This is Giovanni Caboto as painted by Giustino Menescardi in 1762. Accuracy of detail limited by the fact that Caboto departed on his third and final voyage in 1498 and was never seen again.
Giovanni Caboto (John Cabot) was not only a rockstar navigator/explorer, he was also a Venetian citizen and lived in what I consider to be something of a rockstar house: Palazzo Caboto. You’ve seen it at the top of via Garibaldi, dividing that street from the Riva Sette Martiri. And I wouldn’t be writing anything about him or the riva if I hadn’t had the chance to go inside it not long ago, thanks to an exhibit that was part of the Biennale.
As with so many Venetian houses, the builders managed superbly with the space they had available.
Some sources maintain that his family was originally from Gaeta, near Naples; another source says that “John Cabot’s son, Sebastian, said his father originally came from Genoa. Cabot was made a citizen of the Republic of Venice in 1476; as citizenship required a minimum of fifteen years’ residency in the city, he must have lived in Venice from at least 1461.”
To somebody accustomed to spending years on a ship, this could have seemed attractively normal. Except that it wasn’t moving, of course.The lions rule the waves on this bijou balcony. I’m not sure which is more ripply, the acanthus leaves or the feline tresses. Only thing missing are a few barnacles.The waves and fronds are delightful. Full speed ahead.On the landward wall are these imposing plaques.It says: “Giovanni Caboto emulated Columbus discovered Newfoundland and the northern continent of the New World. Sebastiano Caboto, cosmographer, navigator, was the first to know Paraguay pointed to the passageway to the glacial sea. To honor the great citizens who lived in this district the Comune placed this 1881.”
So much for the basic background on the indomitable Caboto.
For the first two months or so of the Biennale this year the house was hosting an exhibition by Korean artist Shin Sung Hy. My interest in contemporary art is skittish, but it was my first chance to see the house itself. So I invited myself into what was designated Gallery Hyundai.
The ground-floor entrance is all about wood, as is much of what follows — another friendly link with his trusty ship Mathew. The Biennale refers to this dwelling as Palazzo Caboto, but when you see the size of the rooms, you may want to rethink what you imagine when you hear “palazzo.”Staircases rule. The upper two floors are the exhibition spaces — I can’t say what, if anything, is to be found anywhere else in the building.Looking down the stairwell the situation is slightly less dramatic.
But I like the angles better.
Feeling a little seasick yet?
Let’s have a look at the rooms. As you would expect, they are cut into small eccentric shapes.
Reaching the first upper floor, the room in the bow of the ship — I mean house — is what I really was curious to see. Yes, I’d like to live there.Turning around, you see this. The light entering the room on the right comes from a door opening onto a small balcony.The balcony. The plaque commemorating the death of the “seven martyrs” is attached to the wall just next to the balustrade, but that’s a story for another time.Turning around, you see a room and the stairs. Yes indeed, this room is small.Leave the little balcony, turn right through the small room shown above and proceed into the adjoining room (also small) where I’m standing. Look ahead toward the “bow” of the house. I’d like to know how people here communicated their whereabouts. “I’m in the rhomboid room!”Let’s go up the stairs to the next floor. The same choice of rooms, not surprisingly; to the right is the “bow” again, pointed toward San Marco. No more parquet floor, though; it’s strictly terra cotta.And the better balcony view, pointed toward San Marco.Facing the lagoon, on this floor we see the revised remains of an impressive fireplace with a very welcome table/bench/bed protruding from it.
I could stop here, but as we consider how many renovations and alterations the house has undoubtedly experienced since Sig. Caboto last quaffed here whatever his preferred quaff was, I think he’d be most amazed by what has happened outside his two or more streetward doors in the intervening 500 years or so. Actually, I mean the last 150 years.
First of all, the vaunted via Garibaldi stretching along the flagpole side of the house used to be a canal, so he’d be missing that. It was filled in in 1807, part of the mastodontic changes the French were wreaking on the neighborhood. First it bore the name Strada Nuova dei Giardini, then was re-named via Eugenia in honor of Napoleon’s stepson, Eugene de Beauharnais, viceroy of Italy. In 1866, when Giuseppe Garibaldi’s troops entered Venice (and Venice had voted to join the newly formed nation of Italy), the name changed again. The canal continues to flow beneath the pavement, however.
