Regata Storica | Venice: I am not making this up

Does tourism make you crazy? Part 2: Quantity

September 18, 2018 8 Comments

Empty Venice. It exists, but you have to get up really early to see it.

Another headline repeats what is becoming accepted wisdom: “Tourism is killing Venice, but it’s also the only key to survival.”

Apart from my inborn tendency to balk at the word “only” (in this case, is it true, or is tourism the only key you’ve come up with?), the phrase itself makes the same sense as “We had to destroy the village in order to save it.” “The operation was a success, but the patient died.” “Arsenic can kill you, but it’s the only thing we have to treat your late-stage trypanosomiasis.” Why do I keep linking tourism to death? That’s not good.

The quantity of tourists, as so many things, can be measured as “enough,” “more than enough,” and “far too much.” Sometimes these estimates are subjective (“I personally can’t find a seat anymore at my favorite cafe’, therefore there are too many people here”) to the clearly objective, like those overloaded Asian ferries that sometimes sink.

This has not been Photoshopped; it was 6:00 AM on a May morning and it was divine, but only if you see this scene as empty of tourists. If you see it as empty of Venetians, not so much.

Venice’s plight is not unique. There are increasing numbers of places which are now under pressure from what once was a good thing, and they are trying different ways of managing it. Easter Island, if you’re interested, recently faced the fact that it was being subjected to a “veritable invasion of foreigners.” The 8,000 residents held a referendum and agreed to limit a tourist’s stay to 30 (as opposed to the previous 90) days, and soon will decide on a maximum number of tourists to allow at any one time, period.

Tourism to Iceland — a slightly less remote place — has increased five-fold since 2010. The population of Iceland is 332,000, and last year counted some 2,000,000 visitors. A tax is being discussed which would be applied in various ways to protect the spectacular natural environment from what amounts to six tourists for every resident.

Consider the gorgeous Croatian coastline. Rovinj, to take an example at random, has a population of 15,000; in 2017 there were 490,000 arrivals. Istria, the Croatian peninsula nearest to Italy, contains 208,000 residents; in 2017 there were 1,022,171 tourists from Germany alone.

Well, you say, when the shock has subsided, those are mostly summer destinations; obviously there’s breathing room there in the winter. And that’s true. But Venice is mostly a summer destination too.

Venice, so fragile, so small, obviously is facing its own perils, many based on chronic perplexity as to how to manage a place which has too many visitors to permit normal life, but which stubbornly insists on maintaining normal life anyway. Plans for peaceful coexistence that are hopefully suggested usually run aground on the reef of how to implement them. And there’s no way to ever make the city larger than three square miles.

One almost can’t recognize places that aren’t full of people.

Studies have shown that the sustainable limit of tourists to Venice is 19,000,000 a year. Last year 28,000,000 came, which is almost 50 percent more than the limit. The above study calculates that therefore Venice can sustain 52,000 tourists per day. We now have 77,000 per day. My own personal studies confirm that they will all be on the #1 vaporetto heading uptown on Sunday afternoon.

Speaking of vaporettos, they’re not your only option if you want to be crushed. Now the buses to Mestre in the late afternoon are reaching critical mass. So many tourists are packing the buses heading back to their much-less-expensive hotels, apartments, campgrounds, or wherever they’re staying on the mainland, that daily commuters literally can’t get on.

And if this is happening now, let me draw your attention to the several enormous hotels being built right next to the Mestre train station. Presumably their guests are going to want to go to Venice sometime, and even come back from Venice, on the already insufficient buses and probably soon-to-be-insufficient trains. Anybody is welcome to defend tourism, but I urge you once again not to say “Oh, but Venice lives on tourism” to any of the exhausted Venetians trying to get home as they watch the bus pull away without them.

The city government is struggling to find solutions to all this; it’s not like they don’t see what’s going on. The mayor recently announced that in the busiest periods he might close certain sections of the city to further entry. Something like this was tried a few months ago with “gates” at critical points, such as the Calatrava Bridge and the entrance to the Lista di Spagna, which were to slow, and redirect, the flood of arrivals heading toward San Marco from Piazzale Roma and the train station. It got mixed reviews and now the gates have been removed, though New Year’s Eve and Carnival desperation may require them to be reinstated.

Every time the topic of some form of entry tickets is raised, a thousand objections are heard. Entry is certainly easier to control at Easter Island, which is reachable only by means of a five-hour flight from Chile, but there must be at least 20 ways to get to Venice if you really want to, including, but not limited to, swimming.

