Boatworld, Venetian Events

Papal visit finale: The Gondoliers

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The results of the two elections held among the gondoliers have come in and now the pope can sleep easier knowing who exactly is going to be rowing him from one shore to the other next Sunday. (One of them won’t be Charon.  I presume.)

One can hope that the pope's voyage across the Grand Canal won't bear any resemblance to this little jaunt. ("Charon Carries Souls Across the River Styx," by Alexander Litovchenko.)

And the winners are: Franco and Bruno Dei Rossi, nicknamed “Strigheta” (not much of a surprise there, they were at the head of the pack several days ago), and one each of the two famous battling pairs of racers: From the “Vignottini,” Igor Vignotto; from the other, Giampaolo D’Este.

Comments in the Gazzettino on this outcome were as sardonic as they were swift:

“This is splendid news.  In the end, love always triumphs.”

“Since when have gondoliers all become basibanchi (these are those obsessively pious people who are always in church)?  Is this the miracle we’ve been waiting for from Giovanni Paolo II?” (who was beatified yesterday, first step on the road to official sainthood).

“Given the well-known diplomatic refinement among these four, it makes one wonder …  if they can manage not to swear at each other for ten minutes.  It wouldn’t be so bad even if it were to happen. Venice couldn’t present itself worse than what it is, even if it wanted to.”

So everyone has finally calmed down?  I know one person who hasn’t: Lino. He is all of the following: Astonished, infuriated, and offended, genuine, incandescent emotions far removed from the Lilliputian self-serving quibbling that has distinguished this whole affair.

Why is Lino so angry?  Because of all the people mooted for the Papal Row, he regards Igor Vignotto as the last — actually, far behind the last — gondolier who deserves this honor.

Yes, we remember in the end that rowing the pope is, in fact, an honor, and not just another gig.  I realize that “honor” is a word that rarely — well, never — seems to find a seat on the bus of normal conversation regarding gondoliers, but a papal visit is a noteworthy exception and the men who row him ought to have consciences which have been washed at least on the “delicate” cycle.

Igor and Giampaolo have two things in common.  One is that they  both row in the bow of the gondolino, which means that they, at least technically, can’t be considered guilty of all the skulduggery which has led to the current bitterness because they aren’t the ones responsible for steering the boat.  All they’re doing up there in the front is rowing their brains out.

Their other link, unfortunately, is that they both were banished from racing for the entire 2008 season because of their respective crimes in 2007.

In the case of Giampaolo, he was found guilty of having threatened a race judge with serious bodily harm, his way of asserting his innocence regarding an infraction during a race for which the judge had punished him.  The infraction is one thing, but stating in the hearing of many people that he would be prepared to settle the score by attacking the judge physically is, as they say here, “another pair of sleeves.” Also, there’s a rule against it.

Giampaolo D'Este.

I note that he only said he wanted to do it, he didn’t actually hurt anybody. This is a good thing, because while privacy laws make it difficult to discover his exact height and weight (I could probably do it eventually, but time is short), I can say that he appears to correspond to the stature of a two-year-old grizzly.  One of his nicknames is “The Giant.”  But rules are rules, even for midgets, and we can’t have racers going around volunteering to bash the judges.

But Igor’s case was worse, because what he did not only offended the rules and the judges, but all the other racers — those present as well as the hundreds stretching back into history — and the entire world of racing and, in a sense, the city of Venice itself.

It happened at the end of the culminating race of the Regata Storica three years ago (September 2007), in what then was a notorious altercation but which now seems to have been totally forgotten (which also adds to Lino’s indignation),

It’s true that the race had been unusually fierce, even by the standards of the searing rivalry pitting him and his cousin against the D’Este-Tezzat pair, and it’s true that the finish was so close that the judges had to check the video to determine the winner. But when Igor heard that they had given him second place, he kind of lost his mind.

Igor Vignotto exultant after passing D'Este to win the race at Murano in 2009, the year they both returned from exile.

Not only did he engage in a volcanic exchange with the mayor, Igor grabbed the prize pennants and threw them  into the Grand Canal.

Not just the two pennants destined for him and his cousin, but all eight pennants waiting to be awarded to the rowers of the first four boats to finish.