On the lagoon side of Cabot’s house, though, yet bigger changes were on the way. Because until the 1930’s, water was still lapping at its wall.
In the 1870s the waterfront looked like this. We can see via Garibaldi at the extreme left, but otherwise this stretch of Castello was still the realm of boatyards and squeri, as it had been at least since Jacopo dei’ Barbari mapped it in 1500.Permit me to refresh your memory on this monumental work and its insane detail of the Castello waterfront.Vaporetto service began in 1881 (notice the vaporetto steaming toward the Lido), and where better to put the dock than at the edge of via Garibaldi? (As we see, it was the only “where” there.) Or, to put it another way, on Caboto’s front doorstep. I think this image is later than 1881, though, because the ornamental stone balconies are in place here, while in the next image the windows are protected by humbler wrought iron. Too many things to keep track of.Anyway, the important point is that Caboto’s house, as seen from the steps leading to the vaporetto dock, is still keeping the lagoon at bay.An undated photograph(possibly early 1900’s) shows the boat procession celebrating the Feast of the Ascension, a remembrance of the annual ceremony of the “Wedding of the Sea,” in which the doge symbolically renewed Venice’s vows as the faithful spouse of the Adriatic, with all the rights and privileges a spouse was entitled to. Ignore the procession for a moment, though, and regard the agglomeration of boatyards still hard at work at the water’s edge. Venice was a real working-boat city until progress caught up.
But as thought Napoleon, so did Benito Mussolini. I don’t refer to politics, but to reshaping Venice. There is undoubtedly massive history behind these decisions, but in my own tiny mind I summarize the Duce’s thought as “Piffle! Away with the grotty shipyards, we want a promenade. Actually, what we want is a long stretch of pavement ideal for mooring ships. Preferably battleships, and many of them. It can also be a promenade, or whatever we want to call it, in its spare time.” And so it was.
The birth of the Riva Sette Martiri. In point of fact, it was christened the Riva dell’Impero (the riva of the empire) because Mussolini. The name was changed after the tragic execution of the seven martyrs in 1944, but older people still sometimes use the old name (in the same way that they refer to the bridge to the mainland as “Ponte del Littorio”).When he said “Get it done,” it got done. I’m fascinated by the coexistence of the hydraulic crane and the boat still powered by sail moored alongside. In the Thirties boats with motors were still in the extreme minority.Plaase admire the peata alongside, the biggest working boat in the Venetian working-boat fleet, propelled by oars. In the Thirties. Much of the entire city was built with materials brought on boats like this one. When Lino was a lad there were still peatas everywhere, working away. On a less sublime note, we can see that the grotty shipyards are gone, with their men and their skills and traditions. Progress pushes onward.The riva did serve as a mooring place for warships, but the aforementioned progress has since found other needs and uses for this gigantic walkway. Mussolini may not have given much thought to the pressing needs of ever-increasing numbers of tourists — to stroll, run, walk their dogs, moor their colossal yachts… Entertainment gets first dibs on this space now.Warships still occasionally stop by, often when an important ceremony is imminent. Here the destroyer “Luigi Durand de la Penne” is looking good.Or there are mega-yachts whose billionaire owners really like that battleship vibe. This belonged — perhaps it still does — to a Russian oligarch back in the palmy days. Note that those are not fangs or jaws on the stern, but he’d be so glad to know that you thought so.Another mega-yacht dreaming of combat.One of the best things about the riva is that it’s perfect — for a fabulous daily fee — for hosting colossal yachts. I’m not sure what Mussolini would have thought, much less what Caboto’s reaction might have been. I’m tempted to think Caboto would have said “I WANT ONE.”The traditional figurehead has been re-tooled as a hood ornament. The Maltese falcon? A carrier pigeon on steroids?Build a riva and just stand back for all those good times waiting to roll.But the fun isn’t limited to floating entertainment. For a few months each winter the traveling amusement park plants itself on this conveniently wide open space.
Not to forget the Venice Marathon, the last Sunday in October. The finish line is just beyond Caboto’s house. He had no idea that the ordinary old lagoon outside his window was going to pushed aside to make room for an entertainment multiplex.