I suppose winter could be considered one method of crowd control.

Managing crowds is an art and a science; the most striking example I know of is the reorganization of traffic in Mecca during the seven days of the annual hajj. Venice hasn’t reached the point where individuals are being trampled to death, but that was already a danger for the 2,000,000 Muslim pilgrims all trying to get to the same places together. A system has now been created to manage the flow better, so now we know it’s possible. It’s a fascinating story; here is a link to an interesting article on this amazing feat.

But “too many tourists” isn’t just numbers, it’s the ripple effect they have on Venetian life. I have recently noticed three effects of escalating tourism that are profound, even if not immediately perceived as such.

The first effect is the astonishing recent increase in supermarkets. A supermarket used to be a novelty, now it seems to have become a human right. There are even two, virtually side by side, on the Riva del Carbon near the Rialto Bridge.

I thought it would be interesting to find a map, or a list of the total number of supermarkets, but I didn’t and I don’t really care. They’re everywhere now. There’s the De Spar at the ex-Cinema Italia and literally two steps away is a Coop. Not literally ten steps away is a Conad, which used to be a Billa. Prix has inserted itself into all sorts of interesting corners, making it a challenge to find some of them although the lower prices make the search worthwhile, and there is a chain called Simply and something called Crai and so on.

If one knows — which one does — that the population of Venice is inexorably shrinking by about 1,500 people per year (despite a recent light touch on the brakes), it’s obvious that all these supermarkets haven’t been opening to support the few remaining locals. But when you consider the extreme increase of apartments being rented to tourists, voila’! I get it!

It’s clear that the dwindling population, including me, benefits from the supermarkets too. My point is merely that there wouldn’t be this number of emporia if locals were their only customers. Even I can understand that. But as I stand in line at the drastically expanded Coop on via Garibaldi it’s obvious that more than half of the people with me are tourists. And as I dodge their backpacks (yep, still on their backs, just like on the vaporetto) as they navigate the narrow aisles, I ask myself where the Sam Hill they all came from. I don’t mean what countries, I mean why are they all here now when five years ago there were so few? It’s like there’s a factory somewhere on a dark side street that’s manufacturing tourists.

There are many, subtle, and increasing ways in which the rise in tourism can be seen. In this case the butcher, who usually writes his notes in either Italian or Venetian, has added a word of English. It can’t be there for the locals.

The second effect is the astronomical increase in apartments for short-term tourist rentals. By now this is not a new theme, but as I have often observed, you can hate AirBnb all you want (and it is far from the only outfit in this business), but if apartments are constantly being added to the supply available to tourists (and tourists respond by renting them, of course), why are these apartments being offered? To make money, naturally. And who is offering them? The Venetian landlords, naturally. While everyone is excoriating tourists for killing Venice, one should recognize who is handing them the ammunition. The shots, so to speak, are coming from inside the house.

One starts with the fact that there is very little space for locals to rent. The available space, which is increasing, is now primarily offered only to tourists. Some years ago, when Lino and I were requested to vacate the apartment we had rented for ten years, the landlady said she needed it for her cousin, or somebody, moving to Venice from Sicily, or somewhere. Any excuse will do, because of course she planned to rent it to students, which she did, demanding four times the rent we paid. Not made up.

But let that go. When we went looking for another rental somewhere — we weren’t fussy — no agency would talk to us because Lino’s Venetian (hence, theoretically impossible to dislodge). My being a foreigner was fine, as far as that went, but the point is that we weren’t in a position to pay the tourist-rental rates of — I think one agent said — 1,000 euros per week.

We managed, in the end, to buy our little hovel (we gave up on the rental idea), but we could manage. Yet there are extremely aged Venetians (a retired 90-year-old professor, in one case) who are being summarily evicted by their landlords because the apartment, which has now become a four-wall gold mine, is wanted for tourist rentals. The landlord says “I want my apartment back,” and a person who has been living in the place for 50 or 60 years is out on the street. There is no recourse. I am not making any of this up. A friend of mine told me a similar story of an elderly person in her building, “And the landlord is renting two other apartments already.”

This often-tragic upheaval is a clear response to the sheer quantity of tourists, but fingers in the press are pointed at the tourists. Why? As Lino puts it: “Who is forcing the Venetians to leave? The Venetians!” Therefore, if you look around and all you see is tourists, there are reasons.