Of the many things which, in the view of various people, would have been much better thrown into the water (the “Boy with the Frog” being one of them), pennants have never, and should never, be treated in this manner. Set aside the fact that not all of them got fished out in time; or the fact that those that were fished out were essentially D.O.A., thanks to the salt water. It’s not even a question of whether the city made replacements.  It’s not even a question.  He shouldn’t have done it, and however good it may have made him feel at the moment, that’s how bad it made everybody else feel.

Not much is sacred to your average Venetian racer, but the prize pennant comes pretty close. Red for first place, white for second, green for third, blue for fourth. The remaining five teams just have to smile and look ahead to next time.

So when Lino heard that Igor was one of the Papal Rowers, it was Too Much, even in a city where things that are Too Much happen every day.

Bruno Dei Rossi "Strigheta," the only man ever to have won all the official races, rowing in the bow or the stern.

First a rower allows himself to essentially spit in the collective eye of the city, the race, the other racers, and history, and now he gets a reward?  Of all the people who could have been chosen, they chose a person who had committed an outrage that had never been committed by anyone, not even “Mad Dog” Sullivan.  And, strange to say, so far Lino is the only person who has expressed any opinion on this.

There’s a sprightly ditty in  the second act of “The Gondoliers,” by Gilbert and Sullivan.  It’s called “Here we are at the risk of our lives.”

Franco Dei Rossi "Strigheta." Oddly, for two such great racers, his seasons rowing with his brother were not their best.

 

I think it should be played in the background all day next Sunday.

 

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Boatworld, Venetian Events, Venetian History, Venetian-ness

Papal visit leads to gondolier smackdown

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Perhaps your local gazette hasn’t mentioned it yet, but Pope Benedict XVI is planning a big trip soon. He’ll be touring Northeast Italy, and will be in or around Venice on May 7 and 8.

"King Henri III of France visiting Venice in 1574, escorted by Doge Alvise Mocenigo and met by the Patriarch Giovanni Trevisan," by Andrea Micheli "Vicentino." This is the kind of welcome everyone had come to expect.

Venice has a long and prodigious history of state visits — King Henry III of France and Poland, in 1574, was one of the more famous guests, just one of a seemingly infinite procession of princes, ambassadors, potentates, emperors and, of course, popes coming to see the sights, visit the doge, and usually ask for some favor, like money or soldiers. Reading the list of deluxe visitors over the centuries gives the impression that the main business of Venice was hosting foreign notables, while other activities such as running an empire filled the random empty moments, kind of like a hobby.

Yet His Imminence has aroused not only joy and excitement among the faithful, but tension and recrimination and a series of increasingly regrettable remarks among the city’s gondoliers concerning who is going to get to row him the approximately five minutes it takes to row from San Marco to the church of the Salute, and in what boat. By a mystic coincidence, gondoliers are also known as pope (POH-peh), because they row on the stern (poppa) of the gondola. I have no idea what this might portend.

"The reception of Cardinal Cesar d'Estrees 1726," by Luca Carlevaris. Just all part of a normal day.

Don’t suppose that the battle to transport the pontiff is any particular evidence that gondoliers are so pious. A pious gondolier would be a distant cousin to a pious illegal-clam fisherman, or a pious doctor of a cycling champion.  I’m not saying it’s impossible, just kind of unusual. But they do like to be the center of attention and, in fact, they’re used to being regarded as some sort of star.  At least to the damsels they may be so fortunate as to row around the canals.

Popes aren’t supposed to cause dissension, they’re supposed to resolve it. But Benedict has unwittingly set off a sort of collective seizure.

Pope John Paul II being rowed in the city's balotina by four "re del remo" in 1985; high astern is the legendary Gigio "Strigheta."

First: Luciano Pelliccioli, vice-president of the gondola station heads (and a gondolier) offered to join Aldo Reato, president of the gondola station heads (and a gondolier) to row His Sanctity in Luciano’s extremely elaborate and glamorous gondola.

No!! The cry went up.  Why should those two men profit by their position and crowd out equally (I mean, more) deserving gondoliers?  Why, indeed?