I didn’t intend to reduce the invincible Giovanni Caboto to a mere bystander at a waterfront playground, yet that’s what happened. My apologies to his descendants, wherever they are. One could have made a good case to name the riva after him, but that didn’t happen. We’re going to pretend we did right by him via the two plaques and — bonus! — Calle Caboto, a small cross-street mortised into the maze between his wonderful house.
We know these little horrors all too well, from sports events to any other mass gathering. Temporary “porta-potties” are absolutely great when you’re desperate and there is nothing else. That’s about the only great thing about them. Here large numbers of the typical “chemical toilets” are being unloaded a few steps beyond the finish line of the annual Venice Marathon. They are there for the obvious needs of thousands of runners just minutes after they arrive. And yet, there are none conveniently placed for the spectators. That seems wrong to me, now that I think about it.But then again, useful as they are, it would deface the landscape to have them around all the time.What if there were a public toilet permanently available? One that wasn’t a pungent plastic box? I wasn’t asking myself that question when I was crossing the canal in front of the Arsenal a few weeks ago, but then I saw this kiosk beside the Naval Museum. What ho, I thought. Do I see the letters WC?I do indeed, and the red hints that it is being used. The experimental loo arrived on February 10, in the throes of Carnival, and installed most conveniently on the fondamenta along which many spectators heading to the show at the Arsenal were bound to be walking. That extra spritz or beer? Normally you would have had to plan ahead to deal with the result, because there are very few bars along the way (maybe you don’t know this yet, dear visitor, but you might soon). This seems very civilized. The kiosk will be here for two weeks, or till Feb. 24. Or perhaps Feb. 29. In any case, a very short time. Disclaimer: Hygien Venezia does not know me and I have no interest in being known by them. Just providing information here.
This is a simple tale composed of two parts. (A) What we need and (B) how hard it can be to obtain it because of (C) (my error, the tale has three parts) other people. To demonstrate I take the situation of the new experimental temporary chemical toilet (A) near the Arsenal and (C) the city of Venice, some city councillors of.
People need places to relieve themselves, we’ll start there. On the whole, visitors manage the situation by stopping at bars/cafe’s, buying something, and using the facilities. But sometimes bars/cafe’s are closed. Sometimes they are crowded. Sometimes the WC is mysteriously out of service. And sometimes the owners have to crack down on tourists who show up in groups of which one person buys a coffee and all the rest use the bathroom, as we call it in the US. Not made up. So one person is relieved, so to speak, and his or her nine friends have to start looking for a toilet somewhere else, or buy a coffee, which is clearly something they were hoping to avoid.
Impatient and drunk males at big gatherings at night have no problem at all: Find the nearest wall. Vertical structures exert an atavistic allure to men. Ladies, you’re on your own, as usual. But there are small side streets — I’m thinking of offshoots of Campo Santa Margherita — whose residents have been driven to install a gate to prevent revelers from using the street to resolve the situation.
Yes, this conveniently dark passageway was a public toilet, according to the public. Perfect, until the repulsed residents fought back with the gate.
At night these side streets seemed perfect for personal usage; I mean, nobody was using them to go anywhere. Except home, as it turned out. Dog poop is bad enough, but good grief, people. Note that there is a canal only a few steps farther along. Just, you know, saying.Before there were gates there were these, possibly the first attempt at a public deterrent. A closer look at the lower area where the walls meet gives an idea of why this construction was installed. Useful, but only up to a point. My theory is that anyone who was sufficiently far gone wouldn’t mind (or notice) his shoes getting wet. There are many of these around (I don’t know who thought them up, or paid for them).You might have thought that the little shrine (“capitello”) to Saint Anthony of Padua might have given the person in need the idea to find another corner. Evidently not.But why are we talking about deterrents? Let’s get back to options for aiding those in need. There used to be plenty of pissoirs in Venice, or vespasiani, in Italian. The etymology of the name is simple: The Roman emperor Vespasian placed a tax on urine collection because the liquid’s ammonia was necessary for several activities, such as leather tanning. The Venetian vespasians were usually near an osteria, places where wine consumption carried consequences. This wall near the church of San Sebastiano bears its scars proudly.Needs no explanation, it all seems pretty simple to me.The vestigial water pipe. Typically the wall here was covered by a marble slab (more resistant than brick, by far) down which a stream of water constantly ran, and out the drain.This is the little street leading to Lino’s family home (visible at the far end). The curve accommodated a vespasiano that was concealed by a slim wall open at both ends, hence no door, hence always available. Nobody thought anything of walking past its perfume a thousand times a day. Most osterias didn’t have their own toilets, so the public went in public. Unhappily for Lino’s oldest brother, his apartment was just above an osteria that did have a primitive toilet. Great for the customers, not great for the brother. He and his wife got used to it? Only up to a point. They kept the overlooking window closed. Especially in summer.A small street flanking the Lutheran church at the Campo Santi Apostoli. On the wall supporting the abandoned mattress there are signs of the vespasiano that was. Lino remembers it, so we’re not talking about ancient history.Maybe when you get bored with looking at palaces you could start looking for the remnants of these once-useful things. I mean the vespasiano, not the mattress. By the way, if people were cool with pissoirs all over town, what’s so bad about kiosks?I’m referring to kiosks that look like the one by Hygien Venezia down by the Arsenal. You notice it has been designed to be accessible to people in wheelchairs. (There’s also a ramp at the door.) Electricity is supplied by a battery maintained by solar panels.