A group called Occupy Venice has come forth with the goal of re-appropriating empty apartments (that is, those whose fate has not yet been sealed by tourism). A friend has sent an article which you can peruse.

This lady is definitely not from around here. There’s nothing wrong with what she’s doing — in fact, I envy her — but her non-local characteristics are (A) being alone and (B) reading a book. I wouldn’t say that being outside is unusual; people here certainly enjoy hanging around outdoors, but they’re virtually always with friends, and that precludes book-reading. If they manage the Gazzettino it’s already something; taking time to savor “*The Polish Bandit; Or, Who Is My Bride?,”* or whatever she’s reading, is a foreign custom.

On the other hand, while it’s possible that a tourist might wash sheets, it’s impossible to imagine that he or she would take the time to wash curtains and a collection of fabulous doilies. I’m putting my money on a Venetian here.

The third sign of increased tourism may not matter to anybody but me, so you can skip the next few paragraphs if you want.

I saw it on the day of the Regata Storica. This event focuses on four races which gloriously but inconveniently occupy the Bacino of San Marco and the Grand Canal for a total of three hours in the afternoon. This deranges the vaporetto routes, of course, and this year it was decided (one always wonders by whom) that this derangement was no longer acceptable. Therefore, for the first time in at least 100 years, the traditional “boa” in front of the train station was moved further downstream to just before the Cannaregio Canal.

“So what?” you ask. The “boa” is a temporary object which the racers turn around in order to head back down the Grand Canal toward the finish line. Tradition has always placed it in front of the train station, where there’s plenty of room for the boats to maneuver and plenty of room on the piazza in front of the station from which tourists can watch this usually dramatic moment. Win-win for everybody?

Of course not, because now there are enough tourists (or even some locals, I guess) who don’t care about the races and who are inconvenienced by not having vaporetto service from Piazzale Roma up the Cannaregio Canal during those few hours. One might regard the Regata Storica as the city’s festival, but no longer does the entire city celebrate.

Therefore moving the boa enabled the vaporettos to continue to navigate the upper reaches of the Grand Canal, unhindered by those pesky races. So another intangible, but no less real or important, piece of Venetian life has just been distorted (I didn’t want to say “eliminated,” but eliminated) for the benefit of I actually do not know whom. Because for many decades this temporary interruption of service didn’t create insurmountable problems for anyone. Does this change mean that now the number of “anyone” has superseded the number of those who want to see the Regata? Evidently yes.

The newspaper chronicles the craziness of the tourists, but crazier things keep happening below the proverbial radar. As in the case of the Fondaco, it’s the people in offices who actually have the destiny of the city in hand, and it will be a cold day in the Inferno when any regular Venetians might be consulted on the matter. But why consult them? Before long they’re all going to be dead. So bring on the tourists!

We need to move out of this dark tunnel now; I have a happy story to tell you.

A few days ago Lino and I were on the vaporetto going down the Grand Canal; it was late afternoon, that delectable moment in which you feel the heat of the day almost imperceptibly begin to subside and the faintest zephyr of coolness sweep over your sticky skin.

There were seats along each side of the boat’s bow, and everybody wants to sit there, of course: the view, the breeze, the general feeling of being the figurehead of the ship. The four forward-most seats on our side were occupied by a family, with the boy and his father on the left, the girl and her mother on the right. They weren’t talking much, mostly just relaxing and looking at the incomparable panorama as we trundled along. Tourists, of course, but calm, coherent tourists, acting like normal people.

As we passed the Customs House Point, where the Bacino of San Marco opens up to splendor on every side, the man reached across and touched his wife. She looked back and took his outstretched hand, and they silently squeezed, and smiled, gazing out at the glory.

Watching this, everything fell back into perspective and I was suddenly glad they were here. They weren’t just another four tourists, they were people who saw the beauty, and they were happy. It seemed that so many thoughts and emotions were being exchanged in that instant and I unexpectedly could imagine myself in their place, and I remembered how Venice made me feel the first time I came here, and I wanted that for everybody.

If all those too-many people who came to Venice could feel what they felt, then maybe we could find another word for them and stop calling them TOURISTS.

Boatworld

Chasing the elusive crown

August 5, 2018 No Comments

D’Este and Tezzat in the red gondolino nose to nose with the Vignottos on the brown boat. A culminating moment from one year and then 38 minutes of rowing. This is what the fans live for. But where’s that pesky crown?