Furthermore!! Champion racer Roberto Busetto, never at a loss for an opinion (he isn’t a gondolier, but that’s a detail), objected on the grounds that if Luciano should ever think of selling his gondola, he could easily make a huge profit by marketing it as the gondola that had carried the pope.  Busetto gets five bonus points for crassness, though that doesn’t mean he’s wrong.

Anyway, Luciano withdrew his offer of his gondola and himself.  Reato also withdrew, but the incessant calls have continued. There are 425 gondoliers and by now probably each of the remaining 423 has called him at least once.  Some of them have fantastic reasons to be chosen: “Padre Pio came to me in a dream and said you should pick me,” said one.  Another person suggested Giorgia Boscolo, the first woman gondolier.  That idea burnt up on reentry into reality.

Then somebody suggested the “Strigheta” brothers, Franco and Bruno, sons and heirs (and gondoliers) of one of the greatest racers/gondoliers of all time, Albino “Gigio” Dei Rossi, known as “Strigheta.” (He rowed not only one, but four popes in his day.) They’re loaded with credentials and nobody hates them, which helps.

Then somebody suggested a four-rower gondola, rowed by the current racing champions, the Vignottini and D’Este and Tezzat. I think the idea was that rowing the pope could somehow magically bring peace to these two savagely feuding pairs, though somebody else opined that it wasn’t appropriate to expect the Holy Father to resolve every little neighborhood squabble. In any case, the four men have declared their willingness to row the Pontifex Maximus together, which is already a big step forward.

Then somebody asked: Why should it be a gondola?  Excellent question, considering that the city of Venice owns a more capacious gondola-type boat called a balotina, on which Pope John Paul II was borne along the Grand Canal in 1985.

Then some daring person suggested using the “disdotona,” or 18-oar gondola, which belongs to the Querini rowing club, and which in my opinion is not only the most spectacular boat in the city, by far, but would provide 18 men the chance to Row for Holiness.

Naturally, this idea got nowhere, because nobody thought one club should be given preference over another.  We’ve all got great boats, the thinking goes — why them and not us?

Even when it's not doing anything, the "disdotona" is impressive. I think the pope would look splendid seated in the bow, what with the velvet drapery trailing in the water and all.

I’m surprised nobody has yet suggested using the “Serenissima,” the huge decorated bissona with a raised stern, making the pope easy to see plus providing space for his entourage and some trumpeters, if that seemed appropriate.  But so far no mention of this little coracle.

Which brought up the next question: Why should the rowers be gondoliers? Another useful point.  In the olden days, a visiting potentate — such as John Paul II — would be rowed by the necessary number of “re del remo,” men who had won the Regata Storica five years in succession.  There aren’t many of them, because it’s fiendishly hard to do.  That would instantly reduce the number of candidates to something manageable.

And by now there has been at least one practical joke.  Someone purporting to be Aldo Reato (president of the gondola station heads) called the Gazzettino and said the matter had been settled: Luciano’s fancy gondola was going to be used after all, rowed by Franco Girardello, a retired gondolier who goes by the nickname “Magna e dormi” (eat and sleep). This fantasy was quickly dispelled by all concerned except the anonymous prankster.

The "Serenissima" was born for this kind of event. Odd that so far nobody has suggested it.

The most recent bulletin is that the matter will be put to a secret vote among the gondoliers.  The mind rather reels.  Busetto thinks the papal gondola is going to cost the moon at resale?  How much is a gondolier’s vote going to be worth, at this point?  No checks, no credit cards.

Comments from bemused readers of the Gazzettino run from “The pope doesn’t care who rows him” to “What a farce” to”Actually, Padre Pio came to ME in a dream and said I should do it.”

A certain Riccardo made the following suggestion:

“Requirements for candidacy:

Never to have blasphemed; Never to have used foul language; Never to have spoken in a coarse tone of voice.  In the case of more than one valid candidate (doubtful), preference will be given to the one who has a good knowledge of the principles of Catholicism, and/or who has read at least one of the 16 chapters of the Gospel of St. Mark, patron saint of our city.”

This pastoral visit has been in the planning stages for at least three months — probably more — and yet here we are, at the last minute, dealing with the frenzied bleating of the flock.

Meaning no disrespect, I think it would have been better for everybody if they had given a crash course in rowing to a Rastafarian and a dervish. I can’t think of a gondolier who could possibly be cooler than that.