But the choice is not kiosks or nothing. There are permanent public loos in Venice. But there aren’t very many, their hours vary WIDELY — 8:00 AM to 8:30 PM is rational, so is 9:00 AM to 9:00 PM, but 11:00 AM to 4:30 PM or 10 AM – 7:30 PM is not. And they aren’t always open. The WC by the Piazza San Marco is scheduled to open at 9:30 AM, and when I passed by at a very reasonable 10:45 AM it was shut up tight. These hours undoubtedly reflect the convenience of the staff, and not the public. Or whether the Comune has paid the water bill?
In an attractive gesture of collaboration, the city has an app to guide you to the nearest public toilet. Perhaps it will be open, perhaps not, but at least you can say you found it.
A map of the not exactly numerous public toilets. I count ten here — none on the Giudecca, for unknown reasons, but the one at the cemetery is helpful. The ones strewn about the Maritime Zone are for the non-existent cruise passengers, so ignore them. But again — pardon my diatribe — there is no reason to publish such a cheerful and encouraging map if the public can’t be sure the loo will be open when it’s needed. The other day a friend of mine was in severe need on Sant’ Elena and both of the only two bars were closed. The doors of the so-cheerfully indicated city toilet were locked. This is not a happy memory. But as I say, it does look nice on the map.The public WC at the foot of the Accademia Bridge. This is what a self-respecting public toilet should look like. Its most impressive feature? It’s open.They’re doing work these days, heavy work with tools. I just hope you weren’t counting on using this facility. Zwingle’s Fifth Law: Do not count on things.A curious sub-class of public toilets are Those That Were (and I don’t mean vespasiani). This building on the northwest corner of Campo San Polo was a public loo until some not-distant time in the past. Lino remembers it well, and it had the advantage of being in an extremely busy point of the city. So it could have been highly useful. But as you see, the need for the sketchy Euronet cash machines was greater. Sorry, I shouldn’t say “sketchy.” But I can say this: Independent cash providers such as Travelex, Euronet, Moneybox, Your Cash, Cardpoint, and Cashzone have high fees, higher than a bank ATM. Example: 15 euros on a 200-euro withdrawal. There are probably ten times more Euronet ATM’s than public toilets in Venice now. Priorities!Back to the toilets. Once you know what this place used to be, you can easily make it out. Those high windows somehow give it away.
I decided to experiment and went looking for one of the city’s toilets last Saturday afternoon around 5:00 PM. I was near the Arsenal, and wondered where the large sign indicating a nearby loo might lead me. I didn’t need it, and what a good thing that turned out to be.