Over the past 15 years or so, attention in the world of Venetian rowing races has been focused, like the sun through a lens, on two pairs of rivals: Rudi and Igor Vignotto, gondoliers and cousins from Sant’ Erasmo who have been rowing together since they were nine and ten years old, and Giampaolo D’Este and Ivo Redolfi Tezzat, both of them also gondoliers, rowing together a modest 14 years until their last outing in 2015.

No need to say that the rivalry has been intense, which is what everybody wants in sports, and it created an equally intense partisanship among fans who pursued unwinnable arguments about why their idols are the best and what the hell is wrong with the other guys.

At the regata of Murano in 2009, Igor Vignotto took the lead from D’Este and never looked back.

These four men faced off in almost every race each year, but the race that matters most is the Regata Storica, a roughly 40-minute struggle in the Grand Canal on the racing gondolas called gondolinos.

Winning the Regata Storica is a wonderful thing, but what each pair really wanted was to win it five years in a row, a feat which is almost impossible. If you manage it you have earned the title “re del remo” (king of the oar), which sounds a little lame but which, in fact, is a very big deal. Nobody has accomplished this since 1985.

The Vignotto cousins have won the Regata Storica a record 15 times, but never five years consecutively. D’Este and Tezzat have won 7 times, also never consecutively. It’s maddening for everybody, but what can you expect in a race that depends on skill, strategy, and sheer luck? 2009 was the fifth year in a row for D’Este and Tezzat — THE FIFTH YEAR — and 7 minutes into the race they capsized and nobody was even near them. There they were, floating by their boat as everybody else rowed past them. How embarrassing is that?

D’Este and Tezzat stayed together for a few more seasons, but being disqualified during the next year’s Storica (2010) and again in 2015 — and maybe other factors also — appeared to expunge whatever desire they still had to earn the crown. They both retired and concentrated on work, or backgammon, or their kids.

Since then the racing world has been pretty lackluster, as the Vignottos just kept on winning, practically whiling away the time on the course by checking their messages on their phones and discussing where to go on vacation. I know they love all those red pennants, but racking them up without breaking a visible sweat isn’t much fun after a while. I’ve heard it said.

But this year — new drama! A possible fourth consecutive win was on the horizon for the Vignottos when the required annual physical examination revealed that Igor’s career is over. Something to do with his heart, and cardiac situations are not to be taken lightly, or even permitted when it comes to getting your health certificate for the racing season.

This is Igor Vignotto (2009) who clearly feels that the real beauty of winning is that the other guy lost. There won’t be any more of these moments for him.

And then Igor’s heart took a punch no apparatus could measure: His cousin Rudi called their lifelong rival, Giampaolo D’Este, to propose that they team up together. And D’Este said yes.

Rudi Vignotto astern. He’s just moving the boat out of the way, but this image from two years ago has suddenly become somewhat poignant. Nobody imagined ever seeing anybody in the bow position with him except Igor, to say nothing of imagining D’Este there.

I don’t presume to know their reasoning, but seeing that each of them could sink a small cruiser with the weight of the pennants they’ve won, it might not be the need for more pennants. And seeing that the prize money is less than a working gondolier might earn in a week, it probably isn’t the money either.

It can only be the kingdom, the kingdom of the oar at long last, that could tempt them, even though 2018 will be the start of the five-year clock all over again.

Is this exciting? Maybe. And maybe not. Of course they have already been dubbed the “SuperCoppia” (super duo), because that’s obvious. But while it will be reasonably exciting to see this Voltron racing, it doesn’t necessarily promise to inspire the wild, thrilling, throat-lacerating excitement from fans and enemies alike that was the norm when these titans were rowing against each other.

Setting aside the prognostications for a few young fast-rising competitors, it’s very possible that the new duo will also win while checking their emails. Not made up: Their first race, today at Pellestrina on pupparinos, had them so far ahead that they throttled back to a stroll just to keep the distance between them and everybody else to something kind of reasonable and not, say, two kilometers.

One commentator remarked that this new match has been made “in the name of sport,” but it doesn’t seem very sporting to me. At least one person who was talking about it made a very interesting observation. “Well of course they’re going to win,” he said. “What fun is that? Me, I think each of them should have picked some younger partner — then we could really have seen some competition.”

That’s undoubtedly true, and a very original way of thinking. But if they’d done that, they might never get those crowns.

The blessing of the gondolinos a few days before the Regata Storica (2017). Everybody acts friendly, more or less.

