I don’t remember it being that close.
Down the Cannaregio Canal, and the Grand Canal, to a pause in front of the basilica of the Salute (dedicated to Our Lady of Health, appropriate in this case), where members of the chorus of La Fenice and musicians of the Benedetto Marcello conservatory performed assorted wonderful pieces. We didn’t linger — by that point it was almost 1:00 PM and the heat and the hunger were singing their own little duet in our brains: “Shade…food…water…food…shade…”.
Considering how lavishly this was reported in the foreign press — and we were hugely photogenic, it’s true — not only was the corteo lovely to look at, but it conveyed the message that Venice is alive and has come out of its pharmacological coma. Translation: Get traveling, people. We’re ready for you.
Gathering at the bottom of the Grand Canal, me still astern, me still dreaming of glaciers and permafrost.
Yes, the row was open to anyone with a boat with oars. So yes, a yellow kayak with a pink inflatable — is that a dinosaur? — had a perfect right to join in. The gondolas were not carrying tourists, as I thought at first. Each carried a guest of honor: The ambassadors to Italy from the USA, Japan, and France, The American ambassador reciprocated via an article in the Gazzettino the next day by enthusing about Venice and recommending that all Americans come here forthwith. It’s not clear when that might be, considering that at the moment Americans aren’t permitted to enter Italy because of the virus. But let’s be hopeful.The “people of the oar,” as we are called in a sort of Paleolithic clan nomenclature, come in every sort of shape and size. Tradition dictates that women wear a white skirt on special boating occasions though, as you see, the definition of “skirt” is open to interpretation. But whatever you were wearing (or rowing) it was a splendid occasion in every way.
The church of Santi Vito e Modesto in Spinea, site of the battle of the funeral directors. It didn’t look this beautiful that day, it was 3:00 in the afternoon. Also, there were cars, and a coffin, and people yelling.
As was totally predictable, some people have been scoffing at the drastic regulations to control the COVID-19 contagion, because scoffage is fun. There is a special breed of human who looks at rules like they’re the gates in a giant slalom racecourse, put there just to challenge your skill in avoiding them and provide entertainment in the process.
By now, though, some 4,000 blithe spirits across Italy have been fined for not staying at home — and more to the point, they left home to do things they’re totally not justified in doing. Somehow, meeting up with ten of your friends in the countryside in an old abandoned shed to drink beer doesn’t fall into any of the three approved categories for being out of your house (Work? Medical/health? Necessity? Or did they claim to qualify in all three?) Four members of a family in town A went to town B outside of their province to join the birthday party of their two-year-old relative. Cue the Carabinieri. People with holiday houses in the mountains are thinking of escaping there? Not a chance. A walk on the beach? The mayor of Jesolo is imploring people not to be seduced by a sunny weekend. Because Carabinieri. Because virus. Because just stay at home.
All this — the subject of skipping a rule you don’t like or understand or want to bother with or forgot — brings us to don Riccardo Zanchin, the parish priest of the church of Santi Vito e Modesto in Spinea, a nearby town; Spinea is also the legal residence of Luigi Brugnaro, the mayor of Venice. A town where you might think that the art of obeying governmental edicts would be more advanced than elsewhere, but actually, no.
Among the earliest bans affecting normal life was on public funerals; that was back when we could still be shocked. The rule was that only the closest family members would be allowed to attend, without the usual mass. Subsequent edicts on March 8 and March 11 intensified the ban, up to the one forbidding all religious services. No weddings, funerals, baptisms, First Communions, Stations of the Cross, reciting the rosary — nothing. Anything that involved more than two or three people was prohibited. But when one of don Riccardo’s parishioners passed away, the family inquired about a funeral, and he said “Fine.” Here is where things begin to get murky.
Even murkier than this; I’m sure the two pilings have a perfectly good reason for finding themselves aground in the middle of a muddy barena.