This very narrow and slightly ominous street is marked as the route to salvation. The Calle del Cagnoleto is right by the area on the Riva degli Schiavoni where the day-tripping tourist launches load and unload their passengers, so it would seem to be an ideal place for a rest stop, as we say in the US.Yes, that happy arrow up there points toward relief. Take heart and forge ahead!Wow. Well okay, on we go.The street passes in front of the green doors (I was walking from right to left). You are looking for what transit engineers call “confirming signs.” But instead of repeating the sign you are familiar with, there is only a rectangle of stone saying “Alle Docce” (you frantically check for translation and find “To the showers.” Showers? Who wants showers?). There used to be an arrow, but any help that might have provided is long gone.A few more steps onward and there is a small sign that gives you hope.And the street opens up and you discover you have reached the “Comune di Venezia Docce Pubbliche.” City of Venice Public Showers. We’re looking for WC and we get docce (DAW-cheh).Let us imagine that at this point I am now beginning to feel that this experience is less a trial run and more of a real run. Now what?The Public Showers also include, as one has been supposing, public toilets. The green arrow on the front door, on the left, has pointed toward the right, so the entrance is one of those two doors. But I’ll never know, because as you see, the place was closed up tighter than a can of tuna. Five o’clock on Saturday afternoon. It’s the end of the road, and your choice now, as there are no bars in sight, is to turn around and hope to find a Plan B before crisis strikes, or figure out how to use the canal a few steps away. As to the showers, they are maintained by the Diocese of Venice to accommodate anyone who is without that option, either temporarily or permanently, and clean clothes are also available. This is praiseworthy and I have nothing but respect for this service. But about the WC……But you can leave with the knowledge that, according to this very edifying sign, the areas that you cannot use at your moment of off-schedule need are paragons of ecologically sound cleanliness. I notice that hours are not even scribbled on a Post-It note. You know, it’s easy to inveigh against tourists, but I would recommend that one remember that tourists are also people. And this little five-minute exploration has not only disappointed and discouraged me but also seems ever so slightly insulting. “Fine, we’ll let you use our toilets, but only when it suits us.” Solution? There ought to be many, but the simplest would be the mere addition of the opening hours to the sign at the entrance to the street — the sign that lured me hopefully onward. That way, at least nobody with an important problem will waste precious time heading toward locked doors. I suggest this minimum concession if you’re not going to keep the facility open while the sun is still shining and there are plenty of tourists still around.
So to review: The options for needy travelers are: Resort to one of the numberless bars/cafes, when available either geographically or according to time of day; or public toilet, when available either geographically or according to time of day. Or wall. Or canal.
Let’s return to the kiosk. The Comune opened the public-toilet project for bids in 2019, with a budget of 5 million euros, and only one company submitted a proposal. Hygien Venezia was prepared to proceed, then the pandemic intervened. So now, three years later, the company has finally installed its creation for a two-week trial. Then all the reports and analyses and opinions and pros and cons will be thrown into a box and shaken (I’m making that up), and some decision will be made on installing the 20 more that the company is ready to place strategically around town.
Don’t assume that decision will inevitably be in the positive. This being Venice, some people have complained. From shops and hotels and other enterprises, some people have objected. The Nuova Venezia only referred to the protesters as “the categories.” What category? The Worshipful Company of Environmental Cleaners? (It exists, but not in Italy.)
Whatever the “categories” might be, eight city councilors have spoken up, expressing a desire to inquire of the mayor “on the basis of what information is it considered that Venice possessed the characteristics to manage the cleaning (removal of waste) of 28 chemical toilets.” It occurs to me that Hygien Venezia probably has foreseen the problem and the solution, and described the plan on the bid itself. I’ll bet that they will be able to provide answers as needed, without bothering the mayor.
Perhaps the NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) phenomenon has arrived in Venice. There may well be those who do not wish to see one of these kiosks near their homes or places of business. I will grant you that the general lack of space here means that there is a risk that a new structure, however modest, could make the immediate area even more crowded. However, there are also campos and fondamentas that can boast of space. But let’s not quibble. Essentially, there seems to be an innate propensity to assume something new won’t work rather than consider ways in which in might perhaps be configured to work.
There is bound to be space for one of these kiosks at Campo Santa Margherita without jostling anybody too far to the side.I’m going to ask the people who live here how they’d feel about having the kiosk in the campo.
In my view, this is another of the many situations in which Venice’s perplexity as to how to manage the city comes to the fore. Lots of real cities have public toilets in the streets. Paris comes to mind, obviously — if there’s a city with bars/cafe’s at every turn, that would be Paris, and yet there are 420 cubicles on the streets of the City of Light, used 3 million times a year. I grant that Parisian streets tend to be more spacious than your average calle. But the port of Piraeus has concise public toilets, as do Madrid, and Oslo, and Berlin, and so on. Or at the very least, reorganize the public toilets in Venice with rational hours and doors that can be opened.