For anyone curious to see the seesawing of these champions from year to year, check this out; you can see how hard it has been to even get close to a fifth year in a row:

(V is Rudi and Igor Vignotto, D’E is D’Este with Tezzat):

2002 V first, D’E second (this is the first year D’Este rowed with Tezzat)

2003 D’E first, V second

2004 V first, D’E second

2005 D’E first, V second

2006 D’E first V second

2007 D’E first V second

2008 D’E first V (Rudi with Leone Mao, Igor undergoing a year of suspension) third

2009 V first D’E withdrawn, capsizing

2010 V first D’E disqualified

2011 D’E first V second

2012 V first D’E second

2013 V first D’E second

2014 D’E first V second

2015 V first D’E disqualified

2016 V first no D’E

2017 V first no D’E

2018 Voltron?

Boatworld, Venetian Events

The blessing and the launching of the gondolinos

September 7, 2016 No Comments

To recapitulate: These were the gondolinos on August 25. (Photos taken from remieracasteo.blogspot.it.) — To recapitulate: These were the gondolinos on August 19. (Photo taken from remieracasteo.blogspot.it.)

These boats were a thesaurus of synonyms for "gleam." If you can discover where the cut was made and repaired, you're not human. No offense. — The restored boats were a thesaurus of synonyms for “gleam.” If you can discern where the cut was made and repaired, you’re not human. No offense.

I may have mentioned that I was RUDELY interrupted on Sept. 2 by my computer, which cut my post into chunks and then wouldn’t give them back (hence only that brief mention of the Return of the Gondolinos).

Although a few days have passed, I won’t be happy until I’ve finished the job. So cast your minds back to last Thursday, when part of the “world of the oar,” as it’s called here, gathered for the annual ceremony of the blessing of the gondolinos and, unusual at this late date, the drawing of lots for the assigning of the boats to the racers. Who gets what color boat is random, and the drawing usually follows shortly after the last elimination has whittled the list of rowers down to nine competing teams plus one reserve team, to be called in at whatever moment before the starting gun it’s clear that one team is not going to be racing. It happens — not often, but I’ve seen the reserve boat actually win one time. Considering that being the reserve means that you barely squeaked into the lineup against faster men (or women) than you, this outcome makes it clear that all sorts of factors, apart from sheer speed at the trials, come into play in the race itself.

This may well be true in many other athletic competitions, but I’m sticking to what I know.

There is no significance to the colors; the boats are painted in order to make it easy to distinguish and identify them from medium to far distance. This ensures that the onlooker (say, a judge….) is identifying the appropriate boat as it crashes into its closest neighbor, or as it crosses the finish line. (Even in good weather, red and orange are almost impossible to tell apart.) Furthermore, in the non-official races in which people sometimes race on their club boats, there is almost no way to identify the boats because they’re all pretty much the same mash-up of colors. The relatives of the racers know who’s who, but the judges almost certainly don’t. To avoid any possible problems, the judges following the race in motorboats call out instructions and warnings by color, not by racer’s name.

As an extra security measure, which is very useful when there is rain and/or fog, numbers have been painted on the bow of each boat, as follows:1 white, 2 yellow, 3 purple (lavender, violet, whatever), 4 light blue, 5 red, 6 green, 7 orange, 8 pink, 9 brown, reserve: red and green.

The racers get a sash and a neckerchief to match the color of their boat; it used to be considered helpful. Now it’s just part of the tradition. The neckerchief was supposed to deal with the sweat (this was before terrycloth headbands), and the sash was intended to help truss up what sometimes, in the old days, were men who either did, or would soon, need one.

I had never seen an entire fleet of new Venetian boats, nor would I ever have thought I'd see one. that were completely new. It was thrilling, from the perfect gleam to the perfume of still-recent paint. — I had never seen an entire fleet of new Venetian boats, nor would I ever have thought I’d see one, considering how much the things cost. (The total bill came to 80,000 euros, which means a paltry 8,000 euros each, but these were repairs. A knowledgeable source told me a new gondolino could cost 30,000 euros.) It was thrilling, from their perfect shine to their perfume of still-recent paint. Eau de Regata Storica, with subtle top notes of epoxy.

As the crowd gathered, the Coro Serenissima provided the festive soundtrack with many of the classic Venetian songs. A good number of these ditties involve gondolas, the lagoon, and romance; so far no song has come out that features electric saws and battered boats. I’d like to hear one about the maestri d’ascia (“masters of the adze”) who rebuilt the gondolini. Something along the lines of “The Ballad of John Henry” could work really well.