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Boatworld, Events, History, Venetian-ness, Water

The never-ending Storica

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The past few days in the world of the oar have been pretty agitated here.

The Commission of Discipline (no remarks please) has listened to the rowers and the judges involved in the dramatic events of the Regata Storica and has rendered its decision.  An assortment of decisions, really, which amounted to throwing a couple of spare barrels of oil on the waves of accumulated anger.

Angry rowers are nothing new, and a fan that isn’t enraged and offended by something isn’t worthy of the name.  But this time the judges — angry too, which also is no novelty — made the unusual step of revealing their antagonism to the public. This is an alarming sign of how far order in the world of Venetian racing has deteriorated.

And I sense that it’s not over yet, not least because when you throw oil on turbulent waters, you often  get covered in oily spray.  But usually the situation at that point is so perilous that the benefits outweigh the oil.

To review: Ivo Redolfi-Tezzat and Giampaolo D’Este (celeste gondolino) were disqualified in the  throes of the Regata Storica on September 5, the most important and hugely most remunerative race of the year, because they did something(s) to prevent their lifelong rivals, Rudi and Igor Vignotto (canarin gondolino), from accomplishing some maneuver that might have been to their advantage.  In fencing terms, this could be called the celeste parrying the thrust (or probable and/or imminent thrust) of canarin.  Celeste was disqualified, canarin won.

The three leading gondolinos before things went south, an image which illustrates why tempers were incandescent.
The three leading gondolinos before things went south, an image which illustrates why tempers were incandescent. (Photo: Nereo Zane)

The Verdict:  The appeal of Tezzat/D’Este was rejected.  The new regulations stipulate that the judge’s verdict is unassailable, which in some ways ought to make the judges more punctilious.  But that would be true only in an ideal world, and the Grand Canal is beautiful, but not ideal.

First point: Under the new rules, the order of finish is carved in titanium, hence celeste had no hope of being judged the winners in the cool light of the morning after. But that didn’t stop  Tezzat/D’Este  from registering a formal protest, hoping for a severe punishment to be inflicted on canarin.  Hoping is fine, seeing as hope costs nothing.  But their status as disqualifees remains unchanged.

Second point: The Vignottini did not escape completely unscathed, however. They received an official admonition  (“diffida,” or warning) for “unsportsmanlike conduct” during the race.  This is a black mark on their record, but does not comport any material damage.

Observation: I am not the only person who has noticed a certain incongruity between a decision which says that (A) celeste sinned and deserved its punishment but that (B) canarin also sinned but only needs a rap on the knuckles.

Judges at work during the race of the young men on pupparinos. Nothing went wrong here. Sheer luck?
Judges at work during the Regata Storica, here the race of the young men on pupparinos. Nothing went wrong. Sheer luck?

Third point: The judges.  The two judges in the first boat, Gianni Tonini and Sandro Fort, were reprimanded for a series of errors which did not help, and perhaps aggravated, the situation during the race.  In the simplest terms, their function (true for most judges) is to anticipate and prevent problems by timely warnings during the race.  A judge, as one of them commented to me, doesn’t show how brilliant he is by the number of punishments he inflicts, but by the number of imminent problems he manages to resolve before punishment becomes inevitable.  That didn’t happen here.

Tonini got an official “richiamo” from the Commission, and Fort got a richiamo because he let the race start even when the starting gun misfired. (As in: didn’t fire at all.  The rules say the judge has to fire again and return all the racers to the starting line.)  There were also a few commands issued to the rowers during the race by both men which are hard to justify even if you don’t care who won. But the important point is that this is the first time a judge has been publicly reprimanded.

Extra surprise: Startling but true, Ernesto Ortis, the coordinating judge, formally and publicly disassociated himself from the actions of Tonini and Fort.  I believe this is a first here; like many groups, the judges have always prefered to present a united front even while they bicker inanely among themselves.  It is no secret that bile has been bubbling for quite a while against the perceived hubris of Fort.

Outcome: The reaction to all these decisions (all of them wrong, of course, in the eyes of everybody except the commission) was to be seen at the regata at Burano last Sunday.