Don Riccardo doesn’t appear to belong to the sub-group of priests who like to protest (not to be confused with Protestants). There was one priest the other day who was nabbed for conducting some ceremony, and his clarion call to disobedience was reported as “God is my boss,” and God requires him to continue his sacramental duties. That would be fine in a world where extremely contagious diseases didn’t exist, but as God’s vice-boss observed in the Garden of Gethsemane, “The flesh is weak,” and people are getting sick. I imagine that God’s vice-vice-boss, pro tem, a/k/a the bishop, had something short and sharp to tell him about all this.
Back to don Riccardo, who says that he hadn’t received any instructions to the contrary from the diocese (blame the bishop? Not a good move). Therefore he was all set to conduct a funeral Thursday afternoon of a 93-year-old parishioner. Family? Check. Mortal remains? Check. Hearse and funeral director? Check. Another funeral director? Excuse me?
Alessandro Gardi was the funeral director whose company had undertaken the work and had already loaded the coffin into the hearse. But at that moment who should be driving past but Manuel Piasenti, director of another funeral home. He saw what looked like a funeral drawing to a close, stopped his car, and called the Carabinieri.
Let’s pause and think peaceful thoughts for a moment.
“It isn’t possible to celebrate funerals,” Piasenti explains, “it’s a lack of respect toward the families and also toward other funeral homes that, respecting the regulations, aren’t working.” I’d interpret that as meaning especially a lack of respect to other funeral homes, such as his, just to take an example at random. What I don’t understand is his assertion that funeral homes aren’t working — that doesn’t seem to fall into any prohibited category of permitted work, and their services are, sadly, clearly required these days. I suspect Something Else is going on here; for all I know it might have been something that happened when they were in second grade.
The Carabinieri come and discover that the situation has become a little heated. The family members are furious with Gardi, the first funeral director, because evidently they blame him for getting them into this mess. Gardi’s mad at Piasenti because “He blocked the hearse with his car,” Gardi stated, “and the people who were going to the cemetery.” That’s an audacious move. Everybody had something to say, and I’m guessing they were all saying them at the same time, and in a way that attracted the attention of the neighbors.
“I never blocked anybody,” Piasenti rebutted, “I was only waiting” (in a blocking position?) “for the arrival of the officers.” And so it went until the Carabinieri had taken everybody’s testimony and found all three contenders guilty of something.
It’s a big world out there, something that’s easy to forget when you’re stuck at home day and night. We need to keep our perspective on things.
Don Riccardo had broken the decrees banning religious ceremonies, which in point of fact had not been issued by the bishop, but by a commission headed by the Prime Minister of Italy, so the good priest was probably a bit mistaken in thinking the bishop had the final word on this.
Mr. Gardi had also flouted the decrees, though he defended himself by saying “It wasn’t a funeral, it was a strictly private ceremony. There were only eight people, all of them four or five meters apart. We spoke to the priest and he said that he hadn’t received any opposition from the diocese for the celebration of that funeral rite, so we proceeded.” Noted, but he still broke the rules.
Mr. Piasenti got two fines: One was for being out in his car even though he wasn’t going to work (one of the three reasons that justify your being out of your house; it was stopping in front of the church that gave him away), and the other because he had no authority to use his car to stop a funeral procession. Well, neither does anybody, probably, except the firemen.
So in the end, everybody was unhappy, including the grieving relatives. That flash of euphoria Mr. Piasenti enjoyed by reporting his competitor to the police was so sweet, but so brief.
So let’s review: Stay at home. In the end, it makes life simpler for everybody.
This full-page ad for a car dealership is a masterpiece of bad timing. “Escape with your new C4: we’ll give you (as in gift) the weekend.” You’re selling cars when nobody can go anywhere, then you rub it in with special offers linked to “escape”? I think this could be interpreted as a veiled incentive to break the law by not staying in your house, and “weekends,” as they’re commonly understood, have ceased to exist for the duration. I’m sorry the company paid for this ad because I doubt that “Going to buy a new car” is a valid reason for anyone to be out traipsing around. It’s all so difficult right now.