(L to R): "Maestri d'ascia," or "masters of the adze": Roberto dei Rossi, Dino Tagliapietra, Gianfranco Vianello "Crea." — (L to R): Roberto dei Rossi, Dino Tagliapietra, and Gianfranco Vianello, nicknamed “Crea” (KRAY-uh). Not only does Crea carry the title of “Re del Remo” (“king of the oar”) for having won the Regata Storica five times consecutively, he also built the boats which he now had to repair. Sad as he was to see them butchered, he said he was really happy to discover how well they’d held up over 35 years. And if “king of the oar” sounds silly, it’s as hard as winning the Triple Crown in horse racing. He won his title on the gondolino in 1981, and nobody has done it since.

The ceremony gets underway with photo-worthy hugs by the mayor, Luigi Brugnaro, wearing his official sash. to their right, the white-haired man in the black jacket is Mario Eremita, the artist who designed and painted the "palio," or banner, depicting the Regata Storica. This is new this year and is loaded with symbolism. — The ceremony gets underway with photo-worthy hugs by the mayor, Luigi Brugnaro, wearing his official sash. To their right, the white-haired man in the black jacket is Mario Eremita, the artist who designed and painted the “palio,” or banner, depicting the Regata Storica. This is new this year and is loaded with symbolism.

This is a test — As the artist explained to me, the lion of San Marco at the top depicts an African lion, because St. Mark was buried in Alexandria, Egypt. Venice is always represented as a woman, of course, here wrapped in a cloak which repeat the colors of the gonfalone, or banner, of San Marco. In her mid-section (womb, if you like), is the Piazza San Marco, with basilica and belltower, from which are emerging the boats of the Regata Storica and spreading across the water of the Bacino of San Marco. Her right hand holds an olive branch, the emblem of peace, and in her left she holds an ouroboros, the ancient representation of a snake devouring its tail which symbolizes rebirth and renewal; in this case, the repetition of tradition.

While everyone is milling around taking pictures, the racers are examining the boats. Here, Igot and Rudi Vignotto are analyzing where the boat was cut. If they ever found a trace, I'd be impressed. — While everyone is milling around taking pictures, the racers are examining the boats. Here, Igor and Rudi Vignotto are analyzing where the boat was cut. If they ever found a trace, I’d be impressed.

Speechifying ensues. Here, Giovanni Giusto, president of the Coordinating Committee of the Rowing Clubs and city councilor for rowing and traditions, shares his thoughts. The gonfalone of San Marco adds the right touch, even if the rest of the ribbons can’t be seen.

Due to the delay in having the boats themselves, the gondolinos weren't assigned to the racers after the last elimination was held. So the usual drawing of lots had to wait for today, with just three days before the event. — Due to the delay in having the boats themselves, the gondolinos weren’t assigned to the racers after the last elimination was held. So the usual drawing of lots had to wait for today, with just three days before the event. Drawing your boat at random limits the possibility of skulduggery, or the appearance thereof, the same reason why each team’s position at the starting line is also drawn by lot. It’s not unheard-of for racers to consider a color as bringing victory or doom, so let’s just make everybody’s chances equal. As is customary, here the “poppieri,” or men rowing on the “poppa,” or stern, come to draw a small numbered ball — number corresponding to color — from the green bag held by Crea. He is fulfilling this duty because he is now also the president of the race judges.

Posing with the sashes matching their boat's color. — All the racers posing with their sashes which match the color of their boat.

The men begin pulling out their forcolas and oars, ready for the blessing and, immediately thereafter, the launching of the boats. — The men begin pulling out their forcolas (oarlocks) and oars, ready for the blessing and, immediately thereafter, the launching of the boats.

The stern forcola, made of the traditional walnut.

Finally we reach the moment of the blessing. The priest, pretty much hidden by the boats and the racers, has said his prayer and is now shaking holy water from his aspergillum across some boats. He was rather perfunctory, by which I mean he did not sprinkle all the boats. I don't know if that made a difference to the race, but it prevented me from getting a better picture. — Finally we reach the moment of the blessing. The priest, pretty much hidden by the boats and the racers, has said his prayer and is now shaking holy water from his aspergillum across some of the gondolinos. He was rather perfunctory, by which I mean he did not sprinkle all the boats. I don’t know if that made a difference to the race, but it prevented me from getting a better picture.