REVENGE AT BURANO

You may recall that the infuriated Tezzat first claimed they weren’t even going to try out for this, the last regata of the official season. But they did. Rowers make all kinds of affirmations that they never act on, usually some variation on “Take a good look at my oar, because it’s the last time you’re ever going to see it.” Next day, there they are.

So Tezzat and D’Este did the eliminations (What?  Aren’t you supposed to be in Queen Maud Land?) and qualified for the race.

The Vignottini warming up. Red, my favorite color. Just like blood.
The Vignottini warming up. Red, my favorite color. Just like blood.

They showed up at Burano on Sunday on the green gondola.  It was time for the race.  All the gondolas were at the starting line, each poppiere (person rowing astern) clinging to the rope and struggling to keep his boat straight in the face of an annoying headwind and contrary tide.

But where’s green?

At the last minute, Tezzat and D’Este rowed, not to the starting line, but to the judge’s stand (all you racers just wait there till we’re done….).  There they handed a piece of paper to the race announcer, who read it over the loudspeaker to the officials grouped on the dock, and to the suspenseful, murmuring hordes crushed along the water’s edge.

Tezzat (astern) and D'Este approaching the judges' stand to deliver their screed. Notice all the other races lined up back there, waiting to do the race. Isn't that why we're here?
Tezzat (astern) and D'Este approaching the judges' stand to deliver their screed. Notice all the other racers lined up back there, waiting to do the race. Isn't that why we're here?

This document announced to the world, in the loftiest terms and the purest tones of innocent, persecuted victims, that Tezzat and D’Este would not only skip the race that was waiting to start, but won’t be racing again until All This gets cleared up once and for all.  It was a sort of “J’accuse” aimed at the judges, collectively and individually (corrupt, incompetent, superannuated, cretinous) and at the Comune, represented by its execrable functionaries.

Their declaration did not use the exact terms employed by Emile Zola in his immortal denunciation (“…a great blow to all truth, all justice…”…”It is a crime to poison the small and the humble…”…all the revulsion of an honest man…”…”And these people sleep at night, and they have women and children whom they love!”).  But I think they would have used those terms if they’d thought of it.

D'Este hands over the document.
D'Este hands over the document.

They then consigned a pair of symbolic oars to the new Counciler for Tourism, Roberto Panciera, and rowed back to the boathouse.  I was on the dock and didn’t see anything oar-like changing hands, but maybe they were coffee spoons modified to look like oars.

This pantomime was not followed by stunned silence, it was followed by every shape and size of bellowed protest of passionate partisanship.  There was one woman who yelled rolling phrases of excoriation in a voice of doom that could carry to the mainland and possibly farther. She was amazing.  Just think, she could have summarized everything in the simple phrase “String ’em up,” but she clearly had quite a lot on her mind which had been pent up too long.  If you’ve ever wondered what the vox populi might sound like, she was it.

While Tezzat assumes his "Here I stand, I can do no other" pose.
While Tezzat assumes his "Here I stand, I can do no other" pose.

Then the race proceeded and the Vignottini won.  No surprise there, naturally.  God, how it rankled the public!  I’ve never heard so many people so rankled.  This was one situation where the daily habit of everybody talking at once turned out to be useful, because except for the Voice of Doom, you couldn’t understand anything anybody was saying.  I thought about cheering for the Vignottini just to see what would happen, but the fans were like a mob of maenads, and I didn’t feel like being dismembered and devoured raw. Maybe some other time.

What next? I have no idea.  There is already a sub-theme being promoted which demands the immediate dismissal of all the judges (why not — let’s just kill them all) and the installation of an entirely new cadre of judges, a new Commission of Discipline, a new everybody.

And then they row away. Feel free to cheer.
And then they row away. Feel free to cheer.

Only problem is, every time the Comune invites people to apply to become judges, nobody responds.  Nobody wants to spend summer Sundays in all kinds of weather dealing with the racers, their relatives, and their fans who are howling that the judge’s dead relatives are dogs.  Judges are likely to lose all their friends, too, who would suddenly regard them as unspeakable traitors.  I know judges whose friends look the other way when they walk past on the street. I know: So they’re not real friends.  But still.  All this for 40 euros ($52) a race, and now there’s the chance to be publicly chastised as well? How could anybody turn that down?