“The categories” want tourists, and then people grumble at how demanding those tourists can be. It seems to me that Venice might occasionally consider dismounting from its high horse on certain issues. Give the horse a rest.
The Venice Marathon finishes in the most beautiful city in the world. Or maybe not.
The classic foot race known as a marathon is generally predictable, from the distance (26 miles/385 yards or 42 km/195 meters) to the winner (so often an athlete from Kenya or Ethiopia or Eritrea). And why should the 32nd Venice Marathon, which was run last Sunday, October 22, have been any different?
Why indeed? That’s what people would really like to know.
Because in 31 years here no competitors in the lead have ever somehow taken the wrong road at the 16-mile point. And yet on Sunday there was a little peloton of East Africans who were some distance ahead of the 5,962 other runners. Abdulahl Dawud, Gilbert Kipleting Chumba, Kipkemei Mutai and David Kiprono Metto were following the motorcycle at the head of the race, as per normal, and when it turned right, going up the ramp onto the overpass leading to Venice, naturally they followed. Except that they were supposed to be on the highway below the overpass.
The drone — or helicopter — showed this scene in real time. Unbelievable. (itv.com)Of course there’s nothing strange about seeing the front runners on an empty road. It just turned out to be the wrong empty road. (Sports Illustrated)
As two precious minutes ticked by, somebody else on a motorcycle caught up with them, yelling (I imagine) “What the hell, you guys? You’re supposed to be down there!” I imagine this because Lino and I were watching the live broadcast and you could easily see the men begin to turn around and trot back the way they came, no longer in the lead although still all by themselves, race essentially over. In fact, it was literally over; they withdrew immediately. One doesn’t run 26 miles/385 yards, or at that point one hour and 15 minutes, for the sheer euphoric joy of it. Who was responsible for that wrong turn? If you know, the world would like to hear from you. And so would the four runners.
As if we needed another problem, here it is: The winner, Eyob Faniel — who finished with an amazing two-minute lead over the rest of the pack — was born in Eritrea but is a naturalized Italian citizen and runs for the Venicemarathon Club. Fun fact: It has been 22 years since an Italian won the Venice Marathon. About time, you say? Somebody else might have been thinking the same thought. I’m not usually one for conspiracy theories, but the optics here, as the current expression has it, are not attractive.
Here is what Lorenzo Cortesi, general secretary of the Venice Marathon, has said (translated by me): “We need to evaluate if this was an error by the vigili urbani (a sort of local police), or by us. The service autos exited the barriers and the local police didn’t close the street. The motorcycles, then, weren’t able to transit the underpass.” (I totally do not understand this last bit. You want the people to run on a road that the motorcycle is forbidden to take?) “But I wouldn’t want the significance of this race to be limited only to this.” Of course you wouldn’t. Neither would I, if I were in charge.
But enough unpleasantness! Backpats generously administered by Signor Cortesi to the 2,000 volunteers involved, not to mention to everyone involved in the successful completion of all the unusual elements which the Venice Marathon requires: “Just think of the fact that we have to transport from the mainland to the arrival area, with 12 big trucks and 12 boats, the sacks of all the personal effects of the athletes.”
I can confirm that the organization was impressive as seen from ground level, from the chemical toilets to the bags of snacks to the massage tables with massagers waiting for massaggees.
But although the scaffolding and some bridges and the bleachers have all been removed, the questions refuse to go away. It used to be that everybody would be talking about how people ran. Now the only thing they’re talking about is where.
On Thursday, things began to be done on the Riva dei Sette Martiri. Unusual things for the Riva, normal things for the marathon, which is held on the fourth (and usually also the last) Sunday in October.This spacious area in the Giardini Pubblici was soon to be revised to accommodate the immediate needs of thousands of exhausted and sweaty people.The accommodation was, first of all, big tents for changing your clothes. Smaller tents were for medical attention of various sorts.Masses of runners downshifting after the 10K race, which preceded the main event by a few hours. The brown-paper bags contained cartons of fruit juice, cookies, fruit and something else — I only got a glimpse inside one. The broad plastic wrappers were temporary blankets doing double duty as large posters for the main sponsor, Huawei Technologies. I should have mentioned that the official name of the event, as announced by the speaker in virtually every sentence, is “Huawei Venice Marathon.”Yes, there will be garbage. Let’s see…thousands of plastic blankets and paper bags of food and busted shoelaces and fistfuls of used tissues, or whatever runners throw away when the party’s over, all have to be collected and carried off by the hardy trashmen and women of Veritas.