So let's get these boats in the water and out of here. In no particular order, the yellow boat is rolled on a small trolley to the edge of the steps to the canal, where some pieces of red carpet have been placed to ease the slide. — So let’s get these boats in the water already. The white gondolino has just been launched and now it’s the yellow boat’s turn to be rolled out, on a small trolley, to the edge of the fondamenta where some pieces of red carpet have been placed to ease the slide.

The boat was tilted off the small trolley and slid along the edge of the fondamenta. At the halfway point, the poppiere climbed aboard and, as it were, took possession of his chariot. — The boat was tilted off the small trolley and slid along the edge of the fondamenta. At the halfway point, the poppiere — in this case, Luca Ballarin — climbed aboard and, as it were, took possession of his chariot. It’s extremely unusual to have a person aboard when putting a boat in the water this way; it’s evident that you’re risking damaging the boat even if the water is fairly cooperative. I can’t explain why they decided to do it this way, but considering that we have three master boatbuilders on hand, I’m guessing they know what they’re doing.

Ignore the change in boat color -- the next phase was to lift the bow and push the boat free of the fondamenta. This required some strength and skill (I could just imagine the ferro of the bow striking the stone edge and I'm sure everyone else could imagine it too). — Ignore the change in boat color — the next phase was to lift the bow and push the boat free of the fondamenta, dropping it in the water. This required some strength and skill (I could just imagine the ferro of the bow striking the stone edge and I’m sure everyone else could imagine it too).

Flinging the boat into the water made a very satisfying sploosh. Here, Rudi Vignotto is ready get going. — Flinging the boat into the water made a very satisfying sploosh. Here, Rudi Vignotto has been flung. The man with the red trousers is not involved in these maneuvers in any way, but is taking a photo (I think) from a long pole.

No need for me to interpret the beauty of this moment. But the gondolino does provide a jarring contrast to the chaos of taxis, vaporettos and private motor boats that continues to swarm past. Yes, they were going slowly, due in part to a sentinel police boat. But there are far, far, far too many. — No need for me to expound upon the beauty of this moment. But the gondolino is a startling contrast to the chaos of taxis, vaporettos and private motor boats that continues to swarm past. Yes, they were going slowly, due in part to a sentinel police boat. But there are far, far, far too many. And they and their passengers are living in a parallel universe which never touches ours.

But in the interest of fairness, most rowers -- I'm going to say all rowers -- have motorboats, some of them pretty hefty. The boat, I mean. So there you are. — But in the interest of fairness, I should mention that most rowers — I’m going to say all rowers — have motorboats, some of them pretty hefty. The boat, I mean. It makes sense because it’s useful for towing your boat, or for getting quickly and efficiently to wherever you have to train, which could be fairly far away. But of course everybody thinks their motorboat makes sense.

Luca Ballarin hanging out with Franco Dei Rossi "Strigheta," one of the greatest racers but who this year has "hung his oar up on the nail," as they say of retired people. He's still working as a gondolier, but no more racing. — Luca Ballarin hanging out with Franco Dei Rossi “Strigheta,” one of the greatest racers but who this year has “hung his oar up on the nail,” as they say of retired people. He’s still working as a gondolier, but no more racing. You might not believe it, but it takes great strength of character to stop trying when your house is full of victory pennants but you’re past 60 and not up to your old speed. At least one famous racer kept at it for years after he should have quit, on ANY boat and ANY race, even if he finished last. It was like one of those endless farewell tours by superannuated sopranos. Depressing. I’m sorry not to see “Strigheta” racing anymore, but I admire his dignity.

Kudos gathered, gondolinos gone, the party's over. All that's left to do now is the race itself. I'll save you any suspense: The first four to finish (which is what counts, because they get a pennant) were: Blue, White, Orange, Brown. If you want more particulars, even if they're in Italian, go to:http://www.veneziatoday.it/cronaca/regata-storica-venezia-2016-classifica-risultati.html — Kudos gathered, gondolinos gone, the party’s over. All that’s left is Roberto dei Rossi and lots of spare sawhorses and shadows. As for the race, I’ll save you any suspense: The first four to finish (which is what counts, because they get a pennant) were: Blue, White, Orange, Brown. If you want more particulars, even if they’re in Italian, go to: http://www.veneziatoday.it/cronaca/regata-storica-venezia-2016-classifica-risultati.html

Venetian-ness

Anger management

August 19, 2016 7 Comments

This is how a gondolino is supposed to look. These men and this boat have no connection to the story below.