The only option left to Tezzat for reclaiming his symbolic oar is to appeal to the mayor.  The Vignottini resorted to this a few years ago, back before Igor threw his pennant into the canal in front of the mayor and their relationship turned to stone.  But now there’s a different mayor, and let us not forget: Tezzat and D’Este are innocent.

I’ll see you on the barricades.

The race got off to a predictably exciting start, though the Vignottini on red are already pulling away. The basilica and campanile on Torcello look on impassively; after a thousand years, summer and winter, it's hard to get excited about any of this.
The race got off to a predictably exciting start, though the Vignottini on red are already pulling away. The basilica and campanile on Torcello look on impassively; after a thousand years, summer and winter, it's hard to get excited about any of this.
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Boatworld, Events, Tourism, Venetian-ness, Water

Regata Storica, the saga continues

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The newspaper was bubbling like a large pot of overcooked beans the two days after the big race, what with charges and countercharges flying amongst the rowers.  Most of these wails of injured pride came from the embattled and disqualified pair on the celeste gondolino: Ivo Redolfi-Tezzat and, by extension, his partner, Giampaolo D’Este.  D’Este doesn’t make public statements, he leaves the heavy lifting to his buddy.  Who by now has made a second career of said lifting, considering all the trouble he seems to have been born to create, then complain about.  At least one of his former partners actually gave up racing, he couldn’t take the tsuris anymore.

It's not just the first boats who are battling it out.
It's not just the first boats who are battling it out.

What I have been able to discern is that the judges in the first boat, who were keeping their eyes on the gondolinos in the lead, had already called out a warning to Tezzat for creating an impasso — a term which generally means “blocking.” To create an obstacle, in one of a myriad ways.  Obviously this doesn’t mean he tried to literally put his boat in front of the Vignottini, but he was doing something which clearly made problems for them to proceed at optimum speed and trajectory.

It seems that the judges called eight warnings.  That ought to be enough for anybody to grasp that it’s time to stop. Because after one warning, and another, and perhaps even another, the judge will call out that the racer now has a richiamo (ree-KYAM-oh)  on his record, which is not good but not fatal. But if he gets more than one richiamo in a race (as in, if he persists in whatever he or she is doing), he is liable to be disqualified.  Which is exactly what happened.  Tezzat knows this, so I’m not real clear on why he took such a risk.  Except that it seems to be his specialty. Perhaps he races because he can’t go skysurfing.

And he did not help his case by admitting that he had committed an error, which while it sounds extremely sportsmanlike and almost penitential, makes his rants against the judges a little hard to take seriously.  He wants them to be fired, if not exiled and then executed.  This is a reaction that’s not uncommon in soccer, but is a little hard to make credible when the athlete has been warned eight times.

I did mention that money was involved in this conflict. Glory, bragging rights, the satisfaction of having pulverized and humiliated your lifelong rivals, whatever else may be concerned, there is in fact a tidy sum set aside for the winners. “Tidy” as in 2,850 euros ($3,682.65).  Per person. And then there are other prizes that come rolling in, too, such as the money offered by the Gazzettino for the first boat that passes under the Rialto Bridge on the outbound leg (775 euros per person in 2004), or the prize offered by the other newspaper, La Nuova Venezia, for the first boat to pass under the Accademia Bridge, and so on.  Even though these prizes have been slashed, like everything else in the budget, losing them would make you bubble too.

As things stand now, he and his partner will only get the “training subsidy,” a symbolic little payment which is the city’s consolation prize.  For the other races this payment would be around  200 euros, which might cover the cost of gas for his motorboat for a month.     But for the Storica it’s 1,427 euros ($1,854.11).  More than nothing, sure, but for a professional gondolier, which both of these men are, it is, how you say, chicken feed.  Going home with only this batch of change in your pocket is unthinkable.

And then there was Tezzat’s threat to not even try out for the race at Burano next Sunday, which is popularly regarded as the Revenge of the Storica.  It sounded good, but he and D’Este showed up, as expected, for the eliminations, and so will be confronting the Vignottini one last time this year. Yes, that  sound you hear is daggers being sharpened to a scalpel’s edge.

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