Three of the 12 enormous boats loaded with bags which contain the bags of runners’ personal effects trundled toward the Giardini to wherever the pickup point was organized. If you’ve ever had any reason to inquire about the cost of renting one of these boats, you won’t have to ask why there are so many sponsors for this event.As you see: Sponsors. Job lots of them, which is the only way these affairs can exist.We sat in the bleachers watching the overjoyed 10K runners cross the finish line. The sky threw down some gobbets of rain but it didn’t last long.The jumbotron was a great way to watch the big race as the runners coasted along the Brenta river. It all seemed so peaceful and normal…A few sections of the temporary bridge used for the feast of the Redentore bring the runners from the Zattere across the Grand Canal to San Marco.There was a little soupcon of acqua alta in the Piazza, but the higher stretch in the center of the square meant the runners kept their feet dry (which was not the case on one memorable day some years ago when “sloshing” entered the event’s description).The fabulous finish by Eyob Faniel was pretty exciting. I don’t want the backstory to discolor what was a great moment for the spectators anyway. Nobody had truly grasped the whole situation at this point, and a guy running with nobody to be seen behind him is irresistibly thrilling.And of course, crossing the finish line was a huge experience for the myriad unsung runners racing against themselves.And after the glory come the showers. Follow the helpful hand-drawn arrows to hot water and soap, the happy ending after the happy ending.
Seasonal migrations (is that redundant? Sorry) are an excellent way to keep track of the year’s divisions, especially here, where you need a keen eye to discern that there is anything more than one season anymore, which is Tourists.
But at this moment, if you’re paying attention (and if you know, and if you care) you can detect a few important signs of autumn. I don’t mean the drying, yellowing, falling leaves — anybody can notice them, and besides, the drought began drying them before their normal time to drop. So leaves are out.
Torbolino — the first draw-off of the new wine. That’s an excellent indicator, though again, this year it’s somewhat early due to the unusually early harvest (see: “drought,” above).
Ducks are also useful heralds of the season — I saw my first one paddling around two weeks ago, This always makes me happy, except that I had seen my first duck hunter even earlier: The ducks began hitting the water on September 3. So much for enjoying their winter haven.
Seppioline — sepoine (seh-poh-EE-neh) in Venetian — are baby seppie, or cuttlefish. If “baby” anything on your plate upsets you, skip this paragraph. We are now in the period of the fraima, which is the annual passage of the fish which have spent all summer fooling around in the lagoon moving out into the Adriatic (or beyond) for the winter. The cuttlefish spawned months ago, and their small offspring are now in the process of making their first trip out into the world where they will become big, grown-up cuttlefish. Unless they get snagged before they reach the exit, in which case they will be sold at an outrageous price (there I go, being redundant again), grilled and eaten. Short migration.
The ramps are used by thundering racers for a few hours, and by countless humbler folk dragging suitcases, shopping carts, or strollers laden with small heavy tired cranky children for six months. I would bet that the shleppers appreciate the ramps just as much as any Ethiopian champion. Probably more.
But the ramps are back. I saw my first one two days ago and it was like hearing a small, clear trumpet announcing autumn, winter, and early spring. The ramps are set up for the Venice Marathon (this year scheduled for October 23), and they stay up till the end of March. That’s practically half the year. Then they migrate back to hibernate in whatever warehouse keeps them till next October.
They’re only installed on the race route — logically — which conveniently passes the Piazza San Marco and other heavily traveled tourist routes. I bet the people up in Cannaregio and along the northern edge of the city really envy us. I know they don’t envy us the tourists, but we get the ramps.
The Comune opened the public-toilet project for bids in 2019, with a budget of 5 million euros, and only one company submitted a proposal. Hygien Venezia was prepared to proceed, then the pandemic intervened. So now, three years later, the company has finally installed its creation for a two-week trial. Then all the reports and analyses and opinions and pros and cons will be thrown into a box and shaken (I’m making that up), and some decision will be made on installing the 20 more that the company is ready to place strategically around town.