Just when I had concluded that there was nothing different or interesting to say about Venice, just when I thought life here was going to continue to grind deeper and deeper into its rut (same old problems, same old remarks, same old endless cycle of birth and rebirth), comes a blast of rage from person or persons yet to be identified.

Whoever they were, they trashed 7 of the gondolinos belonging to the city, discovered just today on the last day of the gondolino eliminations for the Regata Storica. The “Storica,” as you know, is the ultimate race, and it is conducted aboard the gondolinos. There is a total of 9, plus the reserve boat. Three boats, which were in another place and therefore escaped the axe murderer(s), weren’t much to work with for the eliminations today, but the nine two-man crews were divided into three sets of three, and extra time was eaten up with the removing and re-installing of the forcolas of each rower at each change. The mayor has tweeted that the boats will be repaired in time for the race on Sept. 4. Five boatyards have thrown themselves into the work.

Photos taken from remieracasteo.blogspot.it.

Who would do such a thing? Plenty of police are working to find out. But who would WANT to do it? Who indeed? It might be disaffected office-seekers, or environmentalists protesting deforestation, or people who want Jodie Foster to fall in love with them, or anything.

There has been tension in the rowing world recently, it’s true. But until all the dust has settled, and been left there as long as I usually leave it anywhere, and then finally Pledged away, I’m not going to start theorizing.

I can mention, however, that a sense of anarchy stretching beyond the world of rowing seems to be threatening what ought to be well-earned somnolence in the city. Tourists keep trying to swim in the Grand Canal. A New Zealander, one of the crew of a yacht in port, got drunk a few nights ago, jumped off the Rialto Bridge, and landed right on the windshield of a water taxi passing below. The mariner is in the hospital in very bad condition, and the taxi is also in the shop.

Here is a recent video from Roberta Chiarotto, on her Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/roberta.chiarotto/videos/10209231322756467/

We see some young people in their bathing suits in Campo San Vio, heading for a refreshing dip. The voice of the Venetian woman reprimanding them, in English and German, basically says “This isn’t Disneyland, it’s a city. You can’t do this.” For those (like Lino) who remember swimming in the canals as little tykes — naked, learning to swim tied to their mother’s washboard — may I say that there was less dangerous traffic then, and by the way, they were merely little tykes. Healthy full-grown hominids who are not in their own back yards should be aware, if only dimly, of the appropriateness of some behavior. If in doubt, I’d suggest “Don’t.”

What amazes me is how tranquilly these visitors receive this unwelcome news, and how unconvinced they look. And they’re not an isolated case; a few weeks ago, five young French tourists took the plunge in the Grand Canal in front of City Hall, no less. I won’t continue this list, because however many times I might mention it, I still can’t believe it. And it seems to have no effect.

Once again driven to distraction, some exasperated resident recently snapped, posting a sign near Campo San Martin:

Needs no translation. It was removed not long afterward but a local shopkeeper did say he could understand it. The bridges are often full of people wandering at random, stopping, taking pictures... None of which is a hanging offense, but their obliviousness to anyone but themselves must have some fancy scientific name. The point isn't that they're tourists, it's that they're not aware that they're in somebody else's city. Of course you can argue that Venice belongs to the world, but I invite you to defend that idea at certain points in the city all summer long. And at other times, too. — Needs no translation. It was removed not long afterward, but a local shopkeeper did say he could understand it. The bridges are often full of people wandering at random, stopping, taking pictures… None of which is a hanging offense, but their obliviousness to anyone but themselves must have some fancy scientific name. The point isn’t that they’re tourists, it’s that they’re not aware that they’re in somebody else’s city. Of course you can argue that Venice belongs to the world, but that doesn’t mean the world has to come and stand on your bridge.

On a more serious but equally anarchic note, two nights ago there was a nearly fatal collision in the lagoon (that’s good news, considering that at least once a summer there is a completely fatal collision to report). A motorboat being driven at high speed — that’s redundant, pretty much all motorboats are driven at high speed in the lagoon — ran right straight into a passing water taxi. The motorboat sank, the ambulance came, the two young men are in the hospital and the girl escaped unharmed. The high-spirited young folks had been zooming along with no lights on their boat, lights which are not only required by law but which common sense reveals would have at least given the taxi driver some hint as to their imminent arrival.

My point is that a great deal of anarchy can be tolerated, for many reasons, as long as nothing happens, which is what everybody is counting on. And then something happens. Like ramming a taxi.

Consequences can be so unpleasant. And they follow deeds with such annoying persistence.

